"I've heard of Mazeppa," he said. "He was the naughty old gentleman who rode through the streets of Birmingham without any clothes."
Hamilton groaned.
"If I had your knowledge of history," he said despairingly, "I'd start a bone factory. You're thinking of Lady Godiva, but that doesn't matter. No, I don't suppose you've heard of the Mazeppa Company; it did not operate in our territory."
Bones shook his head and pursed his lips.
"But surely," he said, "dear old Excellency hasn't accepted a job without consulting me?"
Hamilton made derisive noises.
"He fixed it up in a couple of days," he said, after a while. "It doesn't mean he'll be living on the Coast, but he'll probably be there for some months in the year. The salary is good—in fact, it's two thousand a year. I believe Sanders has to qualify for directorship by taking some shares, but the dear chap is enthusiastic about it, and so is Patricia. It is all right, of course. Sanders got the offer through a firm of solicitors."
"Pooh!" said Bones. "Solicitors are nobody."
He learnt more about the company that afternoon, for Sanders called in and gave a somewhat roseate view of the future.
"The fact is, Bones, I am getting stale," he said, "and this looks like an excellent and a profitable occupation."