Bones in London

Mr. Jelf explained, with the adeptness of an expert, how the lamp wascontrolled from the dashboard, and how splendid it was to have a lightwhich was independent of the engine of the car or of faultyaccumulators, and Bones agreed to try the lamp for a week. He did morethan this: he half promised to float a company for its manufacture, andgave Mr. Jelf fifty pounds on account of possible royalties andcommission, whereupon Mr. Jelf faded from the picture, and from thatmoment ceased to take the slightest interest in a valuable articlewhich should have been more valuable by reason of the fact that it borehis name.

Three days later Hamilton, walking to business, was overtaken by abeautiful blue Carter-Crispley, ornamented, it seemed from a distance,by two immense bosses of burnished silver. On closer examination theyproved to be nothing more remarkable than examples of the Tibbett-JelfLamp.

"Yes," said Bones airily, "that's the lamp, dear old thing. Inventedin leisure hours by self and Jelf. Step in, and I'll explain."

"Where do I step in," asked Hamilton, wilfully dense – "into the car orinto the lamp?"

Bones patiently smiled and waved him with a gesture to a seat by hisside. His explanation was disjointed and scarcely informative; forBones had yet to learn the finesse of driving, and he had a trick ofthinking aloud.

"This lamp, old thing," he said, "never goes out – you silly old josser, why did you step in front of me? Goodness gracious! I nearly cutshort your naughty old life" – (this to one unhappy pedestrian whomBones had unexpectedly met on the wrong side of the road) – "never goesout, dear old thing. It's out now, I admit, but it's not in workingorder – Gosh! That was a narrow escape! Nobody but a skilled driver, old Hamilton, could have missed that lamp-post. It is going to createa sensation; there's nothing like it on the market – whoop!"

He brought the car to a standstill with a jerk and within half an inchof a City policeman who was directing the traffic with his back turnedto Bones, blissfully unconscious of the doom which almost overcame him.

"I like driving with you, Bones," said Hamilton, when they reached theoffice, and he had recovered something of his self-possession. "Nextto stalking bushmen in the wild, wild woods, I know of nothing moresoothing to the nerves."

"Thank you," said Bones gratefully. "I'm not a bad driver, am I?"

"'Bad' is not the word I should use alone," said Hamilton pointedly.

In view of the comments which followed, he was surprised and pained toreceive on the following day an invitation, couched in such terms asleft him a little breathless, to spend the Sunday exploiting thebeauties of rural England.

"Now, I won't take a 'No,'" said Bones, wagging his bony forefinger."We'll start at eleven o'clock, dear old Ham, and we'll lunch atwhat-you-may-call-it, dash along the thingummy road, and heigho! forthe beautiful sea-breezes."

"Thanks," said Hamilton curtly. "You may dash anywhere you like, but

I'm dashed if I dash with you. I have too high a regard for my life."

"Naughty, naughty!" said Bones, "I've a good mind not to tell you what

I was going to say. Let me tell you the rest. Now, suppose," he said mysteriously, "that there's a certain lady – a jolly old girl named

Vera – ha – ha!"

Hamilton went red.

"Now, listen, Bones," he said; "we'll not discuss any other person thanourselves."

"What do you say to a day in the country? Suppose you asked Miss

Vera – "

"Miss Vera Sackwell," replied Hamilton a little haughtily, "if she isthe lady you mean, is certainly a friend of mine, but I have no controlover her movements. And let me tell you, Bones, that you annoy mewhen – "

"Hoity, toity!" said Bones. "Heaven bless my heart and soul! Can'tyou trust your old Bones? Why practise this deception, old thing? Isuppose," he went on reflectively, ignoring the approaching apoplexy ofhis partner, "I suppose I'm one of the most confided-in persons inLondon. A gay old father confessor, Ham, lad. Everybody tells metheir troubles. Why, the lift-girl told me this morning that she'd hadmeasles twice! Now, out with it, Ham!"

If Hamilton had any tender feeling for Miss Vera Sackwell, he was notdisposed to unburden himself at that moment. In some mysteriousfashion Bones, for the first time in his life, had succeeded inreducing him to incoherence.

"You're an ass, Bones!" he said angrily and hotly. "You're not only anass, but an indelicate ass! Just oblige me by shutting up."

Bones closed his eyes, smiled, and put out his hand.

"Whatever doubts I had, dear old Ham," he murmured, "are dispelled.

Congratulations!"

