AMONG the very few fashionable foibles to which Mr. Wiggins was addicted, was the smoking of cigars. Attracted by the appearance of a small box marked 'Marylands—one penny each,' very much resembling lettuce-leaves with the yellow jaundice, he walked into the chandler's shop where they were displayed.
"Let us look at them cigars," said he, and then, for the first time, glancing at the smart, good-looking mistress of the emporium, he added, "if you please, ma'am—"
"Certain'y, sir."
A pretty little fist that, howsomever! thought Wiggins, as she placed the box before him.
"Vill you have a light?"
"Thank'ye, ma'am," said he, ramming the cigar into his mouth, as if he really intended to bolt it.
She twisted a slip of waste, and lighting it, presented it to her admiring customer, for it was evident, from the rapt manner in which he scanned her, that he was deeply smitten by her personal appearance.
She colored, coughed delicately, as the smoke tickled the tonsils of her throat, and looked full at the youth. Such a look! as Wiggins asserted. "I'm afeared as the smoke is disagreeable," said he.