“And a cigar lasts—how long?”
“Oh, I make one last three-quarters of an hour, because I smoke very slowly. Try one.”
“No, thankye; can’t afford such luxuries, my boy,” said the old man, shutting the case with a snap, and returning it. “That case and the cigars there cost nearly a pound. Your income must be rising fast.”
Harry and Pradelle exchanged glances. The reception did not promise well for a loan.
“Cigar does you good sometimes.”
“Harry,” said the old man, laughing and pointing at case.
“What’s the matter, uncle?” said Harry eagerly; “want one?”
“No, no. Why didn’t you have it put on there?”
“What?”
“Crest and motto, and your title—Comte des Vignes. You might lose it, and then people would know where to take it.”