Nick noticed that he never removed a cigarette from his mouth, after once lighting it, until it was smoked almost to the gold tip.
When the ashes accumulated, he gave his head a shake and they fell into the ore he was crushing.
“You’ll smoke yourself to death, Gillman,” said Cupell.
“I expect so,” was the lugubrious answer. “I’ve formed the habit, though, and I can’t break myself.”
“I haven’t any patience with a cigarette smoker,” said one of the Boston men, with a shudder.
“Give me a cigar, every time,” said the other Boston man.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Nick; “I enjoy a cigarette now and then myself. If Gillman would oblige me with one, I believe I’d keep him company.”
“Certainly,” answered Gillman, readily enough.
Taking the cigarette box from his pocket, he handed it to Nick.
Nick took one of the “paper pipes,” lighted it, and returned the box.