THE CONTEST IN FULL SWING.
From a Photograph.
The picture the words “smoking competition” call up to the mind’s eye of the uninitiated, of competitors sitting in a room made almost unbearable by the dense volumes of smoke they are vigorously puffing from their pipes, is as far from the reality as it is possible to imagine. When I stepped into the spick and span Café Graenenburg I was certainly under the impression that I was conversant with the science of smoking, though I must own I had up to that time been willing to accept with blind faith its dictionary definition as “a continuous drawing in and puffing out of the fumes of burning tobacco,” which is, I assume, what nine hundred and ninety-nine out of a thousand of my fellow-smokers look upon as the desideratum of their enjoyment.
“SMOKE, PLEASE!” A COMMITTEEMAN DEMANDING PROOF THAT A COMPETITOR’S PIPE IS STILL ALIGHT.
From a Photograph.
Now, however, after half the term usually allotted for mankind’s existence upon this earth had run out, the truth dawned upon me that I had hitherto been chasing shadows, and would have to learn all over again. Smoking was, I began to realize, not the simple, easy pastime I had considered it to be, but an art which one might only expect to master after careful study, silent pondering, and steady practice. In this humble frame of mind I lost no time in repairing to an expert for instruction in the management of a pipe, so that all fatal mistakes should be avoided at the outset of my second schooling; and now that I am on the high road towards experiencing hitherto dimly-conceived moments of unalloyed bliss, let me impart my experience as a valuable secret to those who lie under the same mistaken impression which I once fostered. In the words of my preceptor: “The true art of smoking consists in reducing the combustion to a minimum, and yet never allowing the pipe to go out while a particle of tobacco remains in the bowl. The object is not to smoke quickly or much—we are not locomotives bent upon producing force, but men on the quest of solace and enjoyment.”
But now let us see the outcome of his doctrine, as displayed by the members of the “Rookersclub” on the occasion of my visit to their meeting-place.
The preliminary arrangements for the battle of pipes having been completed, I was led back to the café, where the committee were busily engaged at a table putting the finishing touches to their work. Before them lay the empty pipes, all of equal length and size. Tobacco taken out of a jar was being apportioned into little heaps to be weighed on a small pair of scales. As each competitor’s share, consisting of exactly forty-five grains, left the scales to replenish the pipe awaiting it, the eyes of the judge roved anxiously from the balance to the hands of the colleague to whom the filling of the bowls had been entrusted. Unerring fairness characterized the operations of the committee. Around another table the competitors were seated indulging in “bocks” while waiting to take part in the struggle for supremacy in serious smoking.
At last a general wave of excitement showed that the proceedings were about to begin. The pipes were placed in the hands of their claimants, the matches put within easy reach, and the president, in his capacity of judge, called for attention.