"I suppose you like my cigars, and my brandy and my linen?"
The ghost of .a grin touched the man's features.
"Yes, sir," he said with an impudence that captivated Philip.
"All right, my friend; I can stand it as long as you can. . . . And kindly feel in my overcoat for a cigar wrapped in paper. I'll go forward and smoke for a while."
"Sir?"
"The cigar—I put it in my overcoat pocket wrapped in a bit of paper. . . . You—you don't mean to tell me that it's not there!"
Burgess searched the pockets with a perfectly grave face.
"It ain't here; no, sir."
Philip flung himself into the corner of his seat, making no effort to control his laughter:
"Burgess," he managed to say, "the dear old days are returning already. I'll stay here and read; you go forward and smoke that cigar. Do you hear?"