"Yes, that's all right," said Ward. Hunter's last words, which at any other time would have infuriated him, in this instance made him happy; they reassured him, gave him hope. He knew now that the old banker was ready to compromise. Then suddenly he remembered that he had not smoked that evening, and he drew his cigar-case from his pocket.
"Do you mind, sir, if I smoke?"
"Not in the least, Mr. Ward, not in the least, sir; delighted to have you. Make yourself perfectly at home, sir."
He waved his long, thin, transparent hand grandly and hospitably at Ward, and smiled his toothless smile.
"Perhaps you'd smoke, Mr. Hunter."
Ward proffered him the case and reflected instantly with delight that the cigar was a large, strong Havana, rich and heavy, much heavier than the old man was accustomed to, for from its odor Ward knew that the cigar Hunter was consuming to the last whiff was of cheap domestic tobacco, if it was of tobacco at all.
"Thank you, sir," said Hunter, delighted, leaning out of his chair and selecting a cigar with care. "I usually limit myself to one cigar of an evening--but with you--"
"Yes," thought Ward, "I know why you limit yourself to one, and I hope this one will make you sick."
When Ward had smoked a moment, he said:
"Mr. Hunter, if I reimburse you, what assurance can I have that there will be no prosecution?"