It was difficult to understand these fellows. Some of them he knew to be as hard students as himself, and yet they seemed to be as much in with the crowd as the others. Someone would say something in a most impressive, sober way, and nobody seemed to notice it, or else everyone laughed. Of course he knew that what they were saying during dinner about their extreme poverty was meant humorously, even by those of the fellows who tutored or wrote for the papers to help themselves along. But what troubled him was that he could not catch the drift and join in and be like the rest of them. Once, when everybody laughed heartily, and Pope bowed his head and said, "I acknowledge that I am sat upon," Stacy laughed, too, and said "Pretty good," though he did not know what it was, and hoped that no one knew he was bluffing.
From another part of the house came the pounding of billiard-cues and a few emphatic remarks, varied at intervals with a yell or a loud laugh. In another room three or four voices were singing, perhaps unconsciously, and the strong final notes reached the dining-room. Upstairs someone was exclaiming, "I had next on that!" From the lounging room came the notes of a piano, and Stacy said, "That 'Pilgrim's Chorus' is a beautiful thing, isn't it, Jack?" for Stacy knew.
He had enjoyed his dinner, and was perfectly self-possessed. He could look about the room at everyone without flinching. Henry brought the coffee in very pretty cups, with the club design on them. The buttons came in at Stehman's ringing. "Jackson, get me a ---- Ray, you don't smoke, do you?"
"Oh, I beg your pardon--bring some Perfectos, Jackson--please pardon me, I forgot entirely that you smoked. I must have mixed you up with someone else. I thought sure you did not smoke."
He seemed so cut up about it and his voice so pathetically apologetic that Stacy felt sorry for him, and had to say, "That's all right, Jack. You see I have just begun. That is, I haven't been smoking very long, you know, on account of my eyes." But he hoped the others did not hear.
"Will you have a cigarette first?" Stehman asked.
"No, I prefer a cigar," said Stacy, in a fine, deep voice. Stehman lighted a cigarette.
Horatio had never smoked but one cigar before, and he was not certain about how much of the end to bite off. But it seemed to draw all right when the buttons held a match for him. It did not make him feel the least bit sick. He thought he held it between his first and second fingers rather well.