“Of sherry?” Polito hesitated, scratching his beard.
“No—you bother me. Chateau Yquem. If I could only do without this beastly tar; but I cannot, I choke directly.... Stay, one moment mon cher Philidor, some ham for this gentleman too, or some smoked tongue and a glass of Pajarete.”
When they were alone Polito lifted his fingers significantly to his lips and said to his companion: “Smoke?”
“Yes, let us smoke,” said the other taking his pipe out of his pocket.
“No man, not your own tobacco. There is a chest full of cigars. All the produce of Vuelta Abajo is in this house.”
The worthy couple, using their cues as walking-sticks, made their way to a box which, by its insidious fragrance betrayed the superior quality and aristocratic brand of the cigars that lay packed within the cedar boards.
“Very good tobacco—capital!”
“Look here my boy, all this comes, beyond a doubt, from the wealth of the nation.... We may as well lay in a stock.” And he plunged his hand into the box.
“Come, this is going too far!” said Perico Nules somewhat scandalized at the proceeding.