"Mr. Koerner," he asked, "why aren't you smoking?"
The old man seemed ashamed.
"Tell me," Marriott demanded.
"Vell--dot's all right. I hain't--chust got der tobacco."
The truth flashed on Marriott; this was deprivation--when a man could not get tobacco! He thought an instant; then he drew out his case of cigarettes, took them, broke their papers and seizing Koerner's hand said:
"Here, here's a pipeful, anyway; this'll do till I can send you some."
And he poured the tobacco into Koerner's bare palm. The old man took the tobacco, pressed it into the bowl of his pipe, Marriott struck a match, Koerner lighted his pipe, and sat a few moments in the comfort of smoking again.
"Dot's bretty goodt," he said presently. He smoked on. After a while he turned to Marriott with his old shrewd, humorous glance, his blue eyes twinkled, his white brows twitched.
"Vell, Mis'er Marriott, you nefer t'ought you see der oldt man shmokin' cigarettes, huh?"
Marriott laughed, glad of the relief, and glad of the new sense of comradeship the tobacco brought.