Ira, glancing at Bradford to include him in the conversation, saw a flicker of amusement cross that youth’s face.
“I’d like to tell you why,” he went on. “It—it makes me out rather a chump, I guess, but—well, anyway, it was like this.” And Ira told about finding Mart’s note and the odour of cigarettes at the same time and of connecting both with Mart. “Of course,” he concluded, “any fellow has a right to smoke, but I don’t believe in it, and I sort of thought that if—you were that kind—I mean——”
“Got you!” exclaimed Mart. “Say no more, Rowland! All is understood and all is forgiven! Brad, we’re going to like this frank and unspotted child of nature, aren’t we?”
Brad laughed softly. “I certainly admire Rowland’s decision,” he replied. “And his courage in explaining. It’s always so much easier not to explain, Rowland.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t done it very well,” said Ira doubtfully.
“You have, old man!” declared Mart. “Beautifully! And you have covered me with confusion and filled me with remorse. Brad,” he added gravely, “from this time forth tempt me not. I’m through with the filthy weed. I shall empty my cigarette case into the fire. And if you take my advice you’ll do the same.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Ira. “I didn’t know—I’m awfully sorry——”
But Mart waved again grandly. “Not a word, Rowland! We quite understand. You have convinced me of the error of my way. And I sincerely hope and pray that Brad, too, will see the light.”
But Brad was smiling broadly and Ira concluded relievedly that Mart was only joking. “I might have put my foot into it horribly,” he said, with a sigh of relief.
“Well, you didn’t, so don’t worry,” replied Mart. “We don’t smoke much here. Of course, Brad’s a senior and enjoys his pipe after dinner—you doubtless noticed the odour—and I sometimes puff a cigar in the evening. I find it soothes me and aids digestion. I smoke two on Fridays, on account of having fish for dinner. I never could digest fish very well.”