NEW ARABIAN NIGHTS
A SECOND SERIES
THE DYNAMITER
PROLOGUE OF THE CIGAR DIVAN
In the city of encounters, the Bagdad of the West, and, to be more precise, on the broad northern pavement of Leicester Square, two young men of five-or six-and-twenty met after years of separation. The first, who was of a very smooth address and clothed in the best fashion, hesitated to recognise the pinched and shabby air of his companion.
"What!' he cried, 'Paul Somerset!'
"I am indeed Paul Somerset,' returned the other, 'or what remains of him after a well-deserved experience of poverty and law. But in you, Challoner, I can perceive no change; and time may be said, without hyperbole, to write no wrinkle on your azure brow.'
"All,' replied Challoner, 'is not gold that glitters. But we are here in an ill posture for confidences, and interrupt the movement of these ladies. Let us, if you please, find a more private corner.'
"If you will allow me to guide you,' replied Somerset, 'I will offer you the best cigar in London.'
And taking the arm of his companion, he led him in silence and at a brisk pace to the door of a quiet establishment in Rupert Street, Soho. The entrance was adorned with one of those gigantic Highlanders of wood which have almost risen to the standing of antiquities; and across the window-glass, which sheltered the usual display of pipes, tobacco, and cigars, there ran the gilded legend: 'Bohemian Cigar Divan, by T. Godall.' The interior of the shop was small, but commodious and ornate; the salesman grave, smiling, and urbane; and the two young men, each puffing a select regalia, had soon taken their places on a sofa of mouse-coloured plush and proceeded to exchange their stories.
"I am now,' said Somerset, 'a barrister; but Providence and the attorneys have hitherto denied me the opportunity to shine. A select society at the Cheshire Cheese engaged my evenings; my afternoons, as Mr. Godall could testify, have been generally passed in this divan; and my mornings, I have taken the precaution to abbreviate by not rising before twelve. At this rate, my little patrimony was very rapidly, and I am proud to remember, most agreeably expended. Since then a gentleman, who has really nothing else to recommend him beyond the fact of being my maternal uncle, deals me the small sum of ten shillings a week; and if you behold me once more revisiting the glimpses of the street lamps in my favourite quarter, you will readily divine that I have come into a fortune.'
"I should not have supposed so,' replied Challoner. 'But doubtless I met you on the way to your tailors.'
"It is a visit that I purpose to delay,' returned Somerset, with a smile. 'My fortune has definite limits. It consists, or rather this morning it consisted, of one hundred pounds.'
"That is certainly odd,' said Challoner; 'yes, certainly the coincidence is strange. I am myself reduced to the same margin.'
"You!' cried Somerset. 'And yet Solomon in all his glory--'
"Such is the fact. I am, dear boy, on my last legs,' said Challoner. 'Besides the clothes in which you see me, I have scarcely a decent trouser in my wardrobe; and if I knew how, I would this instant set about some sort of work or commerce. With a hundred pounds for capital, a man should push his way.'
"It may be,' returned Somerset; 'but what to do with mine is more than I can fancy. Mr. Godall,' he added, addressing the salesman, 'you are a man who knows the world: what can a young fellow of reasonable education do with a hundred pounds?'
"It depends,' replied the salesman, withdrawing his cheroot. 'The power of money is an article of faith in which I profess myself a sceptic. A hundred pounds will with difficulty support you for a year; with somewhat more difficulty you may spend it in a night; and without any difficulty at all you may lose it in five minutes on the Stock Exchange. If you are of that stamp of man that rises, a penny would be as useful; if you belong to those that fall, a penny would be no more useless. When I was myself thrown unexpectedly upon the world, it was my fortune to possess an art: I knew a good cigar. Do you know nothing, Mr. Somerset?'
"Not even law,' was the reply.
"The answer is worthy of a sage,' returned Mr. Godall. 'And you, sir,' he continued, turning to Challoner, 'as the friend of Mr. Somerset, may I be allowed to address you the same question?'
"Well,' replied Challoner, 'I play a fair hand at whist.'
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