One Last Pipe, by Joshua Burgess
It was old Burroughs's custom to sit alone upon an evening, smoking his pipe. A bachelor, he indulged this custom without impeding upon the affection of others, and in furtherance thereof made it his practice to visit M.R. James & Sons Tobacconist each Monday for his weekly allotment of tobacco. On this particular Monday, as the clerk measured out the fragrant mixture, Burroughs's eyes fell upon a mahogany cabinet carefully placed amongst a variety of pipe racks. On top was a space for a dozen briars; beneath were two drawers and a small cupboard for tobacco. "I daresay that I haven't seen this before," noted Burroughs. "A recent acquisition by Mr. James himself," replied the clerk. "From an estate I believe." Burroughs fumbled for his keys as he ascended the steps to his flat. He sat the pipe cabinet down as he opened the heavy door, then made straight for his study. He placed the cabinet upon his writing desk, filled the rack with a half dozen briars and an old meerschaum. He tucked a pouch of tobacco into the cupboard and discovered a small brass inlay on the bottom, which he had not noticed in the shop. Upon it was inscribed, "Fratres in Perpetuum V.M.L." After supper, Burroughs returned to his study. The smell of tobacco hung in the air. But this was the smell of burning tobacco. He lit the lamp and filled a glass with brandy. As he moved towards his desk, he started. For he saw, or seemed to see, a man seated in his usual chair. On second glance the figure was gone. "Only a shadow," he mused, as he reached for a pipe. Yet in the soft glow of the lamp, he counted his pipes: one meerschaum and five briars. He turned swiftly towards his chair and found resting upon his side table, the missing pipe β filled with tobacco and gently smoldering. Via Smokingpipes.com weekly newsletter, 31 October 2016.
