"Young miss," he said soberly, "do you ever hear anybody talking about me in this jolly old City?"
"Why, yes," she said in surprise.
"Fearfully complimentarily, dear old miss?" asked Bones carelessly, and the girl's colour deepened.
"I don't think it matters what people say about one, do you?"
"It doesn't matter to me," said Bones, "so long as one lovely old typewriter has a good word for poor old Bones." He laid his hand upon hers, and she suffered it to remain there without protest. "They think I'm a silly old ass, don't they?"
"Oh, no," she said quickly, "they don't think that. They say you're rather unconventional."
"Same thing," said Bones. "Anybody who's unconventional in business is a silly old ass."
He squeezed the hand under his, and again she did not protest or withdraw it from his somewhat clammy grip.
"Dear old darling——" began Bones, but she stopped him with a warning finger.
"Dear old typewriter," said Bones, unabashed, but obedient, "suppose something happened to the clever old Johnny who presides over this office—the brains of the department, if I may be allowed to say so?"