From the moment when Bones strode off after the painful discovery, had slammed the door of his hut and had steadfastly declined all manner of food and sustenance, he had voluntarily cut himself off from his kind.
He met Hamilton on parade the following morning, hollow-eyed (as he hoped) after a sleepless night, and there was nothing in his attitude suggestive of the deepest respect and the profoundest regard for that paragraph of King's Regulations which imposes upon the junior officer a becoming attitude of humility in the presence of his superior officer.
"How is your head, Bones?" asked Hamilton, after the parade had been dismissed.
"Thank you, sir," said Bones bitterlythough why he should be bitter at the kindly inquiry only he knew"thank you, sir, it is about the same. My temperature isor wasup to one hundred and four, and I have been delirious. I wouldn't like to say, dear oldsir, that I'm not nearly delirious now."
"Come up to tiffin," invited Hamilton.
Bones saluteda sure preliminary to a dramatic oration.
"Sir," he said firmly, "you've always been a jolly old officer to me before this contretemps wrecked my young lifebut I shall never be quite the same man again, sir."
"Don't be an ass," begged Hamilton.
"Revile me, sir," said Bones dismally; "give me a dangerous mission, one of those jolly old adventures where a feller takes his life in one hand, his revolver in the other, but don't ask me"
"My sister wants to see you," said Hamilton, cutting short the flow of eloquence.
"Ha, ha!" laughed Bones hollowly, and strode into his hut.
"And what I'm going to do with him, Heaven knows," groaned Hamilton at tiffin. "The fact is, Pat, your arrival on the scene has thoroughly demoralized him."
The girl folded her serviette and walked to the window, and stood looking out over the yellow stretch of the deserted parade-ground.
"I'm going to call on Bones," she said suddenly.
"Poor Bones!" murmured Sanders.
"That's very rude!" She took down her solar helmet from the peg behind the door and adjusted it carefully. Then she stepped through the open door, whistling cheerfully.
"I hope you don't mind, sir," apologized Hamilton, "but we've never succeeded in stopping her habit of whistling."
Sanders laughed.
"It would be strange if she didn't whistle," he said cryptically.
Bones was lying on his back, his hands behind his head. A half-emptied tin of biscuits, no less than the remnants of a box of chocolates, indicated that anchorite as he was determined to be, his austerity did not run in the direction of starvation.
His mind was greatly occupied by a cinematograph procession of melancholy pictures. Perhaps he would go away, far, far, into the interior. Even into the territory of the great king where a man's life is worth about five cents net. And as day by day passed and no news came of himas how could it when his habitation was marked by a cairn of stones?she would grow anxious and unhappy. And presently messengers would come bringing her a few poor trinkets he had bequeathed to hera wrist-watch, a broken sword, a silver cigarette-case dented with the arrow that slew himand she would weep silently in the loneliness of her room.
And perhaps he would find strength to send a few scrawled words asking for her pardon, and the tears would well up in her beautiful grey eyesas they were already welling in Bones's eyes at the picture he drewand she would knowall.
"Phweet!"
Or else, maybe he would be stricken down with fever, and she would want to come and nurse him, but he would refuse.
"Tell her," he would say weakly, but oh, so bravely, "tell her I ask only her pardon."
"Phweet!"
Bones heard the second whistle. It came from the open window immediately above his head. A song bird was a rare visitor to these parts, but he was too lazy and too absorbed to look up.
Perhaps (he resumed) she would never see him again, never know the deep sense of injustice....
"Phweeet!"
It was clearer and more emphatic, and he half turned his head to look
He was on his feet in a second, his hand raised to his damp forehead, for leaning on the window sill, her lips pursed for yet another whistle, was the lady of his thoughts.
She met his eyes sternly.
"Come outsidemisery!" she said, and Bones gasped and obeyed.
"What do you mean," she demanded, "by sulking in your wretched little hut when you ought to be crawling about on your hands and knees begging my pardon?"
Bones said nothing.
"Bones," said this outrageous girl, shaking her head reprovingly, "you want a jolly good slapping!"
Bones extended his bony wrist.
"Slap!" he said defiantly.
He had hardly issued the challenge when a very firm young palm, driven by an arm toughened by a long acquaintance with the royal and ancient game, came "Smack!" and Bones winced.
"Play the game, dear old Miss Hamilton," he said, rubbing his wrist.
"Play the game yourself, dear old Bones," she mimicked him. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself"
"Let bygones be bygones, jolly old Miss Hamilton," begged Bones magnanimously. "And now that I see you're a sport, put it there, if it weighs a ton."
