“Uncle loves his joke, Pradelle,” he said. “Come, uncle, I don’t often visit you; ask us in.”
“No, you don’t often visit me, Harry,” said the old man, looking at him searchingly; “and when you do come it’s because you want something.”
Harry winced again, for the old man’s words cut deeply.
“Oh, nonsense, uncle! Pradelle and I were having a stroll, and we thought we’d drop in here and smoke a cigar with you.”
“Very kind,” said the old man, looking meaningly from one to the other. “Missed meeting the girls, or have they snubbed you and sent you about your business?”
“Have a cigar, uncle?” said Harry, holding out his case. “I tell you we came on purpose to see you.”
“Humph!” said Uncle Luke, taking the handsome morocco cigar case, and turning it over and over with great interest. “How much did that cost?”
“Don’t remember now; fifteen shillings I think.”
“Ah,” said Uncle Luke, pressing the snap and opening it. “One, two, three, four; how much do these cigars cost?”
“Only fourpence, uncle; can’t afford better ones.”