"What are you doing this morning?" asked Hamilton, gazing with pardonable curiosity at the box and drawing-board.
"Polishin' up my military studies with Miss Hamilton's kind assistance—botany and applied science, sir," said Bones briskly. "Field fortifications, judgin' distance, strategy, Bomongo grammar, field cookery an' tropical medicines."
"What has poor little making-up-company-accounts done?" asked Hamilton, and Bones blushed.
"Dear old officer," he begged, "I'll tackle that little job as soon as I get back. I tried to do 'em this mornin' an was four dollars out—it's the regimental cash account that's wrong. People come in and out helpin' themselves, and I positively can't keep track of the money."
"As I'm the only person with the key of the regimental cash-box, I suppose you mean——?"
Bones raised his hand.
"I make no accusations, dear old feller—it's a painful subject. We all have those jolly old moments of temptation. I tackle the accounts to-night, sir. You mustn't forget that I've a temperament. I'm not like you dear old wooden-heads——"
"Oh, shut up," said the weary Hamilton. "So long as you're going to do a bit of study, it's all right."
"Now, Bones," said Patricia, appearing on the scene, "have you got the sandwiches?"
Bones made terrifying and warning grimaces.