It was nearly a week before the laboratory was fitted that Bones gave a house-warming, which took the shape of an afternoon tea. Bones, arrayed in a long white coat, wearing a ferocious lint mask attached to huge mica goggles, through which he glared on the world, met the party at the door and bade them a muffled welcome. They found the interior of the hut a somewhat uncomfortable place. The glass retorts, test tubes, bottles, and the paraphernalia of science which Bones had imported crowded the big table, the shelves, and even overflowed on to the three available chairs.
"Welcome to my little workroom," said the hollow voice of Bones from behind the mask. "Wel——Don't put your foot in the crucible, dear old officer! You're sittin' on the methylated spirits, ma'am! Phew!"
Bones removed his mask and showed a hot, red face.
"Don't take it off, Bones," begged Hamilton; "it improves you."
Sanders was examining the microscope, which stood under a big glass shade.
"You're very complete, Bones," he said approvingly. "In what branch of science are you dabbling?"
"Tropical diseases, sir," said Bones promptly, and lifted the shade. "I'm hopin' you'll allow me to have a look at your blood after tea."
"Thank you," said Sanders. "You had better practise on Hamilton."
"Don't come near me!" threatened Hamilton.
It was Patricia who, when the tea-things had been removed, played the heroine.