That night Hamilton dined with a fair lady. She was fair literally andfiguratively, and as he addressed her as Vera, it was probably hername. In the course of the dinner he mentioned Bones and hissuggestion. He did not tell all that Bones had said.

The suggestion of a day's motoring was not received unfavourably.

"But he can't drive," wailed Hamilton. "He's only just learnt."

"I want to meet Bones," said the girl, "and I think it a most excellentopportunity."

"But, my dear, suppose the beggar upsets us in a ditch? I really can'trisk your life."

"Tell Bones that I accept," she said decisively, and that ended thematter.

The next morning Hamilton broke the news.

"Miss Sackwell thanks you for your invitation, Bones."

"And accepts, of course?" said Bones complacently. "Jolly old Vera."

"And I say, old man," said Hamilton severely, "will you be kind enoughto remember not to call this lady Vera until she asks you to?"

"Don't be peevish, old boy, don't be jealous, dear old thing.

Brother-officer and all that. Believe me, you can trust your old

Bones."

"I'd rather trust the lady's good taste," said Hamilton with someacerbity. "But won't it be a bit lonely for you, Bones?"

"But what do you mean, my Othello?"

"I mean three is a pretty rotten sort of party," said Hamilton.

"Couldn't you dig up somebody to go along and make the fourth?"

Bones coughed and was immensely embarrassed.

"Well, dear old athlete," he said unnecessarily loudly, "I was thinkingof asking my – er – "

"Your – er – what? I gather it's an er," said Hamilton seriously, "butwhich er?"

"My old typewriter, frivolous one," said Bones truculently. "Anyobjection?"

"Of course not," said Hamilton calmly. "Miss Whitland is a mostcharming girl, and Vera will be delighted to meet her."

Bones choked his gratitude and wrung the other's hand for fully twominutes.

He spent the rest of the week in displaying to Hamilton the frankambitions of his mind toward Miss Marguerite Whitland. Whenever he hadnothing to do – which seemed most of the day – he strolled across toHamilton's desk and discoursed upon the proper respect which allright-thinking young officers have for old typewriters. By the end ofthe week Hamilton had the confused impression that the very pretty girlwho ministered to the literary needs of his partner, combined thequalities of a maiden aunt with the virtues of a grandmother, and thatBones experienced no other emotion than one of reverential wonder, tinctured with complete indifference.

On the sixty-fourth lecture Hamilton struck.

"Of course, dear old thing," Bones was saying, "to a jolly old brigandlike you, who dashes madly down from his mountain lair and takes thefirst engaging young person who meets his eye – "

Hamilton protested vigorously, but Bones silenced him with a lordlygesture.

"I say, to a jolly old rascal like you it may seem – what is the word?"

"'Inexplicable,' I suppose, is the word you are after," said Hamilton.

"That's the fellow; you took it out of my mouth," said Bones. "Itsounds inexplicable that I can be interested in a platonic, fatherlykind of way in the future of a lovely old typewriter."

"It's not inexplicable at all," said Hamilton bluntly. "You're in lovewith the girl."

"Good gracious Heavens!" gasped Bones, horrified. "Ham, my dear oldboy. Dicky Orum, Dicky Orum, old thing!"

Sunday morning brought together four solemn people, two of whom weremen, who felt extremely awkward and showed it, and two of whom behavedas though they had known one another all their lives.

Bones, who stood alternately on his various legs, was frankly astoundedthat the meeting had passed off without any sensational happening. Itwas an astonishment shared by thousands of men in similarcircumstances. A word of admiration for the car from Vera melted himto a condition of hysterical gratitude.

"It's not a bad old 'bus, dear old – Miss Vera," he said, and tut-tuttedaudibly under his breath at his error. "Not a bad old 'bus at all, dear old – young friend. Now I'll show you the gem of the collection."

"They are big, aren't they?" said Vera, properly impressed by the lamps.

"They never go out," said Bones solemnly. "I assure you I'm lookingforward to the return journey with the greatest eagerness – I mean tosay, of course, that I'm looking forward to the other journey – I don'tmean to say I want the day to finish, and all that sort of rot. Infact, dear old Miss Vera, I think we'd better be starting."

He cranked up and climbed into the driver's seat, and beckonedMarguerite to seat herself by his side. He might have done thiswithout explanation, but Bones never did things without explanation, and he turned back and glared at Hamilton.

