milton severely; "and, by the way, Bones, I have to thank you."

He rose solemnly, took the hand of his reluctant and embarrassed second
and wrung.

"Thank you," said Hamilton, in a broken voice, "for saving my life."

"Oh, I say, sir," began Bones feebly.

"To carry a man eighty miles on your back is no mean accomplishment,
Bones--especially when I was unconscious----"

"I don't say you were unconscious, sir. In fact, sir----" floundered
Lieutenant Tibbetts as red as a peony.

"And yet I was unconscious," insisted Hamilton firmly. "I am still
unconscious, even to this day. I have no recollection of your heroic
effort, Bones, I thank you."

"Well, sir," said Bones, "to make a clean breast of the whole
affair----"

"And this dangerous expedition of yours, Bones, an expedition from which
you might never return--that," said Hamilton in a hushed voice, "is the
best story I have heard for years."

"Sir," said Bones, speaking under the stress of considerable emotion, "I
am clean bowled, sir. The light-hearted fairy stories which I wrote to
cheer, so to speak, the sick-bed of an innocent child, sir, they have
recoiled upon my own head. _Peccavi, mea culpi_, an' all those jolly old
expressions that you'll find in the back pages of the dictionary."

"Oh, Bones, Bones!" chuckled Hamilton.

"You mustn't think I'm a perfect liar, sir," began Bones, earnestly.

"I don't think you're a perfect liar," answered Hamilton, "I think
you're the most inefficient liar I've ever met."

"Not even a liar, I'm a romancist, sir," Bones stiffened with dignity
and saluted, but whether he was saluting Hamilton, or the spirit of
Romance, or in sheer admiration was saluting himself, Hamilton did not
know.

"The fact is, sir," said Bones confidentially, "I'm writing a book!"

He stepped back as though to better observe the effect of his words.

"What about?" asked Hamilton, curiously.

"About things I've seen and things I know," said Bones, in his most
impressive manner.

"Oh, I see!" said Hamilton, "one of those waistcoat pocket books."

Bones swallowed the insult with a gulp.

"I've been asked to write a book," he said; "my adventures an' all that
sort of thing. Of course they needn't have happened, really----"

"In that case, Bones, I'm with you," said Hamilton; "if you're going to
write a book about things that haven't happened to you, there's no limit
to its size."

"You're bein' a jolly cruel old officer, sir," said Bon