“This is imported Oriental tobacco,” said Adrian, handing his brother a cigar.
“Imported from where—the corner drugstore?” demanded Randal, laughing, his face illumined by the flicker of the lighted match.
“Genuine Ladikieh,” protested Adrian.
“It’s like carrying coals to Newcastle to pay duty on tobacco in America.”
“I didn’t say I paid any duty, did I?”
“Oh, you haven’t the grit to smuggle anything through, and if you had you would have brought enough to generously divvy up with me.”
He sent off a fragrant puff, stretched out luxuriously in his armchair, and turned his clear eyes upon his brother.
There was a momentary silence.
“I read the report of your address in the papers. It was very able and convincing.”
“I’d care more for your compliments if you understood the subject,” declared Randal cavalierly. Then, roguishly, “Is that all you have read about me in the papers lately?”