The face of Lieutenant Tibbetts twisted into a painful contortion. "It didn't work!" he said bitterly, and stalked from the room.
"Rum beggar!" thought Hamilton, and smiled to himself.
"Have you noticed anything strange about Bones?" asked Patricia Hamilton the next day.
Her brother looked at her over his newspaper. "The strangest thing about Bones is Bones," he said, "and that I am compelled to notice every day of my life."
She looked up at Sanders, who was idly pacing the stoep of the Residency. "Have you, Mr. Sanders?"
Sanders paused. "Beyond the fact that he is rather preoccupied and stares at one——"
"That is it," said the girl. "I knew I was right—he stares horribly. He has been doing it for a week—just staring. Do you think he is ill?"
"He has been moping in his hut for the past week," said Hamilton thoughtfully, "but I was hoping that it meant that he was swotting for his exam. But staring—I seem to remember——"
The subject of the discussion made his appearance at the far end of the square at that moment, and they watched him. First he walked slowly towards the Houssa sentry, who shouldered his arms in salute. Bones halted before the soldier and stared at him. Somehow, the watchers on the stoep knew that he was staring—there was something so fixed, so tense in his attitude. Then, without warning, the sentry's hand passed across his body, and the rifle came down to the "present."
"What on earth is he doing?" demanded the outraged Hamilton, for sentries do not present arms to subaltern officers.