"There is so much bad poetry in the world," said the girl on one suchoccasion, "that I think there should be a lethal chamber for people whowrite it."
"Agreed, dear old tick-tack," assented Bones, with an amused smile."What is wanted is – well, I know, dear old miss. It may surprise youto learn that I once took a correspondence course in poetry writing."
"Nothing surprises me about you, Mr. Tibbetts," she laughed.
He went into her office before leaving that night. Hamilton, with agloomy shake of his head by way of farewell, had already departed, andBones, who had given the matter very considerable thought, decided thatthis was a favourable occasion to inform her of the amusing efforts ofhis printer correspondent to extract money.
The girl had finished her work, her typewriter was covered, and she waswearing her hat and coat. But she sat before her desk, a frown on herpretty face and an evening newspaper in her hand, and Bones's heartmomentarily sank. Suppose the poems had been given to the world?
"All the winners, dear old miss?" he asked, with spurious gaiety.
She looked up with a start.
"No," she said. "I'm rather worried, Mr. Tibbetts. A friend of mystep-father's has got into trouble again, and I'm anxious lest mymother should have any trouble."
"Dear, dear!" said the sympathetic Bones. "How disgustingly annoying!
Who's the dear old friend?"
"A man named Seepidge," said the girl, and Bones gripped a chair forsupport. "The police have found that he is printing something illegal.I don't quite understand it all, but the things they were printing wereinvitations to a German lottery."
"Very naughty, very unpatriotic," murmured the palpitating Bones, andthen the girl laughed.
"It has its funny side," she said. "Mr. Seepidge pretended that he wascarrying out a legitimate order – a book of poems. Isn't that absurd?"
"Ha, ha!" said Bones hollowly.
"Listen," said the girl, and read:
"The magistrate, in sentencing Seepidge to six months' hard labour, said that there was no doubt that the man had been carrying on anillegal business. He had had the effrontery to pretend that he wasprinting a volume of verse. The court had heard extracts from thatprecious volume, which had evidently been written by Mr. Seepidge'soffice-boy. He had never read such appalling drivel in his life. Heordered the confiscated lottery prospectuses to be destroyed, and hethought he would be rendering a service to humanity if he added anorder for the destruction of this collection of doggerel."
The girl looked up at Bones.
"It is curious that we should have been talking about poetry to-day, isn't it?" she asked. "Now, Mr. Tibbetts, I'm going to insist uponyour bringing that book of yours to-morrow."
Bones, very flushed of face, shook his head.
"Dear old disciple," he said huskily, "another time … another time… poetry should be kept for years … like old wine…"
"Who said that?" she asked, folding her paper and rising.
"Competent judges," said Bones, with a gulp.
CHAPTER IX
THE LAMP THAT NEVER WENT OUT
"Have you seen her?" asked Bones.
He put this question with such laboured unconcern that Hamilton putdown his pen and glared suspiciously at his partner.
"She's rather a beauty," Bones went on, toying with his ivorypaper-knife. "She has one of those dinky bonnets, dear old thing, thatmakes you feel awfully braced with life."
Hamilton gasped. He had seen the beautiful Miss Whitland enter theoffice half an hour before, but he had not noticed her head-dress.
"Her body's dark blue, with teeny red stripes," said Bones dreamily,"and all her fittings are nickel-plated – "
"Stop!" commanded Hamilton hollowly. "To what unhappy woman are youreferring in this ribald fashion?"
"Woman!" spluttered the indignant Bones. "I'm talking about my car."
"Your car?"
"My car," said Bones, in the off-handed way that a sudden millionairemight refer to "my earth."
"You've bought a car?"
Bones nodded.
"It's a jolly good 'bus," he said. "I thought of running down to
Brighton on Sunday."
Hamilton got up and walked slowly across the room with his hands in hispockets.
"You're thinking of running down to Brighton, are you?" he said. "Isit one of those kind of cars where you have to do your own running?"
Bones, with a good-natured smile, also rose from his desk and walked tothe window.
