"Frank Massanet is a very nice fellow," said Richard stoutly.
"Oh, yes—too nice for me, though. But let that pass. Everybody has his peculiarities. Have a smoke?"
And Norris pulled two strong-looking cigars from his vest pocket.
"I'm much obliged," replied the boy. "I don't smoke."
"Try one. They are fine," went on the shipping-clerk, stopping to get a light. "No time like the present for making a beginning. I'm quite sure it won't make you sick."
"I don't think I care to try," was all Richard could say; and he heartily wished Earle Norris would go his own way.
"Oh, well, it's all right if you don't care to. I find it just the thing to settle my nerves after a big day's work."
They walked on in silence for nearly a block, and the boy was wondering how best to leave Norris without offending him when the latter spoke up.
"Here are the rooms of the Laurel Club," he said, pointing up to the narrow but brilliantly lighted stairways of a handsome building just around the corner of a side street.
"The Laurel Club?" repeated Richard.