smoked anything before but cigars made of grapevine, and they “bit” the tongue, and were not considered manly anyway.
Now they stretched themselves out on their elbows and began to puff, charily, and with slender confidence. The smoke had an unpleasant taste, and they gagged a little, but Tom said:
“Why, it’s just as easy! If I’d ’a’ knowed this was all, I’d ’a’ learnt long ago.”
“So would I,” said Joe. “It’s just nothing.”
“Why, many a time I’ve looked at people smoking, and thought well I wish I could do that; but I never thought I could,” said Tom.
“That’s just the way with me, hain’t it, Huck? You’ve heard me talk just that way—haven’t you, Huck? I’ll leave it to Huck if I haven’t.”
“Yes—heaps of times,” said Huck.
“Well, I have too,” said Tom; “oh, hundreds of times. Once down by the slaughterhouse. Don’t you remember, Huck? Bob Tanner was there, and Johnny Miller, and Jeff Thatcher, when I said it. Don’t you remember, Huck, ’bout me saying that?”
“Yes, that’s so,” said Huck. “That was the day after I lost a white alley. No, ’twas the day before.”
“There—I told you so,” said Tom. “Huck recollects it.”
“I bleeve I could smoke this pipe all day,” said Joe. “ I don’t feel sick.”
“Neither do I,” said Tom. “ I could smoke it all day. But I bet you Jeff Thatcher couldn’t.”
“Jeff Thatcher! Why, he’d keel over just with two draws. Just let him try it once. He’d see!”