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"And there," said Mark softly, "it was someone lighting a cigar." "Yes; I can smell it. But hist!" "It was my father," said Mark excitedly. "I know what he's doing: smoking at the cabin-window." "May be," whispered back the mate cautiously. "Here, pull that starboard oar, Small."
At the next turn he mounted by a winding stair to the platform behind the battlements, whence he could look down on the inner court, where horses were being groomed, dogs fed, harnesses mended, and platters of smoking food carried from the kitchen to the pantry; or, leaning another way, discovered, between the cliff and the rampart a tiny walled garden with fruit-trees and a sundial.
He moved backwards a space from the fire and took off his boots. He could see the woman stretching sacks and clothes inside the cart, and the two men smoking quietly and handing the big bottle from one to the other. Then in his stockinged feet he stepped a little farther from the fire, and, after another look, he turned and walked quietly away into the blackness.
Emerson's smoking amused him, as a Jovian self-indulgence divinely out of character with so supreme a god, and he shamelessly burlesqued it, telling how Emerson at Concord had proposed having a "wet night" with him over a glass of sherry, and had urged the scant wine upon his young friend with a hospitable gesture of his cigar.
A smaller fire was smouldering near the entrance to the courtyard, and beside it lay cooking-pots and the long, square baskets in which food had been carried. Several of the retainers were still devouring the last fragments of their portion, and the rest were placidly smoking as they moved to and fro.
"The electric lights are turned off in the staterooms, anyway," he said. "Yes, but that bunch is always smoking them engineers," said the deck steward, "and a chap would naturally stick his head out of the port so as not to get the room full of smoke. All he'd have to do is drop his smoke in the ocean if anyone happened along. It's been done more'n once."
He said I'd have to fight him. But you're wrong when you believe what Carlson says about that woman; she isn't crazy, and never was." That seemed to be all the story, from the way he hastened it, and turned away from the vital point of interest. Joan touched his arm as he sat smoking, his speculative gaze on the sheep, his brows drawn as if in troubled thought.
There was money to be made in those times in the oil trade; yet sometimes, when he lay upon his couch smoking his pipe, some vague idea would flit through his mind of going back to the world again and ending his days in civilisation. But with the coming morning such thoughts would vanish.
The young fellow whom they call John was in the yard, sitting on a barrel and smoking a cheroot, the fumes of which came in, not ungrateful, through the open window. The divinity-student disappeared in the midst of our talk.
The landlord handed the stranger the newspaper, and, bowing, retired with his maid Jenny. I helped myself to a portion of the smoking round, and commenced eating with no little appetite. The stranger appeared to be soon engrossed with the newspaper. We continued thus a considerable time the one reading and the other dining.
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