"My car," he said, and waved his hand to the street.
By craning his neck, Hamilton was able to get a view of the patch ofroadway immediately in front of the main entrance to the building. Andundoubtedly there was a car in waiting – a long, resplendent machinethat glittered in the morning sunlight.
"What's the pink cushion on the seat?" asked Hamilton.
"That's not a pink cushion, dear old myoptic," said Bones calmly;"that's my chauffeur – Ali ben Ahmed."
"Good lor!" said the impressed Hamilton. "You've a nerve to drive intothe City with a sky-blue Kroo boy."
Bones shrugged his shoulders.
"We attracted a certain amount of attention," he admitted, not withoutsatisfaction.
"Naturally," said Hamilton, going back to his desk. "People thoughtyou were advertising Pill Pellets for Pale Poultry. When did you buythis infernal machine?"
Bones, at his desk, crossed his legs and put his fingers together.
"Negotiations, dear old Ham, have been in progress for a month," herecited. "I have been taking lessons on the quiet, and to-day – proof!"He took out his pocket-book and threw a paper with a lordly air towardshis partner. It fell half-way on the floor.
"Don't trouble to get up," said Hamilton. "It's your motor licence.
You needn't be able to drive a car to get that."
And then Bones dropped his attitude of insouciance and became avociferous advertisement for the six-cylinder Carter-Crispley ("the bigcar that's made like a clock"). He became double pages withillustrations and handbooks and electric signs. He spoke of Carter andof Crispley individually and collectively with enthusiasm, affection, and reverence.
"Oh!" said Hamilton, when he had finished. "It sounds good."
"Sounds good!" scoffed Bones. "Dear old sceptical one, that car…"
And so forth.
All excesses being their own punishment, two days later Bones renewedan undesirable acquaintance. In the early days of Schemes, Ltd., Mr.Augustus Tibbetts had purchased a small weekly newspaper called theFlame. Apart from the losses he incurred during its short career, the experience was made remarkable by the fact that he becameacquainted with Mr. Jelf, a young and immensely self-satisfied man inpince-nez, who habitually spoke uncharitably of bishops, and neverreferred to members of the Government without causing sensitive peopleto shudder.
The members of the Government retaliated by never speaking of Jelf atall, so there was probably some purely private feud between them.
Jelf disapproved of everything. He was twenty-four years of age, andhe, too, had made the acquaintance of the Hindenburg Line. NaturallyBones thought of Jelf when he purchased the Flame.
From the first Bones had run the Flame with the object of exposingthings. He exposed Germans, Swedes, and Turks – which was safe. Heexposed a furniture dealer who had made him pay twice for an articlebecause a receipt was lost, and that cost money. He exposed a man whohad been very rude to him in the City. He would have exposed JamesJacobus Jelf, only that individual showed such eagerness to expose hisown shortcomings, at a guinea a column, that Bones had lost interest.
His stock of personal grievances being exhausted, he had gone in for ageneral line of exposure which embraced members of the aristocracy andthe Stock Exchange.
If Bones did not like a man's face, he exposed him. He had a columnheaded "What I Want to Know," and signed "Senob." in which suchpertinent queries appeared as:
"When will the naughty old lord who owns a sky-blue motor-car, andwears pink spats, realise that his treatment of his tenants is adisgrace to his ancient lineage?"
This was one of James Jacobus Jelf's contributed efforts. It happenedon this particular occasion that there was only one lord in England whoowned a sky-blue car and blush-rose spats, and it cost Bones twohundred pounds to settle his lordship.
Soon after this, Bones disposed of the paper, and instructed Mr. Jelfnot to call again unless he called in an ambulance – an instructionwhich afterwards filled him with apprehension, since he knew that J. J.J. would charge up the ambulance to the office.
Thus matters stood two days after his car had made its publicappearance, and Bones sat confronting the busy pages of his garage bill.
On this day he had had his lunch brought into the office, and he was ina maze of calculation, when there came a knock at the door.
"Come in!" he yelled, and, as there was no answer, walked to the doorand opened it.
