s no mistaking
the fact that that had been the drawer in which the poems had reposed,
because Bones had a very excellent memory.

He rang the bell and Ali came, his Oxford shirt and braces imperfectly
hidden under a jersey which had seen better days.

"Ali"--and this time Bones spoke rapidly and in Coast Arabic--"in this
drawer was a beautiful book in which I had written many things."

Ali nodded.

"Master, that I know, for you are a great poet, and I speak your
praises whenever I go into the _cafe_, for Hafiz did not write more
beautifully than you."

"What the dooce," spluttered Bones in English, "do you mean by telling
people about me--eh, you scoundrel? What the dooce do you mean by it,
you naughty old ebony?"

"Master," said All "eulogistic speechification creates admiration in
common minds."

He was so unruffled, so complacent, that Bones, could only look at him
in wonder. There was, too, about Ali Mahomet a queer look of guilty
satisfaction, as of one who had been surprised in a good act.

"Master," he said, "it is true that, contrary to modest desires of
humble poets, I have offered praises of your literature to unauthorised
persons, sojourning in high-class _cafe_ 'King's Arms,' for my evening
refreshment. Also desiring to create pleasant pleasure and surprise,
your servant from his own emoluments authorised preparation of said
poems in real print work."

Bones gasped.

"You were going to get my things printed? Oh, you ... oh, you...."

Ali was by no means