“But you got on in the world, and was able by-and-by to take your pipe with the best of ’em, warn’t ye?”
“Ah; and the worst.”
“It’s just ready for you. What a sweet singer you was when you first come! Used to drop your head, and sing yourself off like a bird! It’s ready for you now, deary.”
He takes it from her with great care, and puts the mouthpiece to his lips. She seats herself beside him, ready to refill the pipe.
After inhaling a few whiffs in silence, he doubtingly accosts her with:
“Is it as potent as it used to be?”
“What do you speak of, deary?”
“What should I speak of, but what I have in my mouth?”
“It’s just the same. Always the identical same.”
“It doesn’t taste so. And it’s slower.”