A young man stood in the doorway – a young man very earnest and verymysterious – none other than James Jacobus Jelf.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" said Bones unfavourably "I thought it wassomebody important."
Jelf tiptoed into the room and closed the door securely behind him.
"Old man," he said, in tones little above a whisper, "I've got afortune for you."
"Dear old libeller, leave it with the lift-man," said Bones. "He has awife and three children."
Mr. Jelf examined his watch.
"I've got to get away at three o'clock, old man," he said.
"Don't let me keep you, old writer," said Bones with insolentindifference.
Jelf smiled.
"I'd rather not say where I'm going," he volunteered. "It's a scoop, and if it leaked out, there would be the devil to pay."
"Oh!" said Bones, who knew Mr. Jelf well. "I thought it was somethinglike that."
"I'd like to tell you, Tibbetts," said Jelf regretfully, "but you knowhow particular one has to be when one is dealing with matters affectingthe integrity of ministers."
"I know, I know," responded Bones, wilfully dense, "especially huffyold vicars, dear old thing."
"Oh, them!" said Jelf, extending his contempt to the rules which governthe employment of the English language. "I don't worry about thosepoor funny things. No, I am speaking of a matter – you have heard aboutG.?" he asked suddenly.
"No," said Bones with truth.
Jelf looked astonished.
"What!" he said incredulously. "You in the heart of things, and don'tknow about old G.?"
"No, little Mercury, and I don't want to know," said Bones, busyinghimself with his papers.
"You'll tell me you don't know about L. next," he said, bewildered.
"Language!" protested Bones. "You really mustn't use Sunday words, really you mustn't."
Then Jelf unburdened himself. It appeared that G. had been engaged to
L.'s daughter, and the engagement had been broken off…
Bones stirred uneasily and looked at his watch.
"Dispense with the jolly old alphabet," he said wearily, "and let usget down to the beastly personalities."
Thereafter Jelf's conversation condensed itself to the limits of ahuman understanding. "G" stood for Gregory – Felix Gregory; "L" forLansing, who apparently had no Christian name, nor found such appendagenecessary, since he was dead. He had invented a lamp, and that lamphad in some way come into Jelf's possession. He was exploiting theinvention on behalf of the inventor's daughter, and had named it – hesaid this with great deliberation and emphasis – "The Tibbetts-JelfMotor Lamp."
Bones made a disparaging noise, but was interested.
The Tibbetts-Jelf Lamp was something new in motor lamps. It was a lampwhich had all the advantages of the old lamp, plus properties which nolamp had ever had before, and it had none of the disadvantages of anylamp previously introduced, and, in fact, had no disadvantageswhatsoever. So Jelf told Bones with great earnestness.
"You know me, Tibbetts," he said. "I never speak about myself, and I'mrather inclined to disparage my own point of view than otherwise."
"I've never noticed that," said Bones.
"You know, anyway," urged Jelf, "that I want to see the bad side ofanything I take up."
He explained how he had sat up night after night, endeavouring todiscover some drawback to the Tibbetts-Jelf Lamp, and how he had rolledinto bed at five in the morning, exhausted by the effort.
"If I could only find one flaw!" he said. "But the ingenious beggarwho invented it has not left a single bad point."
He went on to describe the lamp. With the aid of a lead pencil and apiece of Bones's priceless notepaper he sketched the front elevationand discoursed upon rays, especially upon ultra-violet rays.
Apparently this is a disreputable branch of the Ray family. If youcould only get an ultra-violet ray as he was sneaking out of the lamp, and hit him violently on the back of the head, you were rendering aservice to science and humanity.
This lamp was so fixed that the moment Mr. Ultra V. Ray reached thethreshold of freedom he was tripped up, pounced upon, and beaten untilhe (naturally enough) changed colour!
It was all done by the lens.
Jelf drew a Dutch cheese on the table-cloth to Illustrate the point.
