"No, no, you mustn't think that," I protested. "Probably things are dearer in Portugal." I put it down by my plate for a moment's rest. "All I've got against it at present is that its pores don't act as freely as they should."
"I've got a cigar–cutter somewhere, if―"
"No, don't bother, I think I can do it with the nut–crackers. There's no doubt it was a good cigar once, but it hasn't wintered well."
I squeezed it as hard as I could, lit it again, pressed my feet against the table and pulled.
"Now it's going," said Charles.
"I'm afraid it keeps very reticent at my end. The follow–through is poor. Is your end alight still?"
"Burning beautifully."
"It's a pity that I should be missing all that. How would it be if we were to make a knitting–needle red–hot and bore a tunnel from this end? We might establish a draught that way. Only there's always the danger, of course, of coming out at the side."
I took the cigar up and put it to my ear.
"I can't hear anything wrong," I said. "I expect what it really wants is massage."
Charles filled his pipe again and got up. "Let's go for a stroll," he said. "It's a beautiful night. Bring your cigar with you."
"It may prefer the open air," I said. "There's always that. You know we mustn't lose sight of the fact that the Portuguese climate is different from ours. The thing's pores may have acted more readily in the South. On the other hand, the unfastened end may have been more adhesive. I gather that though you have never actually met anybody who has smoked a cigar like this, yet you understand that the experiment is a practicable one. As far as you know this had no brothers. No, no, Charles, I'm going on with it, but I should like to know all that you can tell me of its parentage. It had a Portuguese father and an American mother, I should say, and there has been a good deal of trouble in the family. One moment"—and as we went outside I stopped and cracked it in the door.
It was an inspiration. At the very next application of the match I found that I had established a connection with the lighted end. Not a long and steady connection, but one that came in gusts. After two gusts I decided that it was perhaps safer to blow from my end, and for a little while we had in this way as much smoke around us as the most fastidious cigar–smoker could want. Then I accidentally dropped it; something in the middle of it shifted, I suppose—and for the rest of my stay behind it only one end was at work.
"Well," said Charles, when we were back in the smoking–room and I was giving the cigar a short breather, "it's not a bad one, is it?"
"I have enjoyed it," I said truthfully, for I like trying to get the mastery over a thing that defies me.
"You'll never guess what it cost," he chuckled.
"Tell me," I said. "I daren't guess."
"Well, in English money it works out at exactly three farthings."
I looked at him for a long time and then shook my head sadly.
"Charles, old friend," I said, "you've been done."
XIV
A Cold World
Herbert is a man who knows all about railway tickets, and packing, and being in time for trains, and things like that. But I fancy I have taught him a lesson at last. He won't talk quite so much about tickets in future.
I was just thinking about getting up when he came into my room. He looked at me in horror.
"My dear fellow!" he said. "And you haven't even packed! You'll be late. Here, get up, and I'll pack for you while you dress."
"Do," I said briefly.
"First of all, what clothes are you going to travel in?"
There was no help for it. I sat up in bed and directed operations.
"Right," said Herbert. "Now what about your return ticket? You mustn't forget that."
"You remind me of a little story," I said. "I'll tell it you while you pack—that will be nice for you. Once upon a time I lost my return ticket, and I had to pay two pounds for another. And a month afterwards I met a man—a man like you who knows all about tickets—and he said, 'You could have got the money back if you had applied at once.' So I said, 'Give me a cigarette now, and I'll transfer all my rights in the business to you.' And he gave me a cigarette; but unfortunately―"
"It was too late?"
"No. Unfortunately it wasn't. He got the two pounds. The most expensive cigarette I've ever smoked."
"Well, that just shows you," said Herbert. "Here's your ticket. Put it in your waistcoat pocket now."
"But I haven't got a waistcoat on, silly."
"Which one are you going to put on?"
"I don't know yet. This is a matter which requires thought. Give me time, give me air."
"Well, I shall put the ticket here on the dressing–table, and then you can't miss it." He looked at his watch. "And the trap starts in half an hour."
"Help!" I cried, and I leapt out of bed.
Half an hour later I was saying good–bye to Herbert.
"I've had an awfully jolly time," I said, "and I'll come again."
"You've got the ticket all right?"
"Rather!" and I drove away amidst cheers. Cheers of sorrow.
It was half–an–hour's drive to the station. For the first five minutes I thought how sickening it was to be leaving the country; then I had a slight shock; and for the next twenty–five minutes I tried to remember how much a third single to the nearest part of London cost. Because I had left my ticket on the dressing–table after all.
I gave my luggage to a porter and went off to the station–master.
"I wonder if you can help me," I said. "I've left my ticket on the dress― Well, we needn't worry about that, I've left it at home."
He didn't seem intensely excited.
"What did you think of doing?" he asked.
"I had rather hoped that you would do something."
"You can buy another ticket, and get the money back afterwards."
"Yes, yes; but can I? I've only got about one pound six."
"The fare to London is one pound five and tenpence ha'penny."
"Ah; well, that leaves a penny ha'penny to be divided between the porter this end, lunch, tea, the porter the other end, and the cab. I don't believe it's enough. Even if I gave it all to the porter here, think how reproachfully he would look at you ever afterwards. It would haunt you."
The station–master was evidently moved. He thought for a moment, and then asked if I knew anybody who would vouch for me. I mentioned Herbert confidently. He had never even heard of Herbert.
"I've got a tie–pin," I said (station–masters have a weakness for tie–pins), "and a watch and a cigarette case. I shall be happy to lend you any of those."
The idea didn't appeal to him.
"The best thing you can do," he said, "is to take a ticket to the next station and talk to them there. This is only a branch line, and I have no power to give you a pass."
So that was what I had to do. I began to see myself taking a ticket at every stop and appealing to the station–master at the next. Well, the money would last longer that way, but unless I could overcome quickly the distrust which I seemed to inspire in station–masters there would not be much left for lunch. I gave the porter all I could afford—a ha'penny, mentioned apologetically that I was coming back, and stepped into the train.
At the junction I jumped out quickly and dived into the sacred office.
"I've left my ticket on the dressing—that is to say, I forgot― Well, anyhow, I haven't got it," I began, and we plunged into explanations once more. This station–master was even more unemotional than the last. He asked me if I knew anybody who could vouch for me. I mentioned Herbert diffidently. He had never even heard of Herbert. I showed him my gold watch, my silver cigarette case, and my emerald and diamond tie–pin—that was the sort of man I was.