The ladies, who had watched the process, seemed highly amused, particularly the younger, who laughed outright.
“Permit me, Señor Coronel,” said the Dona Joaquina, taking the cigarrito from the major’s hand, and giving it a turn through her nimble fingers, which brought it all right again.
“Thus—now—hold your fingers thus. Do not press it: suave, suave. This end to the light—so—very well!”
The major lit the cigar, and, putting it between his great thick lips, began to puff in a most energetic style.
He had not cast off half a dozen whiffs when the fire, reaching his fingers, burned them severely, causing him to remove them suddenly from the cigar. The wrapper then burst open; and the loose pulverised tobacco by a sudden inhalation rushed into his mouth and down his throat, causing him to cough and splutter in the most ludicrous manner.
This was too much for the ladies, who, encouraged by the cachinnations of Clayley, laughed outright; while the major, with tears in his eyes, could be heard interlarding his coughing solo with all kinds of oaths and expressions.
The scene ended by one of the young ladies offering the major a glass of water, which he drank off, effectually clearing the avenue of his throat.
“Will you try another, Señor Coronel?” asked Dona Joaquina, with a smile.
“No, ma’am, thank you,” replied the major, and then a sort of internal subterraneous curse could be heard in his throat.
The conversation continued in English, and we were highly amused at the attempts of our new acquaintances to express themselves in that language.