"This light never goes out," said Jelf passionately. "If you lit itto-day, it would be alight to-morrow, and the next day, and so on. Allthe light-buoys and lighthouses around England will be fitted with thislamp; it will revolutionise navigation."
According to the exploiter, homeward bound mariners would gathertogether on the poop, or the hoop, or wherever homeward bound mannersgathered, and would chant a psalm of praise, in which the line "Heavenbless the Tibbetts-Jelf Lamp" would occur at regular intervals.
And when he had finished his eulogy, and lay back exhausted by his owneloquence, and Bones asked, "But what does it do?" Jelf could havekilled him.
Under any other circumstances Bones might have dismissed his visitorwith a lecture on the futility of attempting to procure money underfalse pretences. But remember that Bones was the proprietor of a newmotor-car, and thought motor-car and dreamed motor-car by day and bynight. Even as it was, he was framing a conventional expression ofregret that he could not interest himself in outside property, whenthere dawned upon his mind the splendid possibilities of possessingthis accessory, and he wavered.
"Anyway," he said, "it will take a year to make."
Mr. Jelf beamed.
"Wrong!" he cried triumphantly. "Two of the lamps are just finished, and will be ready to-morrow."
Bones hesitated.
"Of course, dear old Jelf," he said, "I should like, as an experiment,to try them on my car."
"On your car?" Jelf stepped back a pace and looked at the other withvery flattering interest and admiration. "Not your car! Have you acar?"
Bones said he had a car, and explained it at length. He even waxed asenthusiastic about his machine as had Mr. Jelf on the subject of thelamp that never went out. And Jelf agreed with everything that Bonessaid. Apparently he was personally acquainted with the Carter-Crispleycar. He had, so to speak, grown up with it. He knew its good pointsand none of its bad points. He thought the man who chose a car likethat must have genius beyond the ordinary. Bones agreed. Bones hadreached the conclusion that he had been mistaken about Jelf, and thatpossibly age had sobered him (it was nearly six months since he hadperpetrated his last libel). They parted the best of friends. He hadagreed to attend a demonstration at the workshop early the followingmorning, and Jelf, who was working on a ten per cent. commission basis, and had already drawn a hundred on account from the vendors, was thereto meet him.
In truth it was a noble lamp – very much like other motor lamps, exceptthat the bulb was, or apparently was, embedded in solid glass. Itsprincipal virtue lay in the fact that it carried its own accumulator, which had to be charged weekly, or the lamp forfeited its title.
Mr. Jelf explained, with the adeptness of an expert, how the lamp wascontrolled from the dashboard, and how splendid it was to have a lightwhich was independent of the engine of the car or of faultyaccumulators, and Bones agreed to try the lamp for a week. He did morethan this: he half promised to float a company for its manufacture, andgave Mr. Jelf fifty pounds on account of possible royalties andcommission, whereupon Mr. Jelf faded from the picture, and from thatmoment ceased to take the slightest interest in a valuable articlewhich should have been more valuable by reason of the fact that it borehis name.
Three days later Hamilton, walking to business, was overtaken by abeautiful blue Carter-Crispley, ornamented, it seemed from a distance,by two immense bosses of burnished silver. On closer examination theyproved to be nothing more remarkable than examples of the Tibbett-JelfLamp.
"Yes," said Bones airily, "that's the lamp, dear old thing. Inventedin leisure hours by self and Jelf. Step in, and I'll explain."
"Where do I step in," asked Hamilton, wilfully dense – "into the car orinto the lamp?"
Bones patiently smiled and waved him with a gesture to a seat by hisside. His explanation was disjointed and scarcely informative; forBones had yet to learn the finesse of driving, and he had a trick ofthinking aloud.
"This lamp, old thing," he said, "never goes out – you silly old josser, why did you step in front of me? Goodness gracious! I nearly cutshort your naughty old life" – (this to one unhappy pedestrian whomBones had unexpectedly met on the wrong side of the road) – "never goesout, dear old thing. It's out now, I admit, but it's not in workingorder – Gosh! That was a narrow escape! Nobody but a skilled driver, old Hamilton, could have missed that lamp-post. It is going to createa sensation; there's nothing like it on the market – whoop!"
