“I was not aware we were such near neighbors, Mr. Kenrick.”
“To me also ’t is a surprise,—and a pleasant one. Will you walk in, Mr. Vance?”
“Yes, if ’t is not past your hour for visitors.”
They went in, and Kenrick put up the gas. “I can’t offer you either cigars or whiskey; but you can ring for what you want.”
“Is it possible you eschew alcohol and tobacco?”
“Yes,” replied Kenrick; “I once indulged in cigars. But I found the use so offensive in others that I myself abandoned it in disgust. One sits down to converse with a person disguised as a gentleman, and suddenly a fume, as if from the essence of old tobacco-pipes, mixed with odors from stale brandy-bottles, poisons the innocent air, and almost knocks one down. It’s a mystery that ladies endure the nuisance of such breaths. My sensitive nose has made me an anti-rum, anti-tobacco man.”
“But I fear me you’re a come-outer, Mr. Kenrick! Is it conservative to abuse tobacco and whiskey? No wonder you are unsound on the slavery question!”
“Come up to the confessional, Mr. Vance! Admit that you’re as much of an antislavery man as I am.”
“More, Mr. Kenrick! If I were not, I might be quite as imprudent as you. And then I should put a stop to my usefulness.”
“You puzzle me, Mr. Vance.”