Bones in London

He was so unruffled, so complacent, that Bones, could only look at himin wonder. There was, too, about Ali Mahomet a queer look of guiltysatisfaction, as of one who had been surprised in a good act.

"Master," he said, "it is true that, contrary to modest desires ofhumble poets, I have offered praises of your literature to unauthorisedpersons, sojourning in high-class café 'King's Arms,' for my eveningrefreshment. Also desiring to create pleasant pleasure and surprise, your servant from his own emoluments authorised preparation of saidpoems in real print work."

Bones gasped.

"You were going to get my things printed? Oh, you … oh, you…"

Ali was by no means distressed.

"To-morrow there shall come to you a beautiful book for the master'ssurprise and joyousness. I myself will settle account satisfactorilyfrom emoluments accrued."

Bones could only sit down and helplessly wag his head. Presently hegrew calmer. It was a kindly thought, after all. Sooner or laterthose poems of his must be offered to the appreciation of a largeraudience. He saw blind Fate working through his servitor's act. Thematter had been taken out of his hands now.

"What made you do it, you silly old josser?" he asked.

"Master, one gentleman friend suggested or proffered advice, himselfbeing engaged in printery, possessing machines – "

A horrible thought came into Bones's head.

"What was his name?" he asked.

Ali fumbled in the capacious depths of his trousers pocket and produceda soiled card, which he handed to Bones. Bones read with a groan:

MESSRS. SEEPIDGE & SOOMES,

Printers to the Trade.

Bones fell back in the padded depths of his writing chair.

"Now, you've done it," he said hollowly, and threw the card back again.

It fell behind Ali, and he turned his back on Bones and stooped to pickup the card. It was a target which, in Bones's then agitatedcondition, he could scarcely be expected to resist.

* * * * *

Bones spent a sleepless night, and was at the office early. By thefirst post came the blow he had expected – a bulky envelope bearing onthe flap the sign-manual of Messrs. Seepidge & Soomes. The letterwhich accompanied the proof enclosed merely repeated the offer to sellthe business for fifteen thousand pounds.

"This will include," the letter went on, "a great number of uncompletedorders, one of which is for a very charming series of poems which arenow in our possession, and a proof-sheet of which we beg to enclose."

Bones read the poems and they somehow didn't look as well in print asthey had in manuscript. And, horror of horrors – he went white at thethought – they were unmistakably disrespectful to Miss MargueriteWhitland! They were love poems. They declared Bones's passion inlanguage which was unmistakable. They told of her hair which wasbeyond compare, of her eyes which rivalled the skies, and of her lipslike scarlet strips. Bones bowed his head in his hands, and was inthis attitude when the door opened, and Miss Whitland, who had had aperfect night and looked so lovely that her poems became pallid andnauseating caricatures, stepped quietly into the room.

"Aren't you well, Mr. Tibbetts?" she said.

"Oh, quite well," said Bones valiantly. "Very tra-la-la, dear oldthing, dear old typewriter, I mean."

"Is that correspondence for me?"

She held out her hand, and Bones hastily thrust Messrs. Seepidge &

Soomes's letter, with its enclosure, into his pocket.

"No, no, yes, yes," he said incoherently. "Certainly why not this is aletter dear old thing about a patent medicine I have just taken I amnot all I was a few years ago old age is creeping on me and all thatsort of stuff shut the door as you go in."

He said this without a comma or a full-stop. He said it so wildly thatshe was really alarmed.

Hamilton arrived a little later, and to him Bones made full confession.

"Let's see the poems," said Hamilton seriously.

"You won't laugh?" said Bones.

"Don't be an ass. Of course I won't laugh, unless they're supposed tobe comic," said Hamilton. And, to do him justice, he did not so muchas twitch a lip, though Bones watched his face jealously.

So imperturbable was Hamilton's expression that Bones had courage todemand with a certain smugness:

"Well, old man, not so bad? Of course, they don't come up to Kipling, but I can't say that I'm fearfully keen on Kipling, old thing. Thatlittle one about the sunset, I think, is rather a gem."

"I think you're rather a gem," said Hamilton, handing back the proofs.

"Bones, you've behaved abominably, writing poetry of that kind and leaving it about. You're going to make this girl the laughing-stock of

London."

"Laughing-stock?" snorted the annoyed Bones. "What the dickens do youmean, old thing? I told you there are no comic poems. They're alllike that."

"I was afraid they were," said Hamilton. "But poems needn't be comic,"he added a little more tactfully, as he saw Bones's colour rising,"they needn't be comic to excite people's amusement. The most solemnand sacred things, the most beautiful thoughts, the most wonderfulsentiments, rouse the laughter of the ignorant."

"True, true," agreed Bones graciously. "And I rather fancy that theyare a little bit on the most beautiful side, my jolly old graven image.All heart outpourings you understand – but no, you wouldn't understand,my old crochety one. One of these days, as I've remarked before, theywill be read by competent judges … midnight oil, dear old thing – atleast, I have electric light in my flat. They're generally done afterdinner."

"After a heavy dinner, I should imagine," said Hamilton with asperity.

"What are you going to do about it, Bones?"

Bones scratched his nose.

"I'm blessed if I know," he said.

"Shall I tell you what you must do?" asked Hamilton quietly.

"Certainly, Ham, my wise old counsellor," said the cheerful Bones.

"Certainly, by all means, Why not?"

"You must go to Miss Whitland and tell her all about it."

Bones's face fell.

"Good Heavens, no!" he gasped. "Don't be indelicate, Ham! Why, shemight never forgive me, dear old thing! Suppose she walked out of theoffice in a huff? Great Scotland! Great Jehoshaphat! It's tooterrible to contemplate!"