He brought the car to a standstill with a jerk and within half an inchof a City policeman who was directing the traffic with his back turnedto Bones, blissfully unconscious of the doom which almost overcame him.
"I like driving with you, Bones," said Hamilton, when they reached theoffice, and he had recovered something of his self-possession. "Nextto stalking bushmen in the wild, wild woods, I know of nothing moresoothing to the nerves."
"Thank you," said Bones gratefully. "I'm not a bad driver, am I?"
"'Bad' is not the word I should use alone," said Hamilton pointedly.
In view of the comments which followed, he was surprised and pained toreceive on the following day an invitation, couched in such terms asleft him a little breathless, to spend the Sunday exploiting thebeauties of rural England.
"Now, I won't take a 'No,'" said Bones, wagging his bony forefinger."We'll start at eleven o'clock, dear old Ham, and we'll lunch atwhat-you-may-call-it, dash along the thingummy road, and heigho! forthe beautiful sea-breezes."
"Thanks," said Hamilton curtly. "You may dash anywhere you like, but
I'm dashed if I dash with you. I have too high a regard for my life."
"Naughty, naughty!" said Bones, "I've a good mind not to tell you what
I was going to say. Let me tell you the rest. Now, suppose," he said mysteriously, "that there's a certain lady – a jolly old girl named
Vera – ha – ha!"
Hamilton went red.
"Now, listen, Bones," he said; "we'll not discuss any other person thanourselves."
"What do you say to a day in the country? Suppose you asked Miss
Vera – "
"Miss Vera Sackwell," replied Hamilton a little haughtily, "if she isthe lady you mean, is certainly a friend of mine, but I have no controlover her movements. And let me tell you, Bones, that you annoy mewhen – "
"Hoity, toity!" said Bones. "Heaven bless my heart and soul! Can'tyou trust your old Bones? Why practise this deception, old thing? Isuppose," he went on reflectively, ignoring the approaching apoplexy ofhis partner, "I suppose I'm one of the most confided-in persons inLondon. A gay old father confessor, Ham, lad. Everybody tells metheir troubles. Why, the lift-girl told me this morning that she'd hadmeasles twice! Now, out with it, Ham!"
If Hamilton had any tender feeling for Miss Vera Sackwell, he was notdisposed to unburden himself at that moment. In some mysteriousfashion Bones, for the first time in his life, had succeeded inreducing him to incoherence.
"You're an ass, Bones!" he said angrily and hotly. "You're not only anass, but an indelicate ass! Just oblige me by shutting up."
Bones closed his eyes, smiled, and put out his hand.
"Whatever doubts I had, dear old Ham," he murmured, "are dispelled.
Congratulations!"
That night Hamilton dined with a fair lady. She was fair literally andfiguratively, and as he addressed her as Vera, it was probably hername. In the course of the dinner he mentioned Bones and hissuggestion. He did not tell all that Bones had said.
The suggestion of a day's motoring was not received unfavourably.
"But he can't drive," wailed Hamilton. "He's only just learnt."
"I want to meet Bones," said the girl, "and I think it a most excellentopportunity."
"But, my dear, suppose the beggar upsets us in a ditch? I really can'trisk your life."
"Tell Bones that I accept," she said decisively, and that ended thematter.
The next morning Hamilton broke the news.
"Miss Sackwell thanks you for your invitation, Bones."
"And accepts, of course?" said Bones complacently. "Jolly old Vera."
"And I say, old man," said Hamilton severely, "will you be kind enoughto remember not to call this lady Vera until she asks you to?"
"Don't be peevish, old boy, don't be jealous, dear old thing.
Brother-officer and all that. Believe me, you can trust your old
Bones."
"I'd rather trust the lady's good taste," said Hamilton with someacerbity. "But won't it be a bit lonely for you, Bones?"
"But what do you mean, my Othello?"
