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Updated: June 7, 2025
Winton shivered, as one shivers recalled from dreams; and, carefully brushing off the ash with his left hand, he answered: "Yes; very jolly. My cigar's out, though, and I haven't a match." Gyp's hand slipped through his arm. "All these people in love, and so dark and whispery it makes a sort of strangeness in the air. Don't you feel it?" Winton murmured: "No moon to-night!"
But before they reached the coast, the rich man's son as we'll call the one who had been stolen was stricken with a fever. No ship was in port, and his friend took him to a hotel and got a doctor for him." "Wish you'd hand me a match," said Witherspoon. "My cigar's out. Thank you." "Got a doctor for him, but he grew worse.
Try another." "The cigar is magnificent." "Isn't it thoroughfare, then?" "Oh yes! the cigar's all right. I haven't smoked such a cigar for more than ten years; and that's the reason." "I wish I had known you seven years, Mr. Armstrong." "You have known me a hundred and seven." "Then I have a right to " "Poke my fire as much as you please." And as Mr.
Usually, Joe smokes a pipe, but a cigar's less bother for a temporarily one-armed man. Standing in front of him, like a schoolboy in front of the teacher, was Mayor Morton Hallstock. "But, Joe, they simply won't!" His Honor was wailing. "I did talk to Mr.
He now selected an example of the most expensive cigar in the cigar-cabinet and lighted it as only a connoisseur can light a cigar, lovingly; he blew out the match lingeringly, with regret, and dropped it and the cigar's red collar with care into a large copper bowl on the centre table, instead of flinging it against the Japanese umbrella in the fireplace. The ham was not digesting very well.
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