"You'd like to be alone, dear old thing, wouldn't you?" he saidgruffly. "Don't worry about me, dear old lad. A lot of people say youcan see things reflected in the glass screen, but I'm so absorbed in mydriving – "

"Get on with it!" snarled Hamilton.

It was, nevertheless, a perfect day, and Bones, to everybody'ssurprise, his own included, drove perfectly. It had been his secretintention to drive to Brighton; but nobody suspected this plan, orcared very much what his intentions had been, and the car was runningsmoothly across Salisbury Plain.

When they stopped for afternoon tea, Hamilton did remark that hethought Bones had said something about Brighton, but Bones just smiled.They left Andover that night in the dusk; but long before the light hadfaded, the light which was sponsored by Mr. Jelf blazed whitely in thelamp that never went out. And when the dark came Bones purred withjoy, for this light was a wonderful light. It flooded the road aheadwith golden radiance, and illuminated the countryside, so that distantobservers speculated upon its origin.

"Well, old thing," said Bones over his shoulder, "what do you think ofthe lamps?"

"Simply wonderful, Bones," agreed Hamilton. "I've never seen anythingso miraculous. I can even see that you're driving with one hand."

Bones brought the other hand up quickly to the wheel and coughed. Asfor Miss Marguerite Whitland, she laughed softly, but nobody heard her.

They were rushing along a country road tree-shaded and high-hedged, and

Bones was singing a little song – when the light went out.

It went out with such extraordinary unexpectedness, without so much asa warning flicker, that he was temporarily blinded, and brought the carto a standstill.

"What's up, Bones?" asked Hamilton.

"The light, dear old thing," said Bones. "I think the jolly oldtypewriter must have touched the key with her knee."

"Indeed?" said Hamilton politely; and Bones, remembering that the keywas well over on his side of the car, coughed, this time fiercely.

He switched the key from left to right, but nothing happened.

"Most extraordinary!" said Bones.

"Most," said Hamilton.

There was a pause.

"I think the road branches off a little way up I'll get down and see which is the right road to take," said Bones with sudden cheerfulness.

"I remember seeing the old signpost before the – er – lamp went out.

Perhaps, Miss Marguerite, you'd like to go for a little walk."

Miss Marguerite Whitland said she thought she would, and they went offtogether to investigate, leaving Hamilton to speculate upon thelikelihood of their getting home that night.

Bones walked ahead with Marguerite, and instinctively their handssought and found one another. They discovered the cross-roads, butBones did not trouble to light his match. His heart was beating withextraordinary violence, his lips were dry, he found much difficulty inspeaking at all.

"Miss Marguerite," he said huskily, "don't think I'm an awful outsiderand a perfect rotter, dear old typewriter."

"Of course I don't," she said a little faintly for Bones's arm wasabout her.

"Don't think," said Bones, his voice trembling, "that I am a naughtyold philanderer; but somehow, dear old miss, being alone with you, andall that sort of stuff – "

And he bent and kissed her, and at that moment the light that neverwent out came on again with extraordinary fierceness, as though to makeup for its temporary absence without leave.

And these two young people were focused as in a limelight, and were notonly visible from the car, but visible for miles around.

"Dear me!" said Bones.

The girl said nothing. She shaded her eyes from the light as shewalked back. As for Bones, he climbed into the driver's seat with thedeliberation of an old gentleman selecting a penny chair in the park, and said, without turning his head:

"It's the road to the left."

"I'm glad," said Hamilton, and made no comment even when Bones took theroad to the right.

They had gone a quarter of a mile along this highway when the lamp wentout. It went out with as unexpected and startling suddenness asbefore. Bones jingled the key, then turned.

"You wouldn't like to get out, dear old Ham, and have a look round, would you?"

"No, Bones," said Hamilton drily. "We're quite comfortable."

"You wouldn't like to get down, my jolly old typewriter?"

"No, thank you," said Miss Marguerite Whitland with decision.

"Oh!" said Bones. "Then, under the circumstances, dear old person,we'd all better sit here until – "

At that moment the light came on. It flooded the white road, and thewhite road was an excellent wind-screen against which the bending headof Bones was thrown into sharp relief.

The car moved on. At regular intervals the light that never went outforsook its home-loving habits and took a constitutional. Theoccupants of the ear came to regard its eccentricities with philosophy, even though it began to rain, and there was no hood.

