The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1897-08-21
THE PASSING OF
THE CIGARETTE.
BY BREvET-MAJoR GOTHAM.
~s~O~O>Oo~O~o>O~

Il Il
require Il feminine eye to prove this
fact. accented, as it is, by the very evil
dent disarray of bachelors belongings
that lay strewn about.
4 shoe last looks pensively out from
beneath a pair of trousers dangling
from the back of a lounging chair that
breathes comfort from every indenta-
tom set of very much used foils,
whose nieked appearance prove many
passages, companion fowling piece
OF the latest pattern, and together with
numberless canes occupy the corner
next the door; pictures that smack of
stage, track and pigeon traps cover the
deep red lincrusta of the walls. The
center of the many-toned eastern rug
is occupied by an antique writing
table, which, proud of its position, an
grily reflects on its polished legs the
swapping flames of the logs that burn
their way so cheerily on the gray fiat
stones of the large, open fireplace. 1t
is the rooms chiefest charm, and being
so, is guarded by the griffin headed and
irons, that stand like brazen sentinels
to the right and left, as if it was their
mission to guard the blaze.
The door opens TO admit the master.
who closes it hastily, as if to shut out
some following intangible thing.
He wrenches impatiently at his coat,
and losses it aside to join its companion
garment on the chair.
The man is good to look at; the score
and a-half years he owns have had
ample time TO grave their lines of char
acter upon the handsome face. White,
drawn, and of reckless cast, ii is turned
toward far corner of the room where
the shadows lay darkest.
Asound, almost sigh, comes from be-
tween the thin lips and then he turns and
writes; hours pass, yet he writes on un-
til the rattle of the pen upon the table
marks that the task is finished.
The addressed envelope blinks at him
from the base of the clock where he
carefully places it. mo one can fail
to see il there" he says, softly.
Returning to the chair, he opens
fligree case and takes from its silvern
surroundings of metal lace work
cigarette, the last it contains.
CiThe only one" he mutters, land the
last" then lights it.
The scented clouds roll lightly and
lazily above the silent smoker for
brief space, then, half-consumed, he
losses the cigarette into queer re-
ceiyer, shaped like Sabot. Itsplutters
at the touch of the cold metal and
goes out. o.
Crossing quickly to where an old cab
met leans its weight against the WALL
he takes from one of the many drawers
something that glitters in the freight.
As if with purpose, he walks rapidly
to doorway, parts the curtained por-
tails, pauses a moment and then is hid
den by the black shadows beyond.
Hark! What's that dread noise? A
muffied report has sounded from the
room behind the curtains; their silken
folds sway by draught and open
trifle to admit rings of steel-hued
smoke, and pungent odor fills the
outside room.
Holy smoke! what's that?" cries the
Cigarette, raising its gray head from
the little heap of warm ashes that has
formed it's bed.
Eth! what's the matter?" queries
the Pipe. in answer, lazily rolling over
on its polished side.
why, you old lightweight" answers
the excited Cigarette, don't you know
pistol shot when you hear it?'
My esteemed friend of the tissue
paper coat" retorts the Pipe, stirred
to action by the others marked un-
appreciation of the dignity that his
sort commands, "you are nervous. Pts
tol shot in this room? You are crazy!
But it's all from keeping late hours,
l suppose; you were born to be light
headed" and with satisfied glance at
his glittering silver bands, the Pipe
turns over and prepares to resume his
rudely-interrupted nap.
Il suppose you think you are funny,
Mr.. Pipe!" shifts the Cigarette, angrily.
Perhaps you think that because you
have been dug out of the ground and
have enjoyed the benefits of sea voy-
age, that you can lord II over me? Why,
you old ash-sifter, can give you cards
and spades and beat you in walk,
even II am machine-made."
Speak foryyourself, Kid" growls out
the Whist Pack. from his place on the
card rack, where he had been silent
listener to the alteration. Don't get