_Mr. Cuffney:_ Ah! I'm glad to hear that.

_Susan:_ Mrs. Lincoln's rather particular about the tobacco smoke.

_Mr. Stone:_ To be sure, yes, thank you, Susan.

_Susan:_ The master doesn't smoke, you know. And Mrs. Lincoln's
specially particular about this room.

_Mr. Cuffney:_ Quite so. That's very considerate of you, Susan.

_They knock out their pipes._

_Susan:_ Though some people might not hold with a gentleman not doing
as he'd a mind in his own house, as you might say.

_She goes out._

_Mr. Cuffney (after a further pause, stroking his pipe)_: I suppose
there's no doubt about the message they'll bring?

_Mr. Stone_: No, that's settled right enough. It'll be an invitation.
That's as sure as John Brown's dead.

_Mr. Cuffney_: I could never make Abraham out rightly about old John.
One couldn't stomach slaving more than the other, yet Abraham didn't
hold with the old chap standing up against it with the sword. Bad
philosophy, or something, he called it. Talked about fanatics who do
nothing but get themselves at a rope's end.