“I wish you’d spend sixpence on a new pipe,” I said, coughing.
“This one cost fourpence halfpenny in Fleet Street nearly two years ago,” he answered, without removing it from his lips. “Don’t you like it?”
“My dear fellow, it’s awful.”
“Ah! So they said at the office the other day. Don’t notice it myself.”
“But others do. I’ll make you a present of a new one to-morrow.”
“Don’t want it, old chap. Have a drink yourself with the money. This one’s quite good enough for me. Besides, it’ll keep the moths out of our drawing-room furniture,” and he gazed around the shabby apartment, where, from the leather-covered chairs, the mysterious stuffing was in many places peeping forth upon the world.
We smoked on. Although I had been considerably annoyed by what he had told me regarding Lily, his imperturbable good humour caused me to laugh outright, whereat he observed—
“You’re really a very funny beggar, Frank. I like you exceedingly, except when you try and dwell upon themes you don’t understand. Those who do that are apt to wallow out of their depth. You don’t know my reasons for throwing Lil over; therefore it’s impossible for you to regale me with any good advice. You understand?”
“But what are your reasons?” I inquired.
“You shall know them before long,” he assured me. “At present I don’t intend to say anything.”