On the outskirts of Guildford, Bones was pulled up by a policeman, whotook his name because the lights were too bright. On the other side ofGuildford he was pulled up by another policeman because he had no lightat all. Passing through Kingston, the lamp began to flicker, sendingforth brilliant dots and dashes, which continued until they were onPutney Common, where the lamp's message was answered from a camp of BoyScouts, one signalman of the troop being dragged from his bed for thepurpose, the innocent child standing in his shirt at the call of duty.

"A delightful day," said Hamilton at parting that night. (It wasnearly twelve o'clock.) "I'm sorry you've had so much trouble withthat lamp, Bones. What did you call it?"

"I say, old fellow," said Bones, ignoring the question, "I hope, whenyou saw me picking a spider off dear old Miss Marguerite's shoulder, you didn't – er – think anything?"

"The only thing I thought was," said Hamilton, "that I didn't see thespider."

"Don't stickle, dear old partner," said Bones testily. "It may havebeen an earwig. Now, as a man of the world, dear old blasé one, doyou think I'd compromise an innocent typewriter? Do you think I oughtto – " He paused, but his voice was eager.

"That," said Hamilton, "is purely a question for the lady. Now, whatare you going to do with this lamp. Are you going to float it?"

Bones scowled at the glaring headlight.

"That depends whether the naughty old things float, Ham," he saidvenomously. "If you think they will, my old eye-witness, how abouttyin' a couple of bricks round 'em before I chuck 'em in. What?"

CHAPTER X

THE BRANCH LINE

Not all the investments of Bones paid dividends. Some cost him money.

Some cost him time. Some – and they were few – cost him both.

Somewhere in a marine store in London lie the battered wrecks of whatwere once electro-plated motor-lamps of a peculiar and, to Bones, sinister design. They were all that was left of a great commercialscheme, based upon the flotation of a lamp that never went out.

On a day of crisis in Bones's life they had gone out, which was bad.They had come on at an inconvenient moment, which was worse, since theyhad revealed him and his secretary in tender attitudes. And Bones hadgone gaily to right the wrong, and had been received with coldpoliteness by the lady concerned.

There was a week of gloom, when Bones adopted towards his invaluableassistant the air and manner of one who was in the last stages of awasting disease. Miss Marguerite Whitland never came into Bones'soffice without finding him sitting at his desk with his head in hishands, except once, when she came in without knocking and Bones hadn'tthe time to strike that picturesque attitude.

Indeed, throughout that week she never saw him but he was swaying, orstanding with his hand before his eyes, or clutching on to the edge ofa chair, or walking with feeble footsteps; and she never spoke to himbut he replied with a tired, wan smile, until she became seriouslyalarmed, thinking his brain was affected, and consulted CaptainHamilton, his partner.

"Look here, Bones, you miserable devil," said Hamilton, "you're scaringthat poor girl. What the dickens do you mean by it?"

"Scaring who?" said Bones, obviously pleased. "Am I really? Is shefearfully cut up, dear old thing?"

"She is," said Hamilton truthfully. "She thinks you're going dotty."

"Vulgarity, vulgarity, dear old officer," said Bones, much annoyed.

"I told her you were often like that," Hamilton went on wilfully. "Isaid that you were a little worse, if anything, after your last loveaffair – "

"Heavens!" nearly screamed Bones. "You didn't tell her anything aboutyour lovely old sister Patricia?"

"I did not," said Hamilton. "I merely pointed out to her the fact thatwhen you were in love you were not to be distinguished from one whom isthe grip of measles."

"Then you're a naughty old fellow," said Bones. "You're a wicked oldrascal. I'm surprised at you! Can't a fellow have a little hearttrouble – "

"Heart? Bah!" said Hamilton scornfully.

"Heart trouble," repeated Bones sternly. "I've always had a weakheart."

"And a weak head, too," said Hamilton. "Now, just behave yourself,Bones, and stop frightening the lady. I'm perfectly sure she's fond ofyou – in a motherly kind of way," he added, as he saw Bones's face lightup. "And, really, she is such an excellent typist that it would be asin and a shame to frighten her from the office."

This possibility had not occurred to Bones, and it is likely it hadmore effect than any other argument which Hamilton could use. That dayhe began to take an interest in life, stepped gaily into the office andas blithely into his secretary's room. He even made jokes, and daredinvite her to tea – an invitation which was declined so curtly thatBones decided that tea was an unnecessary meal, and cut it outforthwith.

