“If I could only let him see,” thought Skeff, “that I am one of those fellows who have done everything and know every one, a thorough man of the world, and no red-tapist, no official pendant, we should get on all the better.” He puffed away at his cigar as he thus mused, turning over in his mind by what species of topic he should open acquaintance with his companion.
“That's good tobacco,” said M'Caskey, without opening his eyes. “Who's smoking the cheroot?”
“I am. May I offer you one?”
“A dozen if you like,” said the Colonel, giving himself a shake, and sitting bolt upright.
Skeff held out his cigar-case, and the other coolly emptied it, throwing the contents into his hat, which lay on the cushion in front of him.
“When old Olozaga was Captain-General of Cuba, he always supplied me with havannahs; but when O'Donnell's party came into power, I came down to cheroots, and there I have been ever since. These are not bad.”
“They are considered particularly good, sir,” said Skeff, coldly.
“That I will not say; but I own I am not easy to please either in wine, women, or tobacco.”
“You have had probably large experiences of all three?”
“I should like much to meet the man who called himself my equal.”