"You swore that this would be your last, Godfrey; are you as vacillating as ever!" cried his wife.
"I—oh, dearest, a few of these won't hurt me—you know they won't," came earnestly from the other wraith.
"If you touch another I shall despise you forever and forever," she cried firmly. "Take your choice, Godfrey Gloame."
"It's plain that I am doomed to eternal punishment, whichever way you put it," mourned poor Godfrey. "Take away the glasses, Mr. Garrison. I'll no more of it if my wife so disposes."
"Noble fellow," said Gates. "Have another cigarette!"
"Stay! I have heard that they are worse than liquor," objected Mrs. Gloame.
"I don't know but you are right," supplemented Gates.
"But I must have some sort of a vice, dear," pleaded poor Godfrey.
"Vice may be fashionable on earth, but if that's the case it was fashion that ruined us, you'll remember, Godfrey," she reminded him.
"That's worth thinking about," mused Garrison. "There is something deep in that observation. You spooks are—"