All this time the business of Schemes Limited was going forward, if notby leaps and bounds, yet by steady progression. Perhaps it was therestraining influence that Hamilton exercised which prevented the leapsbeing too pronounced and kept the bounds within bounds, so to speak.It was Schemes Limited which bought the theatrical property of the lateMr. Liggeinstein and re-sold those theatres in forty-eight hours at ahandsome profit. It was Bones who did the buying, and it was Hamiltonwho did the selling – in this case, to the intense annoyance of Bones, who had sat up the greater part of one night writing a four-act play inblank verse, and arriving at the office late, had discovered that hischance of acting as his own producer had passed for ever.

"And I'd written a most wonderful part for you, dear old mademoiselle,"he said sadly to his secretary. "The part where you die in the thirdact – well, really, it brought tears to my jolly old eyes."

"I think Captain Hamilton was very wise to accept the offer of the

Colydrome Syndicate," said the girl coldly.

In his leisure moments Bones had other relaxations than the writing ofpoetry – now never mentioned – or four-act tragedies. What Hamilton hadsaid of him was true. He had an extraordinary nose for a bargain, andfound his profits in unexpected places.

People got to know him – quite important people, men who handledmillions carelessly, like Julius Bohea, and Important Persons whosefaces are familiar to the people of Britain, such as the Right Hon.George Parkinson Chenney. Bones met that most influential member ofthe Cabinet at a very superior dinner-party, where everybody ateplovers' eggs as though it were a usual everyday occurrence.

And Mr. Parkinson Chenney talked on his favourite subject with greatease and charm, and his favourite subject was the question of theChinese Concession. Apparently everybody had got concessions in Chinaexcept the British, until one of our cleverest diplomatists stepped inand procured for us the most amazingly rich coalfield of Wei-hai-tai.The genius and foresight of this diplomatist – who had actually gone toChina in the Long Vacation, and of his own initiative and out of hisown head had evolved these concessions, which were soon to be ratifiedby a special commission which was coming from China – was a theme onwhich Mr. Parkinson Chenney spoke with the greatest eloquence. Andeverybody listened respectfully, because he was a great man.

"It is not for me," said Mr. Parkinson Chenney, toying with the stem ofhis champagne glass and closing his eyes modestly, "I say it is not forme – thank you, Perkins, I will have just as much as will come up to thebrim; thank you, that will do very nicely – to speak boastfully or toenlarge unduly upon what I regard as a patriotic effort, and one whichevery citizen of these islands would in the circumstances have made, but I certainly plume myself upon the acumen and knowledge of thesituation which I showed."

"Hear, hear!" said Bones in the pause that followed, and Mr. Parkinson

Chenney beamed.

When the dinner was over, and the guests retired to the smoking-room,

Bones buttonholed the minister.

"Dear old right honourable," said Bones, "may I just have a few wordsin re Chinese coal?"

The right honourable gentleman listened, or appeared to listen. ThenMr. Parkinson Chenney smiled a recognition to another great man, andmoved off, leaving Bones talking.

Bones that night was the guest of a Mr. Harold Pyeburt, a Cityacquaintance – almost, it seemed, a disinterested City acquaintance.When Bones joined his host, Mr. Pyeburt patted him on the back.

"My dear Tibbetts," he said in admiration, "you've made a hit with

Chenney. What the dickens did you talk about?"

"Oh, coal," said Bones vaguely.

He wasn't quite certain what he had talked about, only he knew that inhis mind at dinner there had dawned a great idea. Was Mr. Pyeburt athought-reader? Possibly he was. Or possibly some chance word of hishad planted the seed which was now germinating so favourably.

"Chenney is a man to know," he said. "He's one of the most powerfulfellows in the Cabinet. Get right with him, and you can have aknighthood for the asking."

Bones blushed.

"A knighthood, dear old broker's man?" he said, with an elaborateshrug. "No use to me, my rare old athlete. Lord Bones – Lord TibbettsI mean – may sound beastly good, but what good is it, eh? Answer methat."

"Oh, I don't know," said Mr. Pyeburt. "It may be nothing to you, butyour wife – "

"Haven't a wife, haven't a wife," said Bones rapidly, "haven't a wife!"

"Oh, well, then," said Mr. Pyeburt, "it isn't an attractive propositionto you, and, after all, you needn't take a knighthood – which, by theway, doesn't carry the title of lordship – unless you want to.

"I've often thought," he said, screwing up his forehead, as though inthe process of profound cogitation, "that one of these days some luckyfellow will take the Lynhaven Railway off Chenney's hands and earn hiseverlasting gratitude."

"Lynhaven? Where's that?" asked Bones. "Is there a railway?"