And he held out his nobbly hand and caught the girl's in a grip that made her grimace.
Five minutes later he was walking her round the married quarters of his Houssas, telling her the story of his earliest love affair. She was an excellent listener, and seldom interrupted him save to ask if there was any insanity in his family, or whether the girl was short-sighted; in fact, as Bones afterwards said, it might have been Hamilton himself.
"What on earth are they finding to talk about?" wondered Sanders, watching the confidences from the depths of a big cane chair on the verandah.
"Bones," replied Hamilton lazily, "is telling her the story of his life and how he saved the territories from rebellion. He's also begging her not to breathe a word of this to me for fear of hurting my feelings."
At that precise moment Bones was winding up a most immodest recital of his accomplishments with a less immodest footnote.
"Of course, dear old Miss Hamilton," he was saying, lowering his voice, "I shouldn't like a word of this to come to your jolly old brother's ears. He's an awfully good sort, but naturally in competition with an agile mind like mine, understanding the native as I do, he hasn't an earthly"
"Why don't you write the story of your adventures?" she asked innocently. "It would sell like hot cakes."
Bones choked with gratification.
"Precisely my ideaoh, what a mind you've got! What a pity it doesn't run in the family! I'll tell you a precious secretnot a word to anybodyhonest?"
"Honest," she affirmed.
Bones looked round.
"It's practically ready for the publisher," he whispered, and stepped back to observe the effect of his words.
She shook her head in admiration, her eyes were dancing with delight, and Bones realized that here at last he had met a kindred soul.
"It must be awfully interesting to write books," she sighed. "I've triedbut I can never invent anything."
"Of course, in my case" corrected Bones.
"I suppose you just sit down with a pen in your hand and imagine all sorts of things," she mused, directing her feet to the Residency.
"This is the story of my life," explained Bones earnestly. "Not fiction but all sorts of adventures that actually happened."
"To whom?" she asked.
"To me," claimed Bones, louder than was necessary.
"Oh!" she said.
"Don't start 'Oh-ing,'" said Bones in a huff. "If you and I are going to be good friends, dear old Miss Hamilton, don't say 'Oh!'"
"Oh!" she said.
"Don't start 'Oh-ing,'" said Bones in a huff. "If you and I are going to be good friends, dear old Miss Hamilton, don't say 'Oh!'"
"Don't be a bully, Bones." She turned on him so fiercely that he shrank back.
"Play the game," he said feebly; "play the game, dear old sister!"
She led him captive to the stoep and deposited him in the easiest chair she could find.
From that day he ceased to be anything but a slave, except on one point.
The question of missions came up at tiffin, and Miss Hamilton revealed the fact that she favoured the High Church and held definite views on the clergy.
Bones confessed that he was a Wesleyan.
"Do you mean to tell me that you're a Nonconformist?" she asked incredulously.
"That's my dinky little religion, dear old Miss Hamilton," said Bones. "I'd have gone into the Church only I hadn't enoughenough"
"Brains?" suggested Hamilton.
"Call is the word," said Bones. "I wasn't calledor if I was I was outhaw-haw! That's a rippin' little bit of persiflage, Miss Hamilton?"
"Be serious, Bones," said the girl; "you mustn't joke about things."
She put him through a cross-examination to discover the extent of his convictions. In self-defence Bones, with only the haziest idea of the doctrine he defended, summarily dismissed certain of Miss Hamilton's most precious beliefs.
"But, Bones," she persisted, "if I asked you to change"
Bones shook his head.
"Dear old friend," he said solemnly, "there are two things I'll never doalter the faith of my distant but happy youth, or listen to one disparagin' word about the jolliest old sister that ever"
"That will do, Bones," she said, with dignity. "I can see that you don't like me as I thought you didwhat do you think, Mr. Sanders?"
Sanders smiled.
"I can hardly judgeyou see," he added apologetically, "I'm a Wesleyan too."
"Oh!" said Patricia, and fled in confusion.
Bones rose in silence, crossed to his chief and held out his hand.
"Brother," he said brokenly.
"What the devil are you doing?" snarled Sanders.
"Spoken like a true Christian, dear old Excellency and sir," murmured Bones. "We'll bring her back to the fold."
He stepped nimbly to the door, and the serviette ring that Sanders threw with unerring aim caught his angular shoulder as he vanished.
