Bones walked slowly back to his desk as Hamilton reached for his hat.
"Come on, Bones," he said briskly. "It's lunch time. I had no idea it was so late."
But Bones shook his head.
"No, thank you, dear old thing," he said sadly. "I'd rather not, if you don't mind."
"Aren't you coming to lunch?" asked Hamilton, astonished.
Bones shook his head.
"No, dear old boy," he said hollowly. "Ask the girl to send me up a stiff glass of soda-water and a biscuit—I don't suppose I shall eat the biscuit."
"Nonsense!" said Hamilton. "Half an hour ago you were telling me you could eat a cart-horse."
"Not now, old Ham," said Bones. "If you've ordered it, send it back.
I hate cart-horses, anyway."
"Come along," wheedled Hamilton, dropping his hand on the other's shoulder. "Come and eat. Who was the beautiful boy?"