"Yes, yes, Mrs. Blahous, things were cheap in those days."
"But now"
"Yes, yes."
"If only it was all over and done with!"
There was silence. Old Blahous rose, straightened his back, and went into the yard for a wisp of straw.
"Oh, what's the use?" he said, unscrewing the head of his pipe in order to pull the straw through.
"It wasn't half smelling before," remarked Mrs. Blahous, full of interest.
"Smelling," said Blahous, nodding. "How can it help smelling? There's no tobacco left in the world now. The last packet I had was the one my son the Professor sent me—let me see, that was in '49, wasn't it?"
"That was just four years ago come Easter."
"So 'twas," said Granfather Blahous. "We're getting an old man now. Very, very old."
"And what I want to know," began Mrs. Prouzova, "is what's all this awful to-do about nowadays?"
"What to-do?"
"Well, this war, I mean."
"Aye, yes, Heaven knows what it's about," said Blahous, blowing down his pipe until it gurgled.
