The second pipe “drew” well. Probably it was this that induced him to give utterance to the expression—
“I wonder how long this sort of thing will last?”
“Just as long as you’ve a mind to let it, and no longer,” answered a man clad in the garb of a trapper, whose mocassin foot had given no indication of his approach until he was within a couple of paces of the door.
“Is that you, Joe?” said Jack, looking up, and pointing to a log which served as a seat on the other side of the doorway.
“It’s all that’s of me,” replied Joe.
“Sit down and fill your pipe out of my pouch, Joe. It’s good ’baccy, you’ll find. Any news? I suppose not. There never is; and if there was, what would be the odds to me?”
“In the blues?” remarked the hunter, regarding Jack with a peculiar smile through his first puff of smoke.
“Rather!” said Jack.
“Grog?” inquired Joe.
“Haven’t tasted a drop for months,” replied Jack.