That same night Sanders had joyful news to impart. He came into the Residency to find Bones engaged in mastering the art of embroidery under the girl's tuition.
Sanders interrupted what promised to be a most artistic execution.
"Who says a joy-ride to the upper waters of the Isisi?"
Hamilton jumped up.
"Joy-ride?" he said, puzzled.
Sanders nodded.
"We leave to-morrow for the Lesser Isisi to settle a religious palaverBucongo of the Lesser Isisi is getting a little too enthusiastic a Christian, and Ahmet has been sending some queer reports. I've been putting off the palaver for weeks, but Administration says it has no objection to my making a picnic of dutyso we'll all go."
"Tri-umph!" said Hamilton. "Bones, leave your needlework and go overhaul the stores."
Bones, kneeling on a chair, his elbows on the table, looked up.
"As jolly old Francis Drake said when the Spanish Armada"
"To the stores, you insubordinate beggar!" commanded Hamilton, and Bones made a hurried exit.
The accommodation of the Zaire was limited, but there was the launch, a light-draught boat which was seldom used except for tributary work.
"I could put Bones in charge of the Wiggle," he said, "but he'd be pretty sure to smash her up. Miss Hamilton will have my cabin, and you and I could take the two smaller cabins."
Bones, to whom it was put, leapt at the suggestion, brushing aside all objections. They were answered before they were framed.
As for the girl, she was beside herself with joy.
"Will there be any fighting?" she asked breathlessly. "Shall we be attacked?"
Sanders shook his head smilingly.
"All you have to do," said Bones confidently, "is to stick to me. Put your faith in old Bones. When you see the battle swayin' an' it isn't certain which way it's goin', look for my jolly old banner wavin' above the stricken field."
"And be sure it is his banner," interrupted Hamilton, "and not his large feet. Now the last time we had a fight...."
And he proceeded to publish and utter a scandalous libel, Bones protesting incoherently the while.
The expedition was on the point of starting when Hamilton took his junior aside.
"Bones," he said, not unkindly, "I know you're a whale of a navigator, and all that sort of thing, and my sister, who has an awfully keen sense of humour, would dearly love to see you at the helm of the Wiggle, but as the Commissioner wants to make a holiday, I think it would be best if you left the steering to one of the boys."
Bones drew himself up stiffly.
"Dear old officer," he said aggrieved, "I cannot think that you wish to speak disparagingly of my intelligence"
"Get that silly idea out of your head," said Hamilton. "That is just what I'm trying to do."
"I'm under your jolly old orders, sir," Bones said with the air of an early Christian martyr, "and according to Paragraph 156 of King's Regulations"
"Don't let us go into that," said Hamilton. "I'm not giving you any commands, I'm merely making a sensible suggestion. Of course, if you want to make an ass of yourself"
"I have never had the slightest inclination that way, cheery old sir," said Bones, "and I'm not likely at my time of life to be influenced by my surroundings."
He saluted again and made his way to the barracks. Bones had a difficulty in packing his stores. In truth they had all been packed before he reached the Wiggle, and to an unprofessional eye they were packed very well indeed, but Bones had them turned out and packed his way. When that was done, and it was obvious to the meanest intelligence that the Wiggle was in terrible danger of capsizing before she started, the stores were unshipped and rearranged under the directions of the fuming Hamilton.
When the third packing was completed, the general effect bore a striking resemblance to the position of the stores as Bones had found them when he came to the boat. When everybody was ready to start, Bones remembered that he had forgotten his log-book, and there was another wait.
"Have you got everything now?" asked Sanders wearily, leaning over the rail.
"Everything, sir," said Bones, with a salute to his superior, and a smile to the girl.
"Have you got your hot-water bottle and your hair-curlers?" demanded Hamilton offensively.
Bones favoured him with a dignified stare, made a signal to the engineer, and the Wiggle started forward, as was her wont, with a jerk which put upon Bones the alternative of making a most undignified sprawl or clutching a very hot smoke-stack. He chose the latter, recovered his balance with an easy grace, punctiliously saluted the tiny flag of the Zaire as he whizzed past her, and under the very eyes of Hamilton, with all the calmness in the world, took the wheel from the steersman's hand and ran the Wiggle ashore.
All this he did in the brief space of three minutes.
"And," said Hamilton, exasperated to a degree, "if you'd only broken your infernal head, the accident would have been worth it."
It took half an hour for the Wiggle to get afloat again. She had run up the beach, and it was necessary to unload the stores, carry them back to the quay and reload her again.