"What an awful wasteful habit it is to-be-sure, ain't it?" went on the
old gentleman between vigorous puffs. "Just think, there's school
books, and Bibles and baby clothes and medicine for the sick, and food
for the hungry, and houses and stores, and farms, and cattle, all a'
goin' up in that smoke;" he pointed with his cigar to the blue cloud
that hung between them. "If I had half the money church members burn,
I could take care of every old worn-out preacher in the world, and
have a good bit left over for the poor children. I wisht I was as young
as you be; I'd quit it fer good; but it sure does take a hold on an
old feller like me."
Dick's face grew thoughtful. "I never looked at it in that way before,"
he said, as he took his pipe from his mouth; "It's a big comfort to
a chap who is all alone, though I suppose it does get a strong hold
on a man who has used it most of his life; and a fellow could do a lot
of good with the money it costs him." He arose to his feet and went
to the window, where he stood for a moment looking out into the rain.
Presently he came back to his chair again; "Look out," cried Uncle
Bobbie, as Dick took his seat, "You've dropped your pipe into the coal
bucket."
"Oh, that's all right; its worn-out anyway, and I have another."
But he smoked no more that evening.
"Where are you from?" asked Wicks abruptly.
"Everywhere," answered Dick, shortly, for he did not relish the thought
of being questioned about his past.
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