Bones in London. Wallace Edgar
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said Joe, scornful at the suggestionthat he had omitted such an indispensable part of the negotiation.
"So did I, Joe," said Fred. "Those two ships he bought were the twoFairies."
There was a dead silence.
"Well," said Joe uneasily, after a while, "we can get a couple ofships – "
"Where, Joe? You admitted yesterday there weren't two boats in theworld on the market."
Another long silence.
"I did it for the best, Fred."
Fred nodded
"Something must be done. We can't sell a man what we haven't got.Joe, couldn't you go and play golf this afternoon whilst I wangle thismatter out?"
Joe nodded and rose solemnly. He took down his umbrella from the pegand his shiny silk hat from another peg, and tiptoed from the room.
From three o'clock to four Mr. Fred Pole sat immersed in thought, andat last, with a big, heavy sigh, he unlocked his safe, took out hischeque-book and pocketed it.
Bones was on the point of departure, after a most satisfactory day'swork, when Fred Pole was announced.
Bones greeted him like unto a brother – caught him by the hand at thevery entrance and, still holding him thus, conducted him to one of hisbeautiful chairs.
"By Jove, dear old Fred," he babbled, "it's good of you, oldfellow – really good of you! Business, my jolly old shipowner, waitsfor no man. Ali, my cheque-book!"
"A moment – just a moment, dear Mr. Bones," begged Fred. "You don'tmind my calling you by the name which is already famous in the City?"
Bones looked dubious.
"Personally, I prefer Tibbetts," said Fred.
"Personally, dear old Fred, so do I," admitted Bones.
"I've come on a curious errand," said Fred in such hollow tones that
Bones started. "The fact is, old man, I'm – "
He hung his head, and Bones laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.
"Anybody is liable to get that way, my jolly old roysterer," he said."Speakin' for myself, drink has no effect upon me – due to my jolly oldnerves of iron an' all that sort of thing."
"I'm ashamed of myself," said Fred.
"Nothing to be ashamed of, my poor old toper," said Bones honestly inerror. "Why, I remember once – "
"As a business man, Mr. Tibbetts," said Fred bravely, "can you forgivesentiment?"
"Sentiment! Why, you silly old josser, I'm all sentiment, dear oldthing! Why, I simply cry myself to sleep over dear old CharlesWhat's-his-name's books!"
"It's sentiment," said Fred brokenly. "I just can't – I simply can'tpart with those two ships I sold you."
"Hey?" said Bones.
"They were your uncle's, but they have an association for me and mybrother which it would be – er – profane to mention. Mr. Tibbetts, letus cry off our bargain."
Bones sniffed and rubbed his nose.
"Business, dear old Fred," he said gently. "Bear up an' play the man,as dear old Francis Drake said when they stopped him playin' cricket.Business, old friend. I'd like to oblige you, but – "
He shook his head rapidly
Mr. Fred slowly produced his cheque-book and laid it on the desk withthe sigh of one who was about to indite his last wishes.
"You shall not be the loser," he said, with a catch in his voice, forhe was genuinely grieved. "I must pay for my weakness. What is fivehundred pounds?"
"What is a thousand, if it comes to that, Freddy?" said Bones."Gracious goodness, I shall be awfully disappointed if you back out – Ishall be so vexed, really."
"Seven hundred and fifty?" asked Fred, with pleading in his eye.
"Make it a thousand, dear old Fred," said Bones; "I can't add upfifties."
So "in consideration" (as Fred wrote rapidly and Bones signed morerapidly) "of the sum of one thousand pounds (say £1,000), the contractas between &c., &c.," was cancelled, and Fred became again thepractical man of affairs.
"Dear old Fred," said Bones, folding the cheque and sticking it in hispocket, "I'm goin' to own up – frankness is a vice with me – that I don'tunderstand much about the shippin' business. But tell me, my jolly oldmerchant, why do fellers sell you ships in the mornin' an' buy 'em backin the afternoon?"
"Business, Mr. Tibbetts," said Fred, smiling, "just big business."
Bones sucked an inky finger.
"Dinky business for me, dear old thing," he said. "I've got a thousandfrom you an' a thousand from the other Johnny who sold me two ships.Bless my life an' soul – "
"The other fellow," said Fred faintly – "a fellow from the United
Merchant Shippers?"
"That was the dear lad," said Bones.
"And has he cried off his bargain, too?"
"Positively!" said Bones. "A very, very nice, fellow. He told me Icould call him Joe – jolly old Joe!"
"Jolly old Joe!" repeated Fred mechanically, as he left the office, andall the way home he was saying "Jolly old Joe!"
CHAPTER II
HIDDEN TREASURE
Mrs. Staleyborn's first husband was a dreamy Fellow of a Learned
University.
Her second husband had begun life at the bottom of the ladder as athree-card trickster, and by strict attention to business and theexercise of his natural genius, had attained to the proprietorship of abucket-shop.
When Mrs. Staleyborn was Miss Clara Smith, she had been housekeeper toProfessor Whitland, a biologist who discovered her indispensability, and was only vaguely aware of the social gulf which yawned between theyoungest son of the late Lord Bortledyne and the only daughter ofAlbert Edward Smith, mechanic. To the Professor she was Miss H.Sapiens– an agreeable, featherless plantigrade biped of the genusHomo. She was also thoroughly domesticated and cooked like an angel,a nice woman who apparently never knew that her husband had a Christianname, for she called him "Mr. Whitland" to the day of his death.
The strain and embarrassment of the new relationship with her masterwere intensified by the arrival of a daughter, and doubled when thatdaughter came to a knowledgeable age. Marguerite Whitland had theinherent culture of her father and the grace and delicate beauty whichhad ever distinguished the women of the house of Bortledyne.
When the Professor died, Mrs. Whitland mourned him in all sincerity.
She was also relieved. One-half of the burden which lay upon her had been lifted; the second half was wrestling with the binomial theorem at
Cheltenham College.
She had been a widow twelve months when she met Mr. Cresta Morris, and,if the truth be told, Mr. Cresta Morris more fulfilled her conceptionas to what a gentleman should look like than had the Professor. Mr.Cresta Morris wore white collars and beautiful ties, had a large goldwatch-chain over what the French call poetically a gilet de fantasie,but which he, in his own homely fashion, described as a "fancy weskit."He smoked large cigars, was bluff and hearty, spoke to the widow – hewas staying at Harrogate at the time in a hydropathic establishment – ina language which she could understand. Dimly she began to realize thatthe Professor had hardly spoken to her at all.
Mr. Cresta Morris was one of those individuals who employed avocabulary of a thousand words, with all of which Mrs. Whitland waswell acquainted; he was also a man of means and possessions, heexplained to her. She, giving confidence for confidence, told of thehouse at Cambridge, the furniture, the library, the annuity of threehundred pounds, earmarked for his daughter's education, but mistakenlyleft to his wife for that purpose, also the four thousand three hundredpounds invested in War Stock, which was wholly her own.
Mr.