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Updated: April 30, 2025
Kirkwood slipped a single lump of sugar into the cup, gave over his cigar-case to be filled, then leaned back, deliberately lighting a long and slender panetela as a preliminary to a last lingering appreciation of the scene of which he was a part.
"I've got a cigar," said Joe, "but I haven't a match." "I've got a match," said Michael, easily, "but I haven't a cigar." "My name's Joe Blaine," said Joe, handing over a panetela. "Mine's Mike Dunan," said Michael, passing a match. They lit up together. "The drinks are on me," murmured Michael.
"Go to it," observed his host genially. The dummy-chucker went to it for a good ten minutes. Then he leaned back in the heavily upholstered chair which the man servant had drawn up for him. He stared round him. "Smoke?" asked his host. The dummy-chucker nodded. He selected a slim panetela and pinched it daintily between the nails of his thumb and forefinger.
Yeh oughttuh know how bad yeh want the matter hushed." "As I calculate it, then, fifty ought to be enough for the boys; and fifty will repay you for your trouble." The end of Hickey's expensive panetela was tilted independently toward the ceiling. "Shouldn't wonder if it would," he murmured, gratified.
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