The old man regarded him with unfeigned astonishment, a grim smile lurking at the corners of his well-hidden mouth.
“If you were my boy,” he said shortly, as he put his forefinger and thumb into his waistcoat pocket and extracted a time-stained lucifer, “do you know what I’d do to you?”
“Stop me smoking?” hazarded Henry cheerfully.
“I would that,” said the other, turning to go.
“How old were you when you started smoking?” asked the boy.
“About your age, I expect,” said the old man slowly; “but I was a much bigger chap than you are. A stunted little chap like you ought not to smoke.”
Henry smiled wanly, and began to think that the five pounds would be well earned.
“Will you have a pipe?” he said, proffering a gaudy pouch.
“Confound you!” said the old man, flashing into sudden weak anger. “When I want your tobacco I’ll ask you for it.”
“No offence,” said the boy hastily, “no offence. It’s some I bought cheap, and our chaps said I’d been ’ad. I only wanted to see what you thought of it.”