This had not been Frank's idea, but he hardly hesitated.
"All right," he said. "Here's fourpence."
The Major vanished through the swing-doors as a miner came out, and a gush of sweet and sickly scent—beer, spirits, tobacco—poured upon the fresh air. And there was a vision of a sawdusted floor and spittoons within.
Frank looked at Gertie, who had stopped like a patient donkey, and, like a prudent one, had let her bundle instantly down beside the Major's.
"Like one, too?" he said.
She shook her head.
"Not for me." ... And no more.
In a couple of minutes the Major was out again.
"Only had one packet left," he said, and with an air of extreme punctiliousness and magnanimity replaced one penny in Frank's hand. He had the air of one who is insistent on the little honesties of life. There was also a faintly spirituous atmosphere about him, and his eyes looked a little less sunken.
Then he handed over the cigarettes.