He had created the right impression, for Miss Pratt clapped her hands.  “Oh, ’plendid!  Light one, Untle Georgiecums!  Light one ever ‘n’ ever so quick!  P’eshus Flopit an’ me we want see dray, big, ’normous man smoke dray, big, ’normous cigar!”

William and Johnnie Watson, who had been hovering morbidly, unable to resist the lodestone, came nearer, Johnnie being just in time to hear his cousin’s reply.

“I—­I forgot my cigar-case.”

Johnnie’s expression became one of biting skepticism.  “What you talkin’ about, George?  Didn’t you promise Uncle George you’d never smoke till you’re of age, and Uncle George said he’d give you a thousand dollars on your twenty-first birthday?  What ’d you say about your ’cigar-case’?”

George felt that he was in a tight place, and the lovely eyes of Miss Pratt turned upon him questioningly.  He could not flush, for he was already so pink after his exploits with unnecessary nutriment that more pinkness was impossible.  He saw that the only safety for him lay in boisterous prevarication.  “A thousand dollars!” he laughed loudly.  “I thought that was real money when I was ten years old!  It didn’t stand in my way very long, I guess!  Good ole George wanted his smoke, and he went after it!  You know how I am, Johnnie, when I go after anything.  I been smokin’ cigars I dunno how long!” Glancing about him, his eye became reassured; it was obvious that even Johnnie had accepted this airy statement as the truth, and to clinch plausibility he added:  “When I smoke, I smoke!  I smoke cigars straight along—­light one right on the stub of the other.  I only wish I had some with me, because I miss ’em after a meal.  I’d give a good deal for something to smoke right now!  I don’t mean cigarettes; I don’t want any paper—­I want something that’s all tobacco!”

William’s pale, sad face showed a hint of color.  With a pang he remembered the package of My Little Sweetheart All-Tobacco Cuban Cigarettes (the Package of Twenty for Ten Cents) which still reposed, untouched, in the breast pocket of his coat.  His eyes smarted a little as he recalled the thoughts and hopes that had accompanied the purchase; but he thought, “What would Sydney Carton do?”

William brought forth the package of My Little Sweetheart All-Tobacco Cuban Cigarettes and placed it in the large hand of George Crooper.  And this was a noble act, for William believed that George really wished to smoke.  “Here,” he said, “take these; they’re all tobacco.  I’m goin’ to quit smokin’, anyway.”  And, thinking of the name, he added, gently, with a significance lost upon all his hearers, “I’m sure you ought to have ’em instead of me.”

Then he went away and sat alone upon the fence.

“Light one, light one!” cried Miss Pratt.  “Ev’ybody mus’ be happy, an’ dray, big, ’normous man tan’t be happy ’less he have his all-tobatto smote.  Light it, light it!”

George drew as deep a breath as his diaphragm, strangely oppressed since dinner, would permit, and then bravely lit a Little Sweetheart.  There must have been some valiant blood in him, for, as he exhaled the smoke, he covered a slight choking by exclaiming, loudly:  “That’s good!  That’s the ole stuff!  That’s what I was lookin’ for!”