Am I goin' to work on you the rest of my life teachin' you how to serve cigars ?" Kilrain sighed deeply, but obeyed, presenting the open boxes in turn to Bard, who thanked him, and to Lawlor, who bit off the end of his smoke continued: "A match, Kilrain." And he waited, swelling with pleasure, his eyes fixed upon space.
Kilrain lighted a match and held it for the two in turn.

Two rows of waiting, expectant eyes were turned from the whole length, of the table, toward the cigars.
"Shall I pass on the cigars ?" suggested Bard.
"_These_ smokes ?" breathed Lawlor.

"Waste 'em on common hands?
Partner, you ain't serious, are you ?" A breath like the faint sighing of wind reached them; the cowpunchers were resigned, and started now to roll their Durham.

But it seemed as if a chuckle came from above; it was only some sound in the gasoline lamp, a big fixture which hung suspended by a slender chain from the centre of the ceiling and immediately above the table.
"Civilizin' cowpunchers," went on Lawlor, tilting back in his chair and bracing his feet against the edge of the table, "civilizin' cowpunchers is worse'n breakin' mustangs.

They's some that say it can't be done.
But look at this crew.