‘At the —— Police Court, J—— B—— of Verandah House, Crouch Hill, was summoned by the Great Northern Railway Company for smoking in a carriage not a smoking carriage, to the annoyance of other passengers. The guard having proved identity, and the accused’s card, given up by himself, being put in as corroborative evidence, the magistrate asked the defendant if he had anything to say in reply. An attempt was made to prove that the accused was really the complainant, and that he had given the card produced to the real offender; which the magistrate characterised as an impudently lame defence, and fined the defendant in the full penalty of forty shillings.’
‘My dear,’ says my wife.
‘Well, my dear?’ I respond.
‘Verandah House is that pretty place that has just been finished a little farther up the hill. Don’t you think that you behaved in rather an unneighbourly manner?’
‘Did our neighbour behave any better?’
‘At all events he has suffered unjustly. This cannot be allowed to pass. Don’t you think you had better call and apologise?’
‘Well, I’ll think about it.’
On my way home from the station that evening I rang the visitor’s bell at Verandah House, and was in due course ushered into the presence of the eccentric proprietor. Our recognition was mutual; and as my neighbour approached me, I prepared to put myself in a defensive attitude. His hand, however, was not extended to commit an assault, and before I could stammer out the elaborate apology I had prepared, I was forestalled by a hearty shake of the hand and an apology from the quondam fire-eater!
Under such circumstances it may easily be guessed that a satisfactory understanding was soon arrived at, and an exchange of invitations to spend the remainder of the evening in each other’s society ended in my returning home with my neighbour as my guest. I am very partial to an after-dinner cigar. Having already committed myself, however, I determined to practise a little self-denial; but what was my surprise, when I had carried off my neighbour to my study to shew him a few rare volumes of which I am almost as proud as I am of my children, to see my friend produce a cigar-case, and not only offer me the means of indulging my favourite weakness, but himself preparing to join in it.
‘You may well look surprised,’ said he; ‘but in truth I am an inveterate smoker. I passed many years of my life in Havana, and these cigars—which I venture to say you will find remarkably good—are of my own importing.’