“A forced contribution, then,” thought the Irishman, the remark having made a strange, and by no means pleasant impression upon him.
The Texan had not yet touched the cigars, and when with a gesture the invitation was extended to him, he hung back, muttering to Kearney—
“Tell him, Cap, I’d purfar a pipe ef he ked accomerdate me wi’ thet ’ere article.”
“What says the Señor Cristoforo?” asked the Abbot.
“He’d prefer smoking a pipe, if you don’t object, and there be such a thing convenient.”
“Oh! un pipa. I shall see. Gregorio!”
He called after the mayor-domo, who was returning toward the house.
“Never mind, reverend Father,” protested Kearney; “content yourself with a cigar, Cris, and don’t give trouble.”
“I’m sorry I spoke o’ it,” said the Texan. “I oughter be only too gled to git a seegar, an’ it may be he wudn’t mind my chawin’, stead o’ smokin’ it! My stammuck feels starved for a bit o’ bacca. What wouldn’t I gie jest now for a plug o’ Jeemes’s River!”
“There, take one of the cigars and eat it if you like; I’m sure he’ll have no objection.”