"I'm afraid I can't have that."
"Well, if you don't like it you can lump it." But just the same I kept a sharp eye on him.
"Well, you're the host up here," he answered calmly. "I suppose I must consider that." Then what did he do but take out that reeking briar pipe of his, ram it full of nasty strong tobacco and begin to smoke! "One thing at a time, eh? We'll have a quiet smoke first and lessons afterwards. Tell me what you've been doing."
"None of your darned business," I said warmly.
"I suppose it isn't." He took up a book, one of Marryat's, crossed his legs and began to read. Gee! how that old pipe smelled! I laid on the bed and watched him blowing big gray clouds out under the corner of his mustache. When I'd smoked three cigarettes he looked over at me.
"Ready?" he asked.
"No, I'm not ready."
"Let me know when you are," he said. Then he filled the pipe again and went on reading. After a bit I crawled off the bed. My head felt funny, and I was almost choking with the smoke. He laid down the book and looked up at me.
"Shall we begin?" he asked.
"I don't care what you do," I growled. "I'm going outdoors."