"'Tis a vice that I abhor.

Slip me a smoke." Francis Charles fumbled in the cypress humidor at Ferdie's elbow; he leaned over the table and gently closed Ferdie's finger and thumb upon a cigarette.
"Match," sighed Ferdie.
Boland struck a match; he held the flame to the cigarette's end.

Ferdie puffed.

Then he eyed his friend with judicial severity.
"Abominably lazy! Every opportunity--family, education--brains, perhaps.
Why don't you go to work ?" "My few and simple wants--" Boland waved his hand airily.

"Besides, who am I that I should crowd to the wall some worthy and industrious person ?--practically taking the bread from the chappie's mouth, you might say.