An hour and five minutes had passed when the secretary and three other members were found to be the sole survivors. Then the unexpected happened. The secretary was seen to be in distress. His efforts to entertain a guest of the club—I had been given the honour of sitting beside him—had diverted his attention from his difficult task; and once more the bell made itself heard as he laid down his pipe, unable to respond to the judge’s request of “Smoke, please.”
One hour and ten minutes had run their course, and only two men were competing. The excitement became intense as the members gathered round the two valiant champions to get a close view and offer encouragement to the one or the other. To outward appearance both were calm and confident. They allowed the tiniest cloud of smoke to escape at intervals from their pipes, and it looked as if these motionless and imperturbable men might survive long enough to eclipse the famous club-record achieved by a champion who succeeded in making sixty grains of tobacco last as long as one hundred and twenty minutes.
A SUCCESSFUL COMPETITOR RECEIVING A MONEY PRIZE.
From a Photograph.
But suddenly one of the rivals became agitated. He was beginning to realize that the end of his resources was last approaching, for the spark in his pipe became more and more difficult to keep alive. Anxiously he blew into the stem, but only with the wasteful result of dispersing a tiny particle of fire, the last that remained, as it proved, for the pipe was empty. Sadly he laid down his clay, leaving the victory to his opponent. The latter smoked on with an unmoved countenance, allowing not the smallest sign of elation to escape him, as he continued to foster, by an almost imperceptible inhalation, the tiny spark in the clay bowl which had now become the sole object of attention in the crowded room. A hasty movement on the part of the victor as if to settle himself more comfortably in his chair to prepare for a long-dreamt-of record, a slightly more animated whiff to counteract the effect of this incautious action, and the mischief was done—the smoker drew an extinguished pipe from his mouth. He had won, sure enough, but only by twelve short seconds. “One hour twenty-one minutes and thirty-three seconds,” announced the judge. “And to think that I might have held on another half-hour with a little more care!” sighed the disappointed winner.
Then followed the ceremony of presenting the prizes, the successful candidates being allowed to make their choice of rewards in the order in which they were placed. A bread-basket, a pocket-knife, a flower-vase, and other useful and ornamental souvenirs were handed over to the fortunate ones, after which victors and vanquished assembled once more around the long table to enjoy a pipe in the ordinary way, without restraint or restriction.
Nowhere in Belgium are competitions of the kind I have described conducted in a more correct and business-like manner than in Bruges; in fact, the “Brugsche Rookersclub” can be considered in every respect as authoritative and exemplary in matters pertaining to the world of “pipenrookers,” as the smoker of the pipe is called in Flanders. It is among the quaint Flemish people that smoking clubs and smoking competitions enjoy more widespread popularity than in any other part of King Leopold’s little dominion, and nearly every village, no matter how small, can boast of a “Rookersmaatschappij,” which almost unpronounceable word is the equivalent for what we term “smokers’ club.” In the country districts it is the custom to compete for money prizes, and to decorate the winner with some floral adornment, which is pinned on his breast as a visible proof of the honour he has achieved. Many of the estaminets, which thrive in countless numbers in thirsty Flanders, endeavour to stimulate the desire of customers for refreshment by organizing a “Prijskamp in Het Rooken,” and offering prizes to those who best understand the art of making a little tobacco go a very long way.
THE JUDGE DISTRIBUTING ARTIFICIAL FLORAL FAVOURS AMONG THE PRIZE-WINNERS.