THE SACRED FOUNT
"You mean you'll come and smoke with me? Do then come."
"What, if I do," I asked with an idea, "will you give me?"
"I'm afraid I can promise you nothing more that I deal in than a bad cigarette."
"And what then," I went on, "will you take from me?"
He had met my eyes, and now looked at me a little with a smile that I thought just conscious. "Well, I'm afraid I can't take any more———"
"Of the sort of stuff," I laughed, "you've already had? Sorry stuff, perhaps—a poor thing but mine own! Such as it is, I only ask to keep it for myself, and that isn't what I meant. I meant what flower will you gather, what havoc will you play———?"
"Well?" he said as I hesitated.
"Among superstitions that I, after all, cherish. Mon siège est fait—a great glittering crystal palace. How many panes will you reward me for amiably sitting up with you by smashing?"
It might have been my mere fancy—but it was my fancy that he looked at me a trifle harder. "How on earth can I tell what you're talking about?"
I waited a moment, then went on: "Did you happen to count them?"
"Count whom?"
205
