When we had finished eating, we fell to admiring the view, and Jack
pulled out his pipe, and, aided by Edmund's pocket lamp, which possessed
an attachment for cigar lighting, began to smoke, leaning back
luxuriously in his seat, with as much nonchalance as if he had been in
the smoking room at the Olympus. I think I may say that we all exhibited
a _sang froid_ amidst our novel surroundings that would have astonished
us if we had stopped to analyze our feelings, but in that respect Jack
was often the coolest member of the party, although he had not the iron
nerves of Edmund. On this occasion, he was not long in producing a
sensation. No sooner had the smoke begun to curl from his lips than the
attendants in the room were thrown into a state of laughable
consternation. Evidently they thought, like the servant of Walter
Raleigh, that the smoke must come from an internal fire. Their looks
showed alarm as well as astonishment.
"Keep your pipe concealed," whispered Edmund. "Take a few strong whiffs,
and hide it in your pocket before they observe whence the smoke really
comes. This may do us some good; it will, at least, serve to awake their
imagination, and that is what we need.
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