“Oh, dry up, Mart,” laughed Brad. “Rowland will believe you. He’s looking shocked.”
“Not he! You can’t shock him. I tried it. I say, Rowland, how’s the funny window seat?”
“It isn’t so funny now. I put the desk against one end of it and it looks quite fine.”
“You spoiled the effect. I’m sorry. What’s this fellow like, your roommate? The one who contaminates the air with cigarette smoke?”
“Nead? Oh, he’s all right. He doesn’t do it any more.”
“Really? What did you say to him?”
“I just—just told him he mustn’t. He was very decent about it.”
“I’ll bet he was!” laughed Mart. “I can see you.” He jumped up, folded his arms across his chest and bent a stern look on Ira. “‘Smead, this must cease. I cannot have the pure atmosphere of this apartment polluted with your vile cigarettes. Do you realise that it is a dirty and unhealthful habit? Let me beg of you to have done with it. Think of your future, Smead, of your unsuspecting family at home, of your own welfare, and pause on the brink of destruction. And I may add, Smead, that if you don’t pause, I’ll knock your block off!’ Wasn’t that about it, Rowland?”
“Not quite,” laughed Ira. “I didn’t have to offer to fight him, because he was very nice about it.”
“Irrefutably! But if he hadn’t been I can guess what would have happened to Smead,” chuckled Mart.