Bones in London

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?"

Mr. Pyeburt nodded.

"Come out on to the balcony, and I'll tell you about it," said Pyeburt; and Bones, who always wanted telling about things, and could no moreresist information than a dipsomaniac could refuse drink, followedobediently.

It appeared that Mr. Parkinson Chenney's father was a rich buteccentric man, who had a grudge against a certain popular seasideresort for some obscure reason, and had initiated a movement to found arival town. So he had started Lynhaven, and had built houses andvillas and beautiful assembly rooms; and then, to complete theindependence of Lynhaven, he had connected that town with the maintraffic line by railway, which he built across eight miles ofmarshland. By all the rules of the game, no man can createsuccessfully in a spirit of vengeance, and Lynhaven should have been afailure. It was, indeed, a great success, and repaid Mr. Chenney,Senior, handsomely.

But the railway, it seemed, was a failure, because the rival town hadcertain foreshore rights, and had employed those to lay a tramway fromtheir hustling centre; and as the rival town was on the main line, themajority of visitors preferred going by the foreshore route inpreference to the roundabout branch line route, which was somewhathandicapped by the fact that this, too, connected with the branch lineat Tolness, a little town which had done great work in the War, butwhich did not attract the tourist in days of peace.

These were the facts about the Lynhaven line, not as they were setforth by Mr. Pyeburt – who took a much more optimistic view of thepossibilities of the railway than did its detractors – but as theyreally were.

"It's a fine line, beautifully laid and ballasted," said Mr. Pyeburt, shaking his head with melancholy admiration. "All that it wants behindit is a mind. At present it's neglected; the freights and passengerfares are too high, the rolling-stock wants replacing, but thelocomotive stock is in most excellent condition."

"Does he want to sell it?" asked the interested Bones, and Mr. Pyeburtpursed his lips.

"It is extremely doubtful," he said carefully, "but I think he might beapproached. If he does want to sell it, and you can take it off hishands – "

He raised his own eyebrows with a significant gesture, which expressedin some subtle way that Bones's future was assured.