“Emanuel Garcia and Henry Clay!” said McNab irreverently.
“They smuggled the cigars right through the Spanish lines,” said Waters who, from constant recital, had caught the spirit of unconquerable revolution.
“How do you know?” said McCarthy suspiciously, watching the unstrapping of the cigar boxes.
“I speak French,” said Waters with pride, and turning to his protégés he continued fluently, “Vous êtes patriots, vous avez battlez, soldats n’est-ce-pas? You see, they have had a whole family chopped up for the cause. The Cuban Junta has sent them over to raise money—very good family.”
“Let’s see the cigars,” said Stover. “How much a box?”
Curiously enough this seemed to be a phrase of English which could be understood without difficulty.
“Fourteen dollar.”
“That’s for a box of a hundred,” said McNab, who screwed up the far side of his face, to indicate bargaining was in order.
“Of course,” said Buck Waters, “everything you give goes to the cause. Remember that.”
“Try one,” said McNab.
The smaller Cuban with an affable smile held up a bundle.
“Nice white teeth he’s got,” said Buck Waters encouragingly.
“Don’t let him shove one over on you,” said McCarthy warningly.
Waters and McNab were indignant.
“Oh, I say fellows, come on. They are patriots.”
“If they could understand you they would go right up in the air.”
“Nevertheless and notwithstanding,” said McCarthy, indicating with his finger, “I’ll take this one; it appeals to me.”
“I’ll worry this one,” said Dink with equal astuteness.
They took several puffs, watched by the enthusiastic spectators.
“Well?” said McNab.
Stover looked wisely at McCarthy, flirting the cigar between his careless fingers.
“Not bad.”
“Rather good bouquet,” said McCarthy, who knew no more than Stover.
“Let’s begin at eight dollars and stick at ten,” said Dink.
At that latter price, despite the openly expressed scorn of the American allies of the struggle for Cuban independence, Stover received a box of one hundred finest Havana cigars—fit for a museum, as McNab repeated—and saw the advance guard of the liberators disappear.
“Dink, it’s a shame,” said McCarthy gleefully. “Finest cigars I ever smoked.”
They shook hands and Stover, overcome by the look of pain he had seen in the eyes of the patriots on their final surrender at ten dollars, said, with a patriotic remorse:
“Poor devils! Think what they’re fighting for! If I hadn’t been so lavish today, I’d have given them the full price.”
“I feel sort of bad about it myself.”
About ten o’clock they rose by a common impulse and, seeking out the cigars with caressing fingers, indulged in another smoke.
“Dink, this is certainly living,” said McCarthy, reclining in that position which his favorite magazine artist ascribed to men of the world when indulging in extravagant desires.
“Pretty high rolling, old geezer.”
“I like this better than the first one.”
“Of course with a well-seasoned rare old cigar you don’t get all the beauty of it right at first.”
“By George, if those chocolate patriots would come around again I’d give ’em the four plunks.”
“I should feel like it,” said Dink, who made a distinction.
The next morning being Sunday, they lolled deliciously in bed, and rose with difficulty at ten.
“Of course I don’t believe in smoking before breakfast, as a general rule,” said McCarthy in striped red and blue pajamas, “but I have such a fond feeling for Cuba.”
“I can hardly believe it’s true,” said Dink, emerging from the covers like an impressionistic dawn. “Smoke up.”
“How is it this morning?”
“Wonderful.”
“Better and better.”
“I could dream away my life on it.”
“We ought to have bought more.”
“Too bad.”
After chapel, while pursuing their studies in comparative literature in the Sunday newspapers, they smoked again.
“Well?” said Stover anxiously.
“Well?”
“Marvellous, isn’t it?”
“Exquisite.”
“Only ten cents apiece!”
“It’s the way to buy cigars.”
“Trouble is, Dink, old highroller, it’s going to be an awful wrench getting down to earth again. We’ll hate anything ordinary, anything cheap.”
“Yes, Tough, we are ruining our future happiness.”
“And how good one of the little beauties will taste after that brutalizing Sunday dinner.”
“I can hardly wait. By the way, I blew myself to a few glad rags,” said Dink, bringing out his purchases, “I rather fancy them. How do they strike you?”
McCarthy emitted a languishing whistle and then his eyes fell on the cause of all the trouble.
“Keeroogalum! Where did you get the pea-soup?”
The expression did not please. However, Stover had still in the matter of his sentimental inclinations a certain bashfulness. So he said dishonestly:
“I had ’em throw it in for a lark.”
“Why, the cows would leave the farm.”
“Rats. Wait and see,” said Dink, who seized the excuse to don the green shirt.
When Stover’s blond locks were seen struggling through the collar McCarthy exploded:
“It looks like you were coming out of a tree. What the deuce has happened to you? Are you going out for class beauty? Holy cats! the socks, the socks!”
“The socks, you Reuben, should match the shirt,” said Stover, completing his toilet under a diplomatic assumption of persiflage.
“Well, you are a lovely thing,” said McCarthy, when the new collar and the selected necktie had transformed Stover. “Lovely! lovely! you should go out and have the girls fondle you.”
At this moment Bob Story arrived, as fate would have it, with an invitation to dinner at his home.
“Sis is back with a few charmers from Farmington and they’re crazy to meet you.”
“Oh, I say,” said Stover in sudden alarm. “I’m the limit on the fussing question.”
“Yes, he is,” said McCarthy maliciously. “Why, they fall down before him and beg him to step on them.”
“You shut up,” said Stover, with wrath in his eye.
“Why, Bob, look at him, isn’t he gotten up just to charm and delight? You’ll have to put a fence around him to keep them off.”
“In an hour,” said Story, making for the door. “Hunter and Hungerford are coming.”
“Hold up.”
“Delighted you’re coming.”
“I say—”
“There’s a Miss Sparkes—just crazy about you. You’re in luck. Remember the name—Miss Sparkes.”
“Story—Bob, come back here!”
“Au reservoir!”
“I can’t go—I won’t—” But here Dink, leaning over the banister, heard a gleeful laugh float up and the sudden banging of the door.
He rushed back frantically to the room and craned out the
