"Oh, yes, I do," Stacy replied. "Oh, I beg your pardon--bring some Perfectos, Jackson--please pardon me, I forgot entirely that you smoked. I must have mixed you up with someone else. I thought sure you did not smoke." He seemed so cut up about it and his voice so pathetically apologetic that Stacy felt sorry for him, and had to say, "That's all right, Jack. You see I have just begun. That is, I haven't been smoking very long, you know, on account of my eyes." But he hoped the others did not hear. "Will you have a cigarette first?" Stehman asked. "No, I prefer a cigar," said Stacy, in a fine, deep voice. Stehman lighted a cigarette. Horatio had never smoked but one cigar before, and he was not certain about how much of the end to bite off. But it seemed to draw all right when the buttons held a match for him. It did not make him feel the least bit sick. He thought he held it between his first and second fingers rather well. His host began to talk about the Dean's English again, and Stacy changed the subject. Of course Jack meant it out of consideration for him, but Stacy could talk about other things than his studies. Presently Jack began again. "What collateral reading are you doing in the Public Law course, Ray---- What's that you're saying, Timber?" "Oh, nothing," said Timberly, smiling satirically. "We are just amused a little bit at your posing as a heavy poler. That's all." But Jack only frowned, and turned again to Stacy, who knew the others were paying attention, and so made answer, "Don't intend to read anything. I've quit taking notes on the lectures, too. A syllabus at the end of the term will have to do me." That ought to show them. Nobody said anything for a moment, and when he looked up he could not tell from their faces what they thought of his remark, though Linton seemed to wear a quizzical smile. But then that fellow always seemed to be sneering or else looking oblivious. Then Smith, who was a track athlete, went on with his conversation with Pope. He was venturing the opinion that Princeton's prospects for the spring were poor. He was a young man who thought he had a dignity, and he liked to have people pay attention to what he said. He had reason to suppose that his opinions on athletics amounted to something. So he was rather astonished, as were Stehman and the rest of the table, when Stacy's high voice burst in with, "No, now, you don't mean it, Smithie. You are joking, aren't you?" There was no reason why he should not be familiar and play horse like the rest.