Bones in London

Pull them down… say 500 pounds.

Erect erect 50 Grand Flats… say 10,000 pounds.

Paper, pante, windows, etc… say 1,000 pounds.

—

Total… 12,000 pounds.

50 Flats let at 80 pounds per annum. 40,000 lbs.

Net profit… say 50 per cent.

NOTE. – For good middel class familys steady steady people. By thismeans means doing good turn to working classes solving houseing problemand making money which can be distribbuted distribbutted to the poor.

Mr. Augustus Tibbetts, late of H.M. Houssa Rifles, was, as hisdoorplate testified, the Managing Director of "Schemes, Ltd." He was asevere looking young man, who wore a gold-rimmed monocle on his greycheck waistcoat and occasionally in his left eye. His face was of thatbrick-red which spoke of a life spent under tropical suns, and whenerect he conveyed a momentary impression of a departed militarism.

He uncurled his feet from the table, and, picking up a letter, read itthrough aloud – that is to say, he read certain words, skipped others, and substituted private idioms for all he could not or would nottrouble to pronounce.

"Dear Sir," (he mumbled), "as old friends of your dear uncle, and so onand so forth, we are taking the first opportunity of making widdlywiddly wee… Our Mr. Fred Pole will call upon you and place himselfwiddly widdly wee – tum tiddly um tum. – Yours truly."

Mr. Tibbetts frowned at the letter and struck a bell with unnecessaryviolence. There appeared in the doorway a wonderful man in scarletbreeches and green zouave jacket. On his head was a dull red tarbosh,on his feet scarlet slippers, and about his waist a sash of Orientalaudacity. His face, large and placid, was black, and, for all hissuggestiveness of the brilliant East, he was undoubtedly negroid.

The costume was one of Mr. Tibbetts's schemes. It was faithfullycopied from one worn by a gentleman of colour who serves the Turkishcoffee at the Wistaria Restaurant. It may be said that there was nospecial reason why an ordinary business man should possess a bodyguardat all, and less reason why he should affect one who had the appearanceof a burlesque Othello, but Mr. Augustus Tibbetts, though a businessman, was not ordinary.

"Bones" – for such a name he bore without protest in the limited circlesof his friendship – looked up severely.

"Ali," he demanded, "have you posted the ledger?"

"Sir," said Ali, with a profound obeisance, "the article was toocopious for insertion in aperture of collection box, so it wastransferred to the female lady behind postal department counter."

Bones leapt up, staring.

"Goodness gracious, Heavens alive, you silly old ass – you – you haven'tposted it – in the post?"

"Sir," said Ali reproachfully, "you instructed posting volume in exactformula. Therefore I engulfed it in wrappings and ligatures of string, and safely delivered it to posting authority."

Bones sank back in his chair.

"It's no use – no use, Ali," he said sadly, "my poor uncivilized savage,it's not your fault. I shall never bring you up to date, my poor sillyold josser. When I say 'post' the ledger, I mean write down all themoney you've spent on cabs in the stamp book. Goodness gracious alive!You can't run a business without system, Ali! Don't you know that, mydear old image? How the dooce do you think the auditors are to knowhow I spend my jolly old uncle's money if you don't write it down, hey?Posting means writing. Good Heavens" – a horrid thought dawned onhim – "who did you post it to?"

"Lord," said Ali calmly, "destination of posted volume is yourlordship's private residency."

All's English education had been secured in the laboratory of anEnglish scientist in Sierra Leone, and long association with thatlearned man had endowed him with a vocabulary at once impressive andrecondite.

Bones gave a resigned sigh.

"I'm expecting – " he began, when a silvery bell tinkled.

It was silvery because the bell was of silver. Bones looked up, pulleddown his waistcoat, smoothed back his hair, fixed his eye-glass, andtook up a long quill pen with a vivid purple feather.

"Show them in," he said gruffly.

"Them" was one well-dressed young man in a shiny silk hat, who, whenadmitted to the inner sanctum, came soberly across the room, balancinghis hat.

"Ah, Mr. Pole – Mr. Fred Pole." Bones read the visitor's card with thescowl which he adopted for business hours. "Yes, yes. Be seated, Mr.Pole. I shall not keep you a minute."

He had been waiting all the morning for Mr. Pole. He had been weavingdreams from the letter-heading above Mr. Pole's letter.

Ships … ships … house-flags … brass-buttoned owners…

He waved Mr. Fred to a chair and wrote furiously. This franticpressure of work was a phenomenon which invariably coincided with thearrival of a visitor. It was, I think, partly due to nervousness andpartly to his dislike of strangers. Presently he finished, blotted thepaper, stuck it in an envelope, addressed it, and placed it in hisdrawer. Then he took up the card.

"Mr. Pole?" he said.

"Mr. Pole," repeated that gentleman.

"Mr. Fred Pole?" asked Bones, with an air of surprise.

"Mr. Fred Pole," admitted the other soberly.

Bones looked from the card to the visitor as though he could notbelieve his eyes.

"We have a letter from you somewhere," he said, searching the desk.

"Ah, here it is!" (It was, in fact, the only document on the table.)

"Yes, yes, to be sure. I'm very glad to meet you."

He rose, solemnly shook hands, sat down again and coughed. Then hetook up the ivory paper-knife to chew, coughed again as he detected thelapse, and put it down with a bang.

"I thought I'd like to come along and see you, Mr. Tibbetts," said Fredin his gentle voice; "we are so to speak, associated in business."

"Indeed?" said Bones. "In-deed?"

"You see, Mr. Tibbetts," Fred went on, with a sad smile, "your lamenteduncle, before he went out of business, sold us his ships. He died amonth later."

He sighed and Bones sighed.

"Your uncle was a great man, Mr. Tibbetts," he said, "one of thegreatest business men in this little city. What a man!"

"Ah!" said Bones, shaking his head mournfully.

He had never met his uncle and had seldom heard of him. Saul Tibbettswas reputedly a miser, and his language was of such violence that theinfant Augustus was invariably hurried to the nursery on such rareoccasions as old Saul paid a family visit. His inheritance had come toBones as in a dream, from the unreality of which he had not yetawakened.

"I must confess, Mr. Tibbetts," said Fred, "that I have often hadqualms of conscience about your uncle, and I have been on the point ofcoming round to see you several times. This morning I said to mybrother, 'Joe,' I said, 'I'm going round to see Tibbetts.' Forgive thefamiliarity, but we talk of firms like the Rothschilds and the Morganswithout any formality."

"Naturally, naturally, naturally," murmured Bones gruffly.