“From your pipe, or——”
“No, sir, a cigarette,” Toulon quickly put in.
“Ah, I see,” Nick bowed, glancing at the waiter’s hands. “I don’t know that you are to be blamed. I know what it means, Toulon, to hanker for a smoke. Are you in the habit of smoking cigarettes?”
“I am, sir.”
“What kind do you use?”
Toulon hesitated for the hundredth part of a second. He then said quickly:
“Any old kind, sir. I’m not particular.”
“I prefer the Egyptian,” Nick remarked agreeably. “They have rather more flavor. I wouldn’t mind having one, too, or any old kind, as far as that goes—if you have yours in your pocket, Toulon.”
A tinge of red appeared in Toulon’s cheeks, while his brows knit perceptibly.
“I haven’t, sir,” he replied, in some confusion. “I lit the last one I had and threw away the box. Mebbe one of the other waiters has some. I’ll ask them, sir, and——”