"She's rather a beauty," Bones went on, toying with his ivory paper-knife. "She has one of those dinky bonnets, dear old thing, that makes you feel awfully braced with life."
Hamilton gasped. He had seen the beautiful Miss Whitland enter the office 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 you referring in this ribald fashion?"
"Woman!" spluttered the indignant Bones. "I'm talking about my car."
"My car," said Bones, in the off-handed way that a sudden millionaire might refer to "my earth."
"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 his pockets.
"You're thinking of running down to Brighton, are you?" he said. "Is it 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 to the 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 of roadway immediately in front of the main entrance to the building. And undoubtedly there was a car in waiting--a long, resplendent machine that 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 into the City with a sky-blue Kroo boy."
"We attracted a certain amount of attention," he admitted, not without satisfaction.
"Naturally," said Hamilton, going back to his desk. "People thought you were advertising Pill Pellets for Pale Poultry. When did you buy this 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," he recited. "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 towards his 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."