"Had I known that you wanted one, Hapgood, you'd have had this one," explained Lieutenant Pratt apologetically. "It was the last one in the box."
"I don't see that I smoke, then, as there's no waiter in the room," sighed Hapgood, with an air of comic discontent.
"Try Ferrers," advised Hal. "He never moves anywhere with less than a hundred cigarettes about him."
"I?" demanded Algy, wheeling, a flush mounting to his cheeks and temples. "Not guilty, I'm glad to say."
"Why, you used——" began Hal.
"All bygones," declared Algy. "I know I used to walk around looking like an empty house on fire, but Leavenworth changed that, too. The second day I was there I lighted a coffin-nail before one of the older officers. Wish you could have seen him go for me! It was all smooth as velvet, and eloquent of courtesy, but that old officer said——"
Algy halted suddenly in his speech.
"What?" chorused half a dozen others.
"I'm not going to tell you," Ferrers made answer. "There are too many smokers here, and I don't intend to make any enemies out of good fellows."
"Tell us, do," coaxed Pratt. "We don't hold you responsible, Ferrers. We'll charge the jolt up to the old officer you mentioned."