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Satisfied at last, Froissart broke away from the table, lit a cigarette, and sat himself down beside Dawson before the fire. It was well past midnight, but to these men regular habits were unknown, and the hours of work and of sleep always indeterminate.
For still greater safety, leaving the wheel by the roadside, he climbed through a fence into what he decided was a hillside pasture, spread a newspaper on the ground, and sat down. "Gosh!" he said aloud, mopping the sweat and fog from his face. And "Gosh!" he said once again, while rolling a cigarette and as he pondered the problem of getting back. But he made no attempt to go back.
"When you come to reflect that there are only a few planks between you and the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, it makes you feel sort of pensive." "I beg your pardon?" The stranger, smoking his cigarette in the lee of the deck-cabins, turned his head sharply in the direction of the voice. He encountered the wide, unembarrassed gaze of a girl's grey eyes. She had evidently just come up on deck.
But although he was going to look for Robinette and Mark, he was rather angry with both of them, and in no hurry. He rested on his oars indifferently and let the tide carry him up as it liked, while, with infinite zest, he unearthed a cigarette case from the recesses of his person, lit a cigarette, and smoked it coolly.
He turned, went into the smoking-room, and shut the door. He sat quietly down in an easy chair, lighted a cigarette, and took up a paper. He heard the noise of the traffic in the street grow louder as the front door was opened. There was a pause; then he heard the door bang. There was the sound of a hasty footstep on the stairs; the door flew open, and Guerchard bounced into the room.
After this he took a black seaman, who was making some noise as he swept the poop, by the arm and firmly led him to the other side of the deck. Then he drained the glasses with a sigh of satisfaction, and lighting a cigarette, sat down near Dick's feet. He did not mean to sleep, but when he got up with a jerk as the lunch bell rang he saw Dick smiling.
And if it was a case of Miss Gillian Forbes retired with an armful of ulster and rugs into the cloakroom to hide a sympathetic grin. Craven crossed the hall and went into the study. He looked without interest through an accumulation of letters lying on the writing table, then threw them down indifferently. Walking to the fireplace he lit a cigarette and stood staring at the cheerful blaze.
The hero of the night before could not hope to pass unnoted. He stepped into the street. It was a moonlit night. I remember that distinctly. He lighted his cigarette, and held his case toward me. I shook my head. I had no desire to smoke. We walked a few steps together in silence before he said: "I am trying to frame a most unusual request so that it may not seem too fantastic to you.
I said, and putting on a cigarette, I trudged off with my apparatus across the open, making a bee-line midway between Montaubon and Bernafay Wood. I gave both places a wide berth, thereby steering clear of possible Bosche shells. How hot it was. Perspiration was literally pouring from me. I kept on over the ground captured from the Germans. The smell in places was almost unbearable.
"What is your wish?" "Ask another." "Fleur," said Mont, and his voice sounded strange, "don't mock me! Even vivisected dogs are worth decent treatment before they're cut up for good." Fleur shook her head; but her lips were trembling. "Well, you shouldn't make me jump. Give me a cigarette." Mont gave her one, lighted it, and another for himself.
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