"Well," smiled Celia, "he does say that——"
I get all my best news from Celia nowadays. When I meet you in the City and mention that I know for a fact that the Kaiser is in hiding at Liverpool, you may be sure that Celia saw Vera yesterday morning, and that Vera's uncle is somebody important on the Liverpool Defence Committee.
Twice a week Celia ties up parcels for the Fleet. Ordinary people provide the blankets, sea-boots, chocolate, periscopes and so forth; Celia looks after the brown paper and string, which always seems to me the most tricky part. There are a dozen of them, all working together; and you can imagine (or, anyhow, I can) Vera or Kitty or Isobel, her mouth full of knot, gossiping away about her highly-placed relations, while Beryl or Evelyn or Lorna looks up from the parcel she is kneeling on and interrupts, "Well, my brother heard——I say, where did you put my scissors?"
"Well," smiled Celia, "Lorna's brother in the War Office says the war will be over by Christmas."
"Hooray," I said; and I went out and looked at my cigar.
This cigar arrived at my house in a case of samples last July. The samples went up from right to left in order of importance, each in his own little bed—until you got to Torpedo Jimmy at the end, who had a double bed to himself. Starting with Cabajo fino in the right-hand corner, the prices ranged from about nine a penny to five pounds apiece, the latter being the approximate charge for T. James or any of his brethren.
Celia was looking over my shoulder when I opened the case, and she surveyed my brown friends with interest.
"When are you going to smoke that one?" she asked, touching Torpedo Jimmy's cummerbund with the tip of her finger.
"On your birthday," I said.
"Bother, then I shan't see much of you. Couldn't you smoke it on two ordinary days instead?"