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Updated: May 21, 2025
I want to hear more of your friend; and when you are ready you are not to hurry Dinah will show you the way." Captain Cai, left alone, carved a pipeful of tobacco with his pocket-knife; chose a clay; filled, lit it, and smoked. Two glasses of wine had sufficed him, for he was an abstemious man: but, for all his hard life, he could enjoy comfort.
Meanwhile we'll get a little start for home, eh? I'm tired of this cabin. Forty days and nights UGH! it was HELL. Have you a spare pipeful of tobacco, Phil? If you have let's see, where did I leave off in that story about Princess Celie and the Duke of Rugni?" "The the WHAT?" "Your tobaeco, Phil!" In a dazed fashion Philip handed his tobacco pouch to the Swede.
There was a warning in the fate of the neighbor, Antone Ramos, who in last year's olive season had thought one evening to smoke a pipeful of tobacco secretly, and lo! the American, ever watchful, came to Antone Ramos' house that very night, and the tobacco smoke was perceptible! Antone Ramos was discharged! Therefore, during this year's olive harvest, Mr.
As he sat, with Olive standing near the footlights of his mental stage and the drop-curtain hanging between her and all the rest of the world, the captain strolled up to him. "Dick," said he, "somehow or other my tobacco does not taste as it ought to. Give me a pipeful of yours." When the captain had filled his pipe from Dick's bag he lighted it and gave a few puffs.
When I had eaten and drunk the last, I sat and looked at the glowing torch, and felt a sort of comfort creep through me. Then there came a delightful thought. Months ago I had put away one last pipeful of tobacco, to save it till some day when I should need it most.
You may think until doomsday and accomplish nothing. I will point a moral without ornamenting a tale, by relating an experience I once had when I was out West some time ago with a company and got stranded, and if you will loan me your ear I will a tale unfold. What say you?" "Proceed." "First let me dispose of a quiet pipeful of tobacco to collect my scattered thoughts and I will unbosom myself."
When I had eaten and drunk the last, I sat and looked at the glowing torch, and felt a sort of comfort creep through me. Then there came a delightful thought. Months ago I had put away one last pipeful of tobacco, to save it till some day when I should need it most.
Cards, novels, and all the hot arguments went by the board, and then after a mug-up for nearly all we slid into oil-clothes, boots and sou'westers, and puffing at what was probably to be the last pipeful of the evening, we lay around on lockers and on the floor, backs to the butt of the mast and backs to the stove wherever there was space for a broad back and a pair of stout legs our fellows dropped themselves, discussing all the while the things that interested them fish, fishing, fast vessels, big shares, politics, Bob Fitzsimmons, John L. Sullivan, good stories, and just then particularly, because two of the crew were thinking of marrying, the awful price of real estate in Gloucester.
The little man has come down from his tower for the last time, and has puffed his last pipeful of tobacco smoke. This, too, is Christmas Eve, and Solomon Mit has not forgotten it. Listen, he is speaking now. "David Morgridge, old friend, twenty years we've lived together. You've been a true friend to me. We haven't said much, but we've trusted each other.
They were washed down by a tincupful of coffee strong enough to tan leather, then came a brier-wood pipeful of fragrant kinnikinnic, and a seat by the ruddy, sparkling fire of aromatic cedar logs, that diffused at once warmth, and spicy, pleasing incense.
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