At length they rose from the table.
"This is a beastly hole—St. Victor, I mean," said Bowman, as he led the way to the reading-room, "but the eating is fair. An Englishman keeps the inn, and though he has no French kickshaws on his table, he gives you solid food and enough of it. Do you smoke? I believe I have a cigar somewhere, but I smoke a pipe myself."
"Thank you," answered Fred, "but I don't smoke. I used to smoke cigarettes, but a young man—an acquaintance of mine—died of cigarette-smoking, so the doctor said, and I gave it up."
"Smoking never hurt me that I know of," said Bowman. "Even if it did, what's a man to do in this dull hole? Shall you stay here long?"
"I don't know how long. It's a cheap place to stay in, isn't it?"
"Yes, it has that recommendation."
"Then I may stay a week possibly," said Fred in an off-hand way.
"I've been here six weeks," said Bowman.
"Then you have had a chance to get well acquainted with St. Victor."
"A good deal better than I want to be. I was just getting ready to leave, when my partner had a sharp attack of rheumatism."