imitations of a vaudeville poster; they're the extension of the limit."

Her words, although English, were as incomprehensible to me as if I had
never heard the language, but her scorn was unmistakable. As if to
emphasize it, the hand she had persistently held behind her was thrust
forward toward the burning coals in the hibachi. Her fingers held a half
burnt cigarette. This she lighted, and without embarrassment or
enjoyment began to smoke.

An American girl smoking! I was shocked, but I held tight.

"Do you smoke much?" I asked, for the want of something better to say.

"Never smoked before. But my august, heaven-born grandfather, who to my
mind is descended direct from the devil, wishes me to adopt the customs
of his country. Thought I'd start with this."

"But," I reminded her, "it is not the custom in this country for young
girls to smoke."

"Oh, isn't it?"--indifferently--"it doesn't matter. Had to begin on
something or--die."

The spasm of pain which swept the girl's face stirred within me a memory
long forgotten.

Once, when my own starved youth had wearied and clamored anew for an
outlet, I had determined on a reckless adventure. From corn-shucks and
dried grass I made a cigar which I tried to smoke. It gave me the most
miserable penitent hour I have ever known. The picture of the child of