His brougham drew up against the curb, and he started as if from a dream. "My dear fellow," he replied, "what would people say?" And shaking me by the hand, he took his seat, and the footman slammed the door upon him. A MAN OF HABIT There were three of us in the smoke-room of the _Alexandra_--a very good friend of mine, myself, and, in the opposite corner, a shy-looking, unobtrusive man, the editor, as we subsequently learned, of a New York Sunday paper. My friend and I were discussing habits, good and bad. "After the first few months," said my friend, "it is no more effort for a man to be a saint than to be a sinner; it becomes a mere matter of habit." "I know," I interrupted, "it is every whit as easy to spring out of bed the instant you are called as to say 'All Right,' and turn over for just another five minutes' snooze, when you have got into the way of it. It is no more trouble not to swear than to swear, if you make a custom of it. Toast and water is as delicious as champagne, when you have acquired the taste for it. Things are also just as easy the other way about. It is a mere question of making your choice and sticking to it." He agreed with me. "Now take these cigars of mine," he said, pushing his open case towards me. "Thank you," I replied hurriedly, "I'm not smoking this passage." "Don't be alarmed," he answered, "I meant merely as an argument. Now one of these would make you wretched for a week." I admitted his premise. "Very well," he continued. "Now I, as you know, smoke them all day long, and enjoy them. Why? Because I have got into the habit. Years ago, when I was a young man, I smoked expensive Havanas. I found that I was ruining myself. It was absolutely necessary that I should take a cheaper weed. I was living in Belgium at the time, and a friend showed me these. I don't know what they are--probably cabbage leaves soaked in guano; they tasted to me like that at first--but they were cheap. Buying them by the five hundred, they cost me three a penny. I determined to like them, and started with one a day. It was terrible work, I admit, but as I said to myself, nothing could be worse than the Havanas themselves had been in the beginning. Smoking is an acquired taste, and it must be as easy to learn to like one flavour as another. I persevered and I conquered. Before the year was over I could think of them without loathing, at the end of two I could smoke them without positive discomfort. Now I prefer them to any other brand on the market. Indeed, a good cigar disagrees with me." I suggested it might have been less painful to have given up smoking altogether. "I did think of it," he replied, "but a man who doesn't smoke always seems to me bad company. There is something very sociable about smoke." He leant back and puffed great clouds into the air, filling the small den with an odour suggestive of bilge water and cemeteries.