Bones in London

"You've no idea of the difficulties in production – what with the

Government holding up supplies – but in a few months – "

"I know all about that," said Bones. "Now, I'm a man of affairs and aman of business."

He said this so definitely that it sounded like a threat.

"I'm putting it to you, as one City of London business person toanother City of London business person, is it possible to make cars atyour factory?"

Mr. Soames rose to the occasion.

"I assure you, Mr. Tibbetts," he said earnestly, "it is possible. Itwants a little more capital than we've been able to raise."

This was the trouble with all Mr. Soames's companies, a long list ofwhich appeared on a brass plate by the side of his door. None of themwere sufficiently capitalised to do anything except to supply him withhis fees as managing director.

Bones produced a dinky little pocket-book from his waistcoat and readhis notes, or, rather, attempted to read his notes. Presently he gaveit up and trusted to his memory.

"You've got forty thousand pounds subscribed to your Company," he said."Now, I'll tell you what I'm willing to do – I will take over yourshares at a price."

Mr. Soames swallowed hard. Here was one of the dreams of his lifecoming true.

"There are four million shares issued," Bones went on, consulting hisnotebook.

"Eh?" said Mr. Soames in a shocked voice.

Bones looked at his book closer.

"Is it four hundred thousand?"

"Forty thousand," said Mr. Soames gently.

"It is a matter of indifference," said Bones. "The point is, will yousell?"

The managing director of the Plover Light Car Company pursed his lips.

"Of course," he said, "the shares are at a premium – not," he addedquickly, "that they are being dealt with on 'Change. We have nottroubled to apply for quotations. But I assure you, my dear sir, theshares are at a premium."

Bones said nothing.

"At a small premium," said Mr. Soames hopefully.

Bones made no reply.

"At a half a crown premium," said Mr. Soames pleadingly.

"At par," said Bones, in his firmest and most business-like tones.

The matter was not settled there and then, because matters are notsettled with such haste in the City of London. Bones went home to hisoffice with a new set of notes, and wired to Hamilton, asking him tocome on the following day.

It was a great scheme that Bones worked out that night, with the aid ofthe sceptical Miss Whitland. His desk was piled high with technicalpublications dealing with the motor-car industry. The fact that he wasbuying the Company in order to rescue a friend's investment passedentirely from his mind in the splendid dream he conjured from hisdubious calculations.

The Plover car should cover the face of the earth. He read an articleon mass production, showing how a celebrated American produced athousand or a hundred thousand cars a day – he wasn't certain which – andhow the car, in various parts, passed along an endless table, betweenlines of expectant workmen, each of whom fixed a nut or unfixed a nut,so that, when the machine finally reached its journey's end, it leftthe table under its own power.

Bones designed a circular table, so that, if any of the workmen forgotto fix a bar or a nut or a wheel, the error could be rectified when thecar came round again. The Plover car should be a household word. Itsfactories should spread over North London, and every year there shouldbe a dinner with Bones in the chair, and a beautiful secretary on hisright, and Bones should make speeches announcing the amount of theprofits which were to be distributed to his thousands of hands in theshape of bonuses.

Hamilton came promptly at ten o'clock, and he came violently. He flewinto the office and banged a paper down on Bones's desk with theenthusiasm of one who had become the sudden possessor of money which hehad not earned.

"Dear old thing, dear old thing," said Bones testily, "remember dearold Dicky Orum – preserve the decencies, dear old Ham. You're not inthe Wild West now, my cheery boy."

"Bones," shouted Hamilton, "you're my mascot! Do you know what hashappened?"

"Lower your voice, lower your voice, dear old friend," protested Bones.

"My typewriter mustn't think I am quarrelling."

"He came last night," said Hamilton, "just as I was going to bed, andknocked me up." He was almost incoherent in his joy. "He offered methree thousand five hundred pounds for my shares, and I took it like ashot."

Bones gaped at him.

"Offered you three thousand five hundred?" he gasped. "Good heavens!

You don't mean to say – "

Consider the tragedy of that moment. Here was Bones, full of greatschemes for establishing a car upon the world's markets, who had in hishead planned extensive works, who saw in his mind's eye vistas of long, white-covered festive boards, and heard the roar of cheering whichgreeted him when he rose to propose continued prosperity to the firm.Consider also that his cheque was on the table before him, already madeout and signed. He was at that moment awaiting the arrival of Mr.Soames.

And then to this picture, tangible or fanciful, add Mr. Charles O.Soames himself, ushered through the door of the outer office andstanding as though stricken to stone at the sight of Bones and Hamiltonin consultation.

"Good morning," said Bones.

Mr. Soames uttered a strangled cry and strode to the centre of theroom, his face working.

"So it was a ramp, was it?" he said. "A swindle, eh? You put this upto get your pal out of the cart?"

"My dear old – " began Bones in a shocked voice.

"I see how it was done. Well, you've had me for three thousand fivehundred, and your pal's lucky. That's all I've got to say. It is thefirst time I've ever been caught; and to be caught by a mug likeyou – "

"Dear old thing, moderate your language," murmured Bones.

Mr. Soames breathed heavily through his nose, thrust his hat on theback of his head, and, without another word, strode from the office, and they heard the door slam behind him. Bones and Hamilton exchangedglances; then Bones picked up the cheque from the desk and slowly toreit up. He seemed to spend his life tearing up expensive cheques.

"What is it, Bones? What the dickens did you do?" asked the puzzled

Hamilton.

"Dear old Ham," said Bones solemnly, "it was a little scheme – just alittle scheme. Sit down, dear old officer," he said, after a solemnpause. "And let this be a warning to you. Don't put your money inindustries, dear old Captain Hamilton. What with the state of thelabour market, and the deuced ingratitude of the working classes, it'spositively heartbreaking – it is, indeed, dear old Ham."

And then and there he changed the whole plan and went out ofindustrials for good.