"I mean three is a pretty rotten sort of party," said Hamilton.
"Couldn't you dig up somebody to go along and make the fourth?"
Bones coughed and was immensely embarrassed.
"Well, dear old athlete," he said unnecessarily loudly, "I was thinkingof asking my – er – "
"Your – er – what? I gather it's an er," said Hamilton seriously, "butwhich er?"
"My old typewriter, frivolous one," said Bones truculently. "Anyobjection?"
"Of course not," said Hamilton calmly. "Miss Whitland is a mostcharming girl, and Vera will be delighted to meet her."
Bones choked his gratitude and wrung the other's hand for fully twominutes.
He spent the rest of the week in displaying to Hamilton the frankambitions of his mind toward Miss Marguerite Whitland. Whenever he hadnothing to do – which seemed most of the day – he strolled across toHamilton's desk and discoursed upon the proper respect which allright-thinking young officers have for old typewriters. By the end ofthe week Hamilton had the confused impression that the very pretty girlwho ministered to the literary needs of his partner, combined thequalities of a maiden aunt with the virtues of a grandmother, and thatBones experienced no other emotion than one of reverential wonder, tinctured with complete indifference.
On the sixty-fourth lecture Hamilton struck.
"Of course, dear old thing," Bones was saying, "to a jolly old brigandlike you, who dashes madly down from his mountain lair and takes thefirst engaging young person who meets his eye – "
Hamilton protested vigorously, but Bones silenced him with a lordlygesture.
"I say, to a jolly old rascal like you it may seem – what is the word?"
"'Inexplicable,' I suppose, is the word you are after," said Hamilton.
"That's the fellow; you took it out of my mouth," said Bones. "Itsounds inexplicable that I can be interested in a platonic, fatherlykind of way in the future of a lovely old typewriter."
"It's not inexplicable at all," said Hamilton bluntly. "You're in lovewith the girl."
"Good gracious Heavens!" gasped Bones, horrified. "Ham, my dear oldboy. Dicky Orum, Dicky Orum, old thing!"
Sunday morning brought together four solemn people, two of whom weremen, who felt extremely awkward and showed it, and two of whom behavedas though they had known one another all their lives.
Bones, who stood alternately on his various legs, was frankly astoundedthat the meeting had passed off without any sensational happening. Itwas an astonishment shared by thousands of men in similarcircumstances. A word of admiration for the car from Vera melted himto a condition of hysterical gratitude.
"It's not a bad old 'bus, dear old – Miss Vera," he said, and tut-tuttedaudibly under his breath at his error. "Not a bad old 'bus at all, dear old – young friend. Now I'll show you the gem of the collection."
"They are big, aren't they?" said Vera, properly impressed by the lamps.
"They never go out," said Bones solemnly. "I assure you I'm lookingforward to the return journey with the greatest eagerness – I mean tosay, of course, that I'm looking forward to the other journey – I don'tmean to say I want the day to finish, and all that sort of rot. Infact, dear old Miss Vera, I think we'd better be starting."
He cranked up and climbed into the driver's seat, and beckonedMarguerite to seat herself by his side. He might have done thiswithout explanation, but Bones never did things without explanation, and he turned back and glared at Hamilton.
"You'd like to be alone, dear old thing, wouldn't you?" he saidgruffly. "Don't worry about me, dear old lad. A lot of people say youcan see things reflected in the glass screen, but I'm so absorbed in mydriving – "
"Get on with it!" snarled Hamilton.
It was, nevertheless, a perfect day, and Bones, to everybody'ssurprise, his own included, drove perfectly. It had been his secretintention to drive to Brighton; but nobody suspected this plan, orcared very much what his intentions had been, and the car was runningsmoothly across Salisbury Plain.
When they stopped for afternoon tea, Hamilton did remark that hethought Bones had said something about Brighton, but Bones just smiled.They left Andover that night in the dusk; but long before the light hadfaded, the light which was sponsored by Mr. Jelf blazed whitely in thelamp that never went out. And when the dark came Bones purred withjoy, for this light was a wonderful light. It flooded the road aheadwith golden radiance, and illuminated the countryside, so that distantobservers speculated upon its origin.
