Bones in London

"Ham, dear old thing, that is a chinchilla coat worth twelve hundredpounds."

Hamilton, to whom the mysteries of feminine attire were honestmysteries, accepted the sensational report without demur.

"The way you pick up these particular bits of information, Bones, isreally marvellous to me. It isn't as though you go out a lot intosociety. It isn't as though women are fond of you or make a fuss ofyou."

Bones coughed.

"Dicky Orum. Remember, dear old Richard," he murmured. "My privatelife, dear old fellow, if you will forgive me snubbing you, is a matteron which nobody is an authority except A. Tibbetts, Esq. There's a lotyou don't know, dear old Ham. I was thinking of writing a book aboutit, but it would take too long."

By this time they reached the elevator, which descended in time toreceive the beautiful lady in the brown coat. Bones removed his hat, smoothed his glossy hair, and with a muttered "After you, dear oldfriend. Age before honesty," bundled Hamilton into the lift andfollowed him.

The elevator stopped at the third floor, and the lady got out. Bones, his curiosity overcoming his respect for age or his appreciation ofprobity, followed her, and was thrilled to discover that she madestraight for his office. She hesitated for a moment before that whichbore the word "Private," and passed on to the outer and general office.

Bones slipped into his own room so quickly that by the time Hamiltonentered he was sitting at his desk in a thoughtful and studiousattitude.

It cannot be said that the inner office was any longer entitled to thedescription of sanctum sanctorum. Rather was the holy of holies thelarger and less ornate apartment wherein sat A Being whose capablelittle fingers danced over complicated banks of keys.

The communicating door opened and the Being appeared. Hamilton, mindful of a certain agreement with his partner, pretended not to seeher.

"There's a lady who wishes a private interview with you, Mr. Tibbetts,"said the girl.

Bones turned with an exaggerated start.

"A lady?" he said in a tone of incredulity. "Gracious Heavens! Thisis news to me, dear old miss. Show her in, please, show her in. Aprivate interview, eh?" He looked meaningly at Hamilton. Hamilton didnot raise his eyes – in accordance with his contract. "A privateinterview, eh?" said Bones louder. "Does she want to see me by myself?"

"Perhaps you would like to see her in my room," said the girl. "Icould stay here with Mr. Hamilton."

Bones glared at the unconscious Hamilton.

"That is not necessary, dear old typewriter," he said stiffly. "Showthe young woman in, please."

The "young woman," came in. Rather, she tripped and undulated andswayed from the outer office to the chair facing Bones, and Bones rosesolemnly to greet her.

Miss Marguerite Whitland, the beautiful Being, who had surveyed thetripping and swaying and undulating with the same frank curiosity thatCleopatra might have devoted to a performing seal, went into her officeand closed the door gently behind her.

"Sit down, sit down," said Bones. "And what can I do for you, youngmiss?"

The girl smiled. It was one of those flashing smiles which makesusceptible men blink. Bones was susceptible. Never had he been gazedupon with such kindness by a pair of such large, soft, brown eyes.Never had cheeks dimpled so prettily and so pleasurably, and seldom hadBones experienced such a sensation of warm embarrassment – notunpleasant – as he did now.

"I am sure I am being an awful nuisance to you, Mr. Tibbetts," said thelady. "You don't know my name, do you? Here is my card." She had itready in her hand, and put it in front of him. Bones waited a minuteor two while he adjusted his monocle, and read:

"MISS BERTHA STEGG."

As a matter of fact, he read it long before he had adjusted hismonocle, but the official acknowledgment was subsequent to thatperformance.

"Yes, yes," said Bones, who on such occasions as these, or on suchoccasions as remotely resembled these, was accustomed to take on theair and style of the strong, silent man. "What can we do for you, myjolly old – Miss Stegg?"

"It's a charity," blurted the girl, and sat back to watch the effect ofher words. "Oh, I know what you business men are! You simply hatepeople bothering you for subscriptions! And really, Mr. Tibbetts, if Ihad to come to ask you for money, I would never have come at all. Ithink it's so unfair for girls to pester busy men in their offices, atthe busiest time of the day, with requests for subscriptions."

Bones coughed. In truth, he had never been pestered, and was enjoyingthe experience.

"No, this is something much more pleasant, from my point of view," saidthe girl. "We are having a bazaar in West Kensington on behalf of theLittle Tots' Recreation Fund."

"A most excellent plan," said Bones firmly.

Hamilton, an interested audience, had occasion to marvel anew at theamazing self-possession of his partner.

"It is one of the best institutions that I know," Bones went onthoughtfully. "Of course, it's many years since I was a little tot, but I can still sympathise with the jolly old totters, dear young miss."

She had taken her portfolio from under her arm and laid it on his desk.It was a pretty portfolio, bound in powder blue and silver, and wasfastened by a powder blue tape with silver tassels. Bones eyed it withpardonable curiosity.

"I'm not asking you for money, Mr. Tibbetts," Miss Stegg went on in hersoft, sweet voice. "I think we can raise all the money we want at thebazaar. But we must have things to sell."

"I see, dear old miss," said Bones eagerly. "You want a few oldclothes? I've got a couple of suits at home, rather baggy at theknees, dear old thing, but you know what we boys are; we wear 'em untilthey fall off!"

The horrified Hamilton returned to the scrutiny of his notes.

"I don't suppose under-garments, if you will permit the indelicacy, mydear old philanthropist – " Bones was going on, when the girl stoppedhim with a gentle shake of her head.

"No, Mr. Tibbetts, it is awfully kind of you, but we do not wantanything like that. The way we expect to raise a lot of money is byselling the photographs of celebrities," she said.

"The photographs of celebrities?" repeated Bones. "But, my dear youngmiss, I haven't had my photograph taken for years."

Hamilton gasped. He might have gasped again at what followed, but forthe fact that he had got a little beyond the gasping stage.

The girl was untying her portfolio, and now she produced something andlaid it on the desk before Bones.

"How clever of you to guess!" she murmured. "Yes, it is a portrait ofyou we want to sell."

Bones stared dumbfounded at a picture of himself – evidently a snapshottaken with a press camera – leaving the building. And, moreover, it wasa flattering picture, for there was a stern frown of resolution onBones's pictured face, which, for some esoteric reason, pleased him.The picture was mounted rather in than on cardboard, for it was in asunken mount, and beneath the portrait was a little oblong slip of paleblue paper.

Bones gazed and glowed. Neatly printed above the picture were thewords: "Our Captains of Industry. III. – Augustus Tibbetts, Esq.(Schemes Limited)."

Bones read this with immense satisfaction. He wondered who were thetwo men who could be placed before him, but in his generous mood wasprepared to admit that he might come third in the list of London'smerchant princes.

"Deuced flattering, dear old thing," he murmured. "Hamilton, old boy, come and look at this."

Hamilton crossed to the desk, saw, and wondered.

"Not so bad," said Bones, dropping his head to one side and regardingthe picture critically. "Not at all bad, dear old thing. You've seenme in that mood, I think, old Ham."

"What is the mood?" said Hamilton innocently. "Indigestion?"

The girl laughed.

"Let's have a little light on the subject," said Bones. "Switch on theexpensive old electricity, Ham."

"Oh, no," said the girl quickly. "I don't think so. If you saw thepicture under the light, you'd probably think it wasn't good enough, and then I should have made my journey in vain. Spare me that, Mr.Tibbetts!"