The widow
smiled and purred and colored up and said it seemed SO good to have a
man at the table; seemed like the old days when Dan'l--meanin' the late
lamented--was on deck, and so forth.
"Then, when the eatin' was over, she says, 'I was expectin' my cousin
Benjamin down for a week or so, but he can't come. He's a great smoker,
and I bought these cigars for him. You might as well use them afore they
dry up.'
"Afore Kenelm could stop her she rummaged a handful of cigars out of the
table drawer in the settin'-room.
"'There!' she says. 'Light right up and be comfortable. It'll seem just
like old times. Dan'l was such a 'smoker! Oh, my!' and she gave a little
squeal; 'I forgot you've stopped smokin'.'
"Well, there was the cigars, lookin' as temptin' as a squid to a
codfish; and there was Kenelm hankerin' for 'em so his fingers twitched;
and there was Abbie lookin' dreadful disapp'inted, but tryin' to make
believe she wasn't. You don't need a spyglass to see what happened.
"'I'd like to,' says Kenelm, pickin' up one of the cigars. 'I'd like to
mighty well, but'--here he bites off the end--''twouldn't hardly do, now
would it? You see--'
"'I see,' says Abbie, scratchin' a match; 'but WE'LL never tell. We'll
have it for our secret; won't we, Mr. Parker?'
"So that's how Kenelm took his first tumble from grace. He told me all
about it one day a good while afterward. He smoked three of the cigars
afore he went home, and promised to come to supper the next afternoon.
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