"That's all right, isn't it?" said Charles. "And you'd be surprised if I told you what I paid for it."
"No, no, you mustn't think that," I protested. "Probably things are dearer in Portugal." I put it down by my plate for a moment's rest. "All I've got against it at present is that its pores don't act as freely as they should."
"I've got a cigar-cutter somewhere, if—"
"No, don't bother. I think I can do it with the nut-crackers. There's no doubt it was a good cigar once, but it hasn't wintered well."
I squeezed it as hard as I could, lit it again, pressed my feet against the table and pulled.
"Now it's going," said Charles.
"I'm afraid it keeps very reticent at my end. The follow-through is poor. Is your end alight still?"
"Burning beautifully."
"It's a pity that I should be missing all that. How would it be if we were to make a knitting-needle red-hot, and bore a tunnel from this end? We might establish a draught that way. Only there's always the danger, of course, of coming out at the side."
I took the cigar up and put it to my ear.