At the Crater's Edge

"We'd look fine drinking tea, wouldn't we, old scout?" reaching down and
tweaking the dog's velvet ears. "They don't understand, and it's no use
trying to make 'em. Nora gets as near as possible. Herr Rosen! Now, where
have I seen his phiz before? I wish I had a real man to talk to. Abbott
sulks half the time, and the Barone can't get a joke unless it's driven in
with a mallet. On your way, old scout, or I'll step on you. Let's see if
we can hoof it down to the village at a trot without taking the count."

He had but two errands to execute. The first was accomplished expeditely
in the little tobacconist's shop under the arcade, where the purchase of a
box of Minghetti cigars promised later solace. These cigars were cheap,
but Harrigan had a novel way of adding to their strength if not to their
aroma. He possessed a meerschaum cigar-holder, in which he had smoked
perfectos for some years. The smoke of an ordinary cigar became that of a
regalia by the time it passed through the nicotine-soaked clay into the
amber mouthpiece. He had kept secret the result of this trifling
scientific research. It wouldn't have been politic to disclose it to
Molly. The second errand took time and deliberation. He studied the long
shelves of Tauchnitz. Having red corpuscles in superabundance, he
naturally preferred them in his literature, in the same quantity.