"I like driving with you, Bones," said Hamilton, when they reached the office, and he had recovered something of his self-possession. "Next to stalking bushmen in the wild, wild woods, I know of nothing more soothing 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 to receive on the following day an invitation, couched in such terms as left him a little breathless, to spend the Sunday exploiting the beauties 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 at what-you-may-call-it, dash along the thingummy road, and heigho! for the 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 than ourselves."
"What do you say to a day in the country? Suppose you asked Miss
Vera——"