nd, but as cheerful as the devil--a straight stick
of a youth, with hair brushed back from his forehead, a sun-peeled nose,
a wonderful collection of baggage, and all the gossip of London.

"I'm afraid you'll find I'm rather an ass, sir," he said, saluting
stiffly. "I've only just arrived on the Coast an' I'm simply bubbling
over with energy, but I'm rather short in the brain department."

Hamilton, glaring at his subordinate through his monocle, grinned
sympathetically.

"I'm not a whale of erudition myself," he confessed. "What is your name,
sir?"

"Francis Augustus Tibbetts, sir."

"I shall call you Bones," said Hamilton, decisively.

Lieut. Tibbetts saluted. "They called me Conk at Sandhurst, sir," he
suggested.

"Bones!" said Hamilton, definitely.

"Bones it is, skipper," said Mr. Tibbetts; "an' now all this beastly
formality is over we'll have a bottle to celebrate things." And a bottle
they had.

It was a splendid evening they spent, dining on chicken and palm-oil
chop, rice pudding and sweet potatoes. Hamilton sang, "Who wouldn't be a
soldier in the Army?" and--by request--in his shaky falsetto baritone,
"My heart is in the Highlands"; and Lieut. Tibbetts gave a lifelike
imitation of Frank Tinney, which convulsed, not alone his superior
officer, but some two-and-forty men of the Houssas who were unauthorized
spectators through various windows and door cracks and ventilating
gauzes.

Bones was the son of a man who had occupied a position of some
importance on the Coast, and though the young man's upbringing had been
in England, he had the inestimable advantage of a very thorough
grounding in the native dialect, not only from Tibbetts, senior, but
from the two native servants with whom the boy had grown up.

"I suppose there is a telegraph line to headquarters?" asked Bones that
night before they parted.

"Certainly, my dear lad," replied Hamilton. "We had it laid down when we
heard you were coming."

"Don't flither!" pleaded Bones, giggling convulsively; "but the fact is
I've got a couple of dozen tickets in the Cambridgeshire Sweepstake, an'
a dear pal of mine--chap named Goldfinder, a rare and delicate bird--has
sworn to wire me if I've drawn a horse. D'ye think I'll draw a horse?"

"I shouldn't think you could draw a cow," said Hamilton. "Go to bed."

"Look here, Ham----" began Lieut. Bones.

"To bed! you insubordinate devil!" said Hamilton, sternly.

In the meantime there was trouble in