“The priceless jewel of the Isle of Swat and you did not kidnap it?” exclaimed Kelly.
Mr. Jones displayed a superior interest. “Was she beautiful?” he inquired.
“Was she beautiful?” mimicked Kelly. “She must have been. That’s why Joe tried to make a hit.” He leaned over the motorcyclist. “For once I am proud of you, young man. You used your head.”
Mr. Jones displayed extreme animation. “By Jove,” he laughed. “Possibly the lady thought that Mr. Curtis was butting in.”
Kelly inspected the stenographer with great intentness. “Good morning, old top. When did you wake up?”
“Your kidding is contagious, Mike. Jonesy has caught it,” chuckled Joe.
“No, you don’t understand the nature of the brute. It’s not me–it’s the ladies. Jones awakens at a reference to them and blossoms beneath their smiles,” explained Kelly.
A gentle look spread over Joe’s face. “The girl I ran into happened to be the right sort. She stuck by me when I was hurt and helped to bring me here–” He paused for a moment and then continued, “Let’s not talk about her in this room full of men.”
“Sure,” boomed Kelly. “You’re right as usual, Joe. Never stopped to think myself.” He turned and pointed to the stenographer. “My old friend Jones is on the edge of a decline.” The bookkeeper disregarded the presence of the private secretary as if he were deaf. “If he starts to slide he hasn’t far to go to land in a cemetery.”
Mr. Jones displayed no marked pleasure in the conversation. He maintained a dignified aloofness.