Iris was watchful. She had never in her life cooked even a potato or
boiled an egg. The ham was her first attempt.

"My cooking amuses you?" she demanded suspiciously.

"It gratifies every sense," he murmured. "There is but one thing
needful to complete my happiness."

"And that is?"

"Permission to smoke."

"Smoke what?"

He produced a steel box, tightly closed, and a pipe, "I will answer you
in Byron's words," he said--

"'Sublime tobacco! which from east to west
Cheers the tar's labour or the Turkman's rest.'"

"Your pockets are absolute shops," said the girl, delighted that his
temper had improved. "What other stores do you carry about with you?"

He lit his pipe and solemnly gave an inventory of his worldly goods.
Beyond the items she had previously seen he could only enumerate a
silver dollar, a very soiled and crumpled handkerchief, and a bit of
tin. A box of Norwegian matches he threw away as useless, but Iris
recovered them.