The Argosy, Volume XLIV — page 254: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

200 attend on another customer, assented to both suppositions, and Mrs. Scales, hugging her parcel, left the store, her face radiant with anticipation of her husband’s reception of her gift. Mr. Scales’ expression when the boxes were presented was one of ad- mirably counterfeited delight, which was the more creditable as he was not in the habit of disguising his feelings. “My little offering of myrrh and frankincense,” Mrs. Seales said softly. “Rank incense, did you say?” Mr. Scales asked waggishly. Mrs. Scales gave him a playful slap. “ Don’t make fun of me, vou naughty boy,” she said; “ but reallv, George, when you smoke these cigars I think you will have to wear your dress clothes, like the man on the lid.” “T think I’d better borrow somebody else’s,” George replied. “‘ My own are hardly swell enough,” he added hur- riedly. Mrs. Scales smiled. “You would be the same to me if vou were dressed in rags,” she said fondly. “ Do you know what I am go- ing to do now, George? ” “No,” replied the husband, conceal- ing his uneasiness. “Tam going to put you in your own comfortable chair, and I am going to put one of these cigars in your mouth, and I am going to light it for you my- self, and watch you enjoy it.” Mr. Scales, anxious to gain a little time to think, bent his head to the box again. In so doing he caught sight of the price marked in one corner, and failed to repress an exclamation of sur- prise. “You don’t mean to say you paid a dollar eighty for fifty cigars!” he said. “Tt sounds extravagant, doesn’t it? ” his wife replied, “ but it is not so much more than you pay yourself. Three cents apiece, you remember you told me.” Mr. Scales, silently anathematizing his own lack of straightforwardness, was at a loss for a reply. “Hurry, George,” Mrs. Scales ad- jured him, interrupting his thoughts; ‘“T am longing to see you smoke one.” Mr. Seales, who had decided on a plan of action, shook his head. THE ARGOSY. “JT couldn’t do it,” he said. “ Couldn’t‘do it?” echoed his wife. “And why not?” “Tt would seem to me like sacrilege,” replied Mr. Scales. “Sacrilege!*” cried Mrs. Scales. “Stuff and nonsense! What do you suppose cigars are made for?” “These cigars, do you mean?” Mr. Scales inquired, gently patting the box. “Those cigars, or any cigars,” Mrs. Scales said impatiently. “ They were made to be smoked, and they are going to be smoked.” “Not these cigars,” George replied sentimentally. “ These cigars were made to be a present from the dearest little wife in the world to the fondest husband in the world, and he wouldn’t smoke them if they were worth a thou- sand dollars apiece.” “T don’t suppose he would,” Mrs. Scales said unresponsively. “ Such ab- surdity! And I suppose every time you bring me home a box of candy I am to keep it as a souvenir till it goes bad, the same as you want to do, and then throw it away because it smells.” “These cigars will never smell any worse,’ Mr. Scales answered with con- viction. “ Thev couldn’t. Tobacco like this never does. Besides, it is altogether different. This is your present to me on my thirty-eighth birthday.” “ What’s that got to do with it? ” de- manded Mrs. Scales. “T will tell you what I am going to do,” replied her husband. “I am going to keep the box beside me, and every time I smoke a cigar I will open the lid and look at them. I shall enjoy my smoke ever so much more.” “T’}l tell vou what to do,” suggested Mrs. Scales sarcastically. “ Take them out of the box, and tie little bits of blue ribbon round them, and hang them on the walls. Then you will be able to look at them without any trouble.” “You are unjust,’ Mr. Scales re- monstrated, in a pained voice. “ You don’t seem able to appreciate my feel- ings. Think of my feelings if, after I had smoked all these cigars, anything were to happen to you! Your last little present to me gone.” Mrs. Seales langhed rather unpleas- antly. awa (GO) ElLOOO (GO) awa