And to be sure he was not slack in giving me at least a quarter of an ounce.
“Capital stuff,” said I, as I blew away; “where do you get it?”
“Special shops,” said he; “I won’t have your small green-shop article.”
I admit to have been a little cruel in this case, for I felt an inclination to play with my old friend, and straightway gave him the end of the thread he had drawn in the Meadows. By and by he got on in the old strain in praise of the object of his passion.
“It makes me comfortable,” and so forth, reverting again to the rhyme, to the half of which he again demurred, and which I really rejoiced to hear, nor can help repeating—
“Tobacco and tobacco reek,
It maks me weel when I’m sick;
Tobacco and tobacco reek,
When I’m weel it maks me sick.”
Restraining my laughter, and recurring again to the subject of the shop where such excellent stuff was to be got,
“In Edinburgh?” said I.
“No,” said he, grandly, “there’s no such thing in Edinburgh. It’s made by a special manufacturer, who uses the best young leaf from Virginia, and who wouldn’t put a piece of common continental stuff in—no an’ it were to make his fortune. Ah, he likes a good smoke himself, and that’s the reason, as I take it.”
“It’s so wonderfully good stuff,” said I, preparing for my last whiff, “that if I knew where to send for half a pound, I would be at the expense of the carriage. I see no reason why you should keep it a secret; such a manufacturer deserves encouragement. Come, is it at Leith, where so much of the real thing is smuggled?”