"Why don't you write the story of your adventures?" she asked innocently. "It would sell like hot cakes."
Bones choked with gratification.
"Precisely my idea—oh, what a mind you've got! What a pity it doesn't run in the family! I'll tell you a precious secret—not a word to anybody—honest?"
"Honest," she affirmed.
Bones looked round.
"It's practically ready for the publisher," he whispered, and stepped back to observe the effect of his words.
She shook her head in admiration, her eyes were dancing with delight, and Bones realized that here at last he had met a kindred soul.
"It must be awfully interesting to write books," she sighed. "I've tried—but I can never invent anything."
"Of course, in my case——" corrected Bones.
"I suppose you just sit down with a pen in your hand and imagine all sorts of things," she mused, directing her feet to the Residency.