As Whitney returned, a big map unrolled in his hands, I saw his
foot fall on the double sheet that Craig had laid by the door.
Kennedy bent down and began picking up the papers.
"Oh, that's all right," remarked Whitney brusquely. "Never mind
that. Here's where some of our interests lie, in the north."
I don't think I paid much more attention to the map than did
Kennedy as we three bent over it. His real attention was on the
paper which he had placed on the floor, as though fixing in his
mind the exact spot on which Whitney had stepped.
As Whitney talked rapidly about the country, we lighted the
cigarettes. They seemed to be of a special brand. I puffed mine
for a moment. There was a peculiar taste about it, however, which
I did not exactly like. In fact, I think that the Latin-American
cigarettes do not seem to appeal to most Americans very much,
anyhow.
While we talked, I noticed that Kennedy evidently shared my own
tastes, for he allowed his cigarette to go out, and, after a puff
or two, I did the same. For the sake of my own comfort, I drew one
of my own from my case as soon as I could do so politely, and laid
the stub of the other in an ash-tray on Whitney's desk.
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