I took the knife and started chipping away at the mahogany end. The other end--the brown-paper end, which had come ungummed--I intended to reserve for the match. When everything was ready I applied a light, leant back in my chair, and pulled. "That's all right, isn't it?" said Charles. "And you'd be surprised if I told you what I paid for it." "No, no, you mustn't think that," I protested. "Probably things are dearer in Portugal." I put it down by my plate for a moment's rest. "All I've got against it at present is that its pores don't act as freely as they should." "I've got a cigar-cutter somewhere, if--" "No, don't bother. I think I can do it with the nut-crackers. There's no doubt it was a good cigar once, but it hasn't wintered well." I squeezed it as hard as I could, lit it again, pressed my feet against the table and pulled. "Now it's going," said Charles. "I'm afraid it keeps very reticent at my end. The follow-through is poor. Is your end alight still?" "Burning beautifully." "It's a pity that I should be missing all that. How would it be if we were to make a knitting-needle red-hot, and bore a tunnel from this end? We might establish a draught that way. Only there's always the danger, of course, of coming out at the side." I took the cigar up and put it to my ear. "I can't HEAR anything wrong," I said. "I expect what it really wants is massage." Charles filled his pipe again and got up. "Let's go for a stroll," he said. "It's a beautiful night. Bring your cigar with you." "It may prefer the open air," I said. "There's always that. You know we mustn't lose sight of the fact that the Portuguese climate is different from ours. The thing's pores may have acted more readily in the South. On the other hand, the unfastened end may have been more adhesive. I gather that though you have never actually met anybody who has smoked a cigar like this, yet you understand that the experiment is a practicable one. As far as you know, this had no brothers. No, no, Charles, I'm going on with it, but I should like to know all that you can tell me of its parentage. It had a Portuguese father and an American mother, I should say, and there has been a good deal of trouble in the family. One moment"--and as we went outside I stopped and cracked it in the door. It was an inspiration. At the very next application of the match I found that I had established a connection with the lighted end. Not a long and steady connection, but one that came in gusts. After two gusts I decided that it was perhaps safer to blow from my end, and for a little while we had in this way as much smoke around us as the most fastidious cigar-smoker could want. Then I accidentally dropped it; something in the middle of it shifted, I suppose--and for the rest of my stay behind it only one end was at work. "Well," said Charles, when we were back in the smoking-room, and I was giving the cigar a short breather, "it's not a bad one, is it?"