“No,” replied the other, a little disgusted by this levity in the presence of imminent death.
Perkins bade the driver stop at the corner.
“Don’t let him fall off the seat,” he admonished Carroll, and jumped out.
In the course of a minute he reappeared, smoking a cheroot that appeared to be writhing and twisting in the effort to escape from its own noxious fumes.
“Have one,” he said, extending a handful to his companion.
“I don’t care for it,” returned the other superciliously. While willing to aid in a good work, he did not in the least approve either of the Unspeakable Perk or of his offhand manners.
Before they had gone much farther, his resentment was heated to the point of offense.
“Is it necessary for you to puff every puff of that infernal smoke in my face?” he demanded ominously.
“Well, you wouldn’t smoke, yourself.”
“If it weren’t for this poor devil of a sick man—” began Carroll, when a second thought about the smoke diverted his line of thought. “Is it contagious?” he asked.