A stale, sickish smell."
Martin sampled the air before replying.
"I can’t smell anything else, except stale tobacco smoke," he announced.
"That’s it.
It is terrible.
Why do you smoke so much, Martin?"
"I don’t know, except that I smoke more than usual when I am lonely.
And then, too, it’s such a long-standing habit.
I learned when I was only a youngster."
"It is not a nice habit, you know," she reproved.
"It smells to heaven."
"That’s the fault of the tobacco.
I can afford only the cheapest.
But wait until I get that forty-dollar check.
I’ll use a brand that is not offensive even to the angels.
But that wasn’t so bad, was it, two acceptances in three days?
That forty-five dollars will pay about all my debts."
"For two years’ work?" she queried.
"No, for less than a week’s work.
Please pass me that book over on the far corner of the table, the account book with the gray cover." He opened it and began turning over the pages rapidly. "Yes, I was right.
Four days for ‘The Ring of Bells,’ two days for ‘The Whirlpool.’
That’s forty-five dollars for a week’s work, one hundred and eighty dollars a month.
That beats any salary I can command.
And, besides, I’m just beginning.
A thousand dollars a month is not too much to buy for you all I want you to have.
A salary of five hundred a month would be too small.
That forty-five dollars is just a starter.
Wait till I get my stride.
Then watch my smoke."
Ruth misunderstood his slang, and reverted to cigarettes.
"You smoke more than enough as it is, and the brand of tobacco will make no difference.
It is the smoking itself that is not nice, no matter what the brand may be.
You are a chimney, a living volcano, a perambulating smoke-stack, and you are a perfect disgrace, Martin dear, you know you are."
She leaned toward him, entreaty in her eyes, and as he looked at her delicate face and into her pure, limpid eyes, as of old he was struck with his own unworthiness.
"I wish you wouldn’t smoke any more," she whispered. "Please, for-my sake."
"All right, I won’t," he cried. "I’ll do anything you ask, dear love, anything; you know that."
A great temptation assailed her.
In an insistent way she had caught glimpses of the large, easy-going side of his nature, and she felt sure, if she asked him to cease attempting to write, that he would grant her wish.
In the swift instant that elapsed, the words trembled on her lips.
But she did not utter them.
She was not quite brave enough; she did not quite dare.
Instead, she leaned toward him to meet him, and in his arms murmured:-
"You know, it is really not for my sake, Martin, but for your own.
I am sure smoking hurts you; and besides, it is not good to be a slave to anything, to a drug least of all."
"I shall always be your slave," he smiled.
"In which case, I shall begin issuing my commands."
She looked at him mischievously, though deep down she was already regretting that she had not preferred her largest request.
"I live but to obey, your majesty."
"Well, then, my first commandment is, Thou shalt not omit to shave every day.
Look how you have scratched my cheek."