On the sixty-fourth lecture Hamilton struck.

"Of course, dear old thing," Bones was saying, "to a jolly old brigand

like you, who dashes madly down from his mountain lair and takes the

first engaging young person who meets his eye----"

Hamilton protested vigorously, but Bones silenced him with a lordly

gesture.

"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. "It

sounds inexplicable that I can be interested in a platonic, fatherly

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kind of way in the future of a lovely old typewriter."

"It's not inexplicable at all," said Hamilton bluntly. "You're in love

with the girl."

"Good gracious Heavens!" gasped Bones, horrified. "Ham, my dear old

boy. Dicky Orum, Dicky Orum, old thing!"

Sunday morning brought together four solemn people, two of whom were

men, who felt extremely awkward and showed it, and two of whom behaved

as though they had known one another all their lives.

Bones, who stood alternately on his various legs, was frankly astounded

that the meeting had passed off without any sensational happening. It

was an astonishment shared by thousands of men in similar

circumstances. A word of admiration for the car from Vera melted him

to a condition of hysterical gratitude.

"It's not a bad old 'bus, dear old--Miss Vera," he said, and tut-tutted

audibly 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 looking

forward to the return journey with the greatest eagerness--I mean to

say, of course, that I'm looking forward to the other journey--I don't

mean to say I want the day to finish, and all that sort of rot. In

fact, dear old Miss Vera, I think we'd better be starting."

He cranked up and climbed into the driver's seat, and beckoned

Marguerite to seat herself by his side. He might have done this

without 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 said

gruffly. "Don't worry about me, dear old lad. A lot of people say you

can see things reflected in the glass screen, but I'm so absorbed in my

driving----"

"Get on with it!" snarled Hamilton.

It was, nevertheless, a perfect day, and Bones, to everybody's

surprise, his own included, drove perfectly. It had been his secret

intention to drive to Brighton; but nobody suspected this plan, or

cared very much what his intentions had been, and the car was running

smoothly across Salisbury Plain.




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