“Mind if I do?”
“Not a bit.” Tidball stuffed the bowl with tobacco and was soon sending long clouds of rankly smelling smoke into the air.
“Don’t begin,” he advised. “It’s a mean habit; wastes time and money and doesn’t do you any good after all. Wish I didn’t.”
“But couldn’t you break yourself of it?” asked Jack.
Tidball chuckled again and blew a great mouthful of gray smoke toward the gaslight.
“Don’t want to,” he answered.
“Oh!” said Jack, puzzled.
“Going to take your trunk?” asked the other, waving his pipe toward it.
“No, just a bag. I’ll send for the trunk later.” Then, as he realized his mistake, the blood rushed into his cheeks. He looked up at Tidball and found that person eying him quizzically. “I—I mean—that——”
“No harm done,” interrupted the visitor. “Thought when I came in you meant to cut and run. Why?”