"Well, old thing," said Bones over his shoulder, "what do you think ofthe lamps?"
"Simply wonderful, Bones," agreed Hamilton. "I've never seen anythingso miraculous. I can even see that you're driving with one hand."
Bones brought the other hand up quickly to the wheel and coughed. Asfor Miss Marguerite Whitland, she laughed softly, but nobody heard her.
They were rushing along a country road tree-shaded and high-hedged, and
Bones was singing a little song – when the light went out.
It went out with such extraordinary unexpectedness, without so much asa warning flicker, that he was temporarily blinded, and brought the carto a standstill.
"What's up, Bones?" asked Hamilton.
"The light, dear old thing," said Bones. "I think the jolly oldtypewriter must have touched the key with her knee."
"Indeed?" said Hamilton politely; and Bones, remembering that the keywas well over on his side of the car, coughed, this time fiercely.
He switched the key from left to right, but nothing happened.
"Most extraordinary!" said Bones.
"Most," said Hamilton.
There was a pause.
"I think the road branches off a little way up I'll get down and see which is the right road to take," said Bones with sudden cheerfulness.
"I remember seeing the old signpost before the – er – lamp went out.
Perhaps, Miss Marguerite, you'd like to go for a little walk."
Miss Marguerite Whitland said she thought she would, and they went offtogether to investigate, leaving Hamilton to speculate upon thelikelihood of their getting home that night.
Bones walked ahead with Marguerite, and instinctively their handssought and found one another. They discovered the cross-roads, butBones did not trouble to light his match. His heart was beating withextraordinary violence, his lips were dry, he found much difficulty inspeaking at all.
"Miss Marguerite," he said huskily, "don't think I'm an awful outsiderand a perfect rotter, dear old typewriter."
"Of course I don't," she said a little faintly for Bones's arm wasabout her.
"Don't think," said Bones, his voice trembling, "that I am a naughtyold philanderer; but somehow, dear old miss, being alone with you, andall that sort of stuff – "
And he bent and kissed her, and at that moment the light that neverwent out came on again with extraordinary fierceness, as though to makeup for its temporary absence without leave.
And these two young people were focused as in a limelight, and were notonly visible from the car, but visible for miles around.
"Dear me!" said Bones.
The girl said nothing. She shaded her eyes from the light as shewalked back. As for Bones, he climbed into the driver's seat with thedeliberation of an old gentleman selecting a penny chair in the park, and said, without turning his head:
"It's the road to the left."
"I'm glad," said Hamilton, and made no comment even when Bones took theroad to the right.
They had gone a quarter of a mile along this highway when the lamp wentout. It went out with as unexpected and startling suddenness asbefore. Bones jingled the key, then turned.
"You wouldn't like to get out, dear old Ham, and have a look round, would you?"
"No, Bones," said Hamilton drily. "We're quite comfortable."
"You wouldn't like to get down, my jolly old typewriter?"
"No, thank you," said Miss Marguerite Whitland with decision.
"Oh!" said Bones. "Then, under the circumstances, dear old person,we'd all better sit here until – "
At that moment the light came on. It flooded the white road, and thewhite road was an excellent wind-screen against which the bending headof Bones was thrown into sharp relief.
The car moved on. At regular intervals the light that never went outforsook its home-loving habits and took a constitutional. Theoccupants of the ear came to regard its eccentricities with philosophy, even though it began to rain, and there was no hood.
On the outskirts of Guildford, Bones was pulled up by a policeman, whotook his name because the lights were too bright. On the other side ofGuildford he was pulled up by another policeman because he had no lightat all. Passing through Kingston, the lamp began to flicker, sendingforth brilliant dots and dashes, which continued until they were onPutney Common, where the lamp's message was answered from a camp of BoyScouts, one signalman of the troop being dragged from his bed for thepurpose, the innocent child standing in his shirt at the call of duty.