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"That's tough, Dave. You'll have to work clear up till twelve, then." "Yup. Better drop in and have a cigar, if you're downtown. "Well, I may, at that. May have to go down and see Mrs. Champ Perry. She's ailing. So long, Dave." Kennicott had not yet entered the house.
She stood looking after me as I trudged along the street, with my bundle and my good stick in my right hand, and a lighted cigar in my left. I had made up my mind that I ought first to try the direction hinted at by the baron, since I had absolutely no other clue to the whereabouts of the Count von Lira and his daughter.
"Yes, thank God!" he replied fiercely, blowing with pleasure upon the embers of his resentment. "And I'll take good care I never go into it again to live, that is!" "Really?" she murmured, struck into an extreme astonishment. He produced a cigar and a match-box. "May I?" he demanded carelessly, and accepted her affirmative as of course.
When his great printing house burned down, the giant perseverance which he had learned in those hours of overwork, made him able to raise, from the ashes, a larger and finer one. Instead of watching till his employer's back was turned, and saying, "Come, boys, let's go home; we've done enough for one day," and sauntering off with a cigar in his mouth, his cry was, "Let's do a little overwork."
My father smoked his cigar peacefully. He had laid a guitar on his knees, and flipped a string, or chafed over all the strings, and plucked and thrummed them as his mood varied. We chatted, and watched the going down of the sun, and amused ourselves idly, fermenting as we were. Anything that gave pleasure to us two boys pleased and at once occupied my father.
Goodwin took off his hat and seated himself, with his characteristic deliberate ease, upon a corner of the table. He held a lighted cigar between his fingers. He took this familiar course because he was sure that preliminaries would be wasted upon Miss Guilbert. He knew her history, and the small part that the conventions had played in it. "Good evening," he said.
Upon the evening in question I had been at work on this cigar for about two hours, and had smoked one side of it three-quarters of the way down to the end, when I concluded that I had smoked enough for one day so I rose up to cast the other side into the fire, which was flickering fitfully in my spacious fireplace.
He went over in his mind, as he puffed his cigar, all the young men in Amity, and it did not seem to him that any one of them was quite the man for her. When he reached home he found his mother already there, warming herself by the sitting-room register. She was a delicate, pretty woman. She looked up, shivering, as George entered. "Where have you been, dear?" she asked.
"And did not open his lips?" "Only once, when General Meade said something about 'manoeuvring." "What did he say?" "I can give you his words. He took his cigar from his lips puffed out the smoke and replied, 'Oh! I never manoeuvre!" "So much the better," said Stuart: "the general that does not manoeuvre sacrifices his men: and I predict that General Grant will soon alter his programme."
"They told me downstairs that you were inquiring for me," Douglas said. Drexley nodded. "Yes. Sit down, will you. I have a sort of message, and there is something I wanted to say." A waiter brought Douglas his coffee, and being in an extravagant mood he ordered a liqueur. "What'll you have?" he asked. Drexley hesitated, but finally shook his head. "No more," he said. "A cigar, if you like."
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