Mr. Wicks tried again; "Well, go somewhere."
"Where?" asked Dick. "There is only one place open to me—the saloon—I haven't money enough for that, and if I had, I wouldn't spend it there now. I might go to some respectable gambling den, I suppose, but there's the money question again, and my foolish pride, so I play solitaire. I know I am in good company at least, if the sport isn't quite so exciting."
Uncle Bobbie was silent. The rain swished against the windows and roared on the tin roof of the building; the last car of the evening, with one lone passenger, scurried along Broadway, its lights brightly reflected on the wet pavement; a cab rumbled toward the hotel, the sound of the horses' feet dull and muffled in the mist; and a solitary policeman, wrapped in his rubber coat, made his way along the almost deserted street. As Uncle Bobbie stood listening to the lonely sounds and looking at the young man, with his corn-cob pipe and pack of dirty cards, he thought of his own cheery fireside and of his waiting wife. "To-be-sure," he said at last, carefully placing his umbrella in a corner near the door, and as carefully removing his coat and hat; "To-be-sure, I quit smokin' sometime ago—'bout a month, I reckon—used to smoke pretty nigh all the time, but wife she wanted me to quit—I don't know as there is any use in it." A long pause followed, as he drew a chair to the stove and seated himself. "To-be-sure, I don't know as there's any great harm in it either." There was another pause, while Dick also placed his chair near the stove—"and I git so plaguey fat every time I quit."
Dick tilted back and lazily blew a soft cloud into the air. Uncle Bobbie arose and placed the coal bucket between them. "Told mother last night I was gettin' too fat again—but it made me sick last time I tried it—I wonder if it would make me sick now."—A longer pause than usual followed—then: "It's really dangerous for me to get so fat, and smokin' 's the only thing that keeps it down. D'ye reckon it would make me sick again?" He drew a cigar from his pocket, almost as big as a cannon fire-cracker and fully as dangerous. "I got this t'day. Looks like a pretty good one. It didn't use to make me sick 'fore I quit the last time." Dick handed him a match and two minutes later the big cigar was burning as freely as its nature would permit.
"What an awful wasteful habit it is to-be-sure, ain't it?" went on the old gentleman between vigorous puffs. "Just think, there's school books, and Bibles and baby clothes and medicine for the sick, and food for the hungry, and houses and stores, and farms, and cattle, all a' goin' up in that smoke;" he pointed with his cigar to the blue cloud that hung between them. "If I had half the money church members burn, I could take care of every old worn-out preacher in the world, and have a good bit left over for the poor children. I wisht I was as young as you be; I'd quit it fer good; but it sure does take a hold on an old feller like me."
Dick's face grew thoughtful. "I never looked at it in that way before," he said, as he took his pipe from his mouth; "It's a big comfort to a chap who is all alone, though I suppose it does get a strong hold on a man who has used it most of his life; and a fellow could do a lot of good with the money it costs him." He arose to his feet and went to the window, where he stood for a moment looking out into the rain. Presently he came back to his chair again; "Look out," cried Uncle Bobbie, as Dick took his seat, "You've dropped your pipe into the coal bucket."
"Oh, that's all right; its worn-out anyway, and I have another."
But he smoked no more that evening.
"Where are you from?" asked Wicks abruptly.
"Everywhere," answered Dick, shortly, for he did not relish the thought of being questioned about his past.
"Where you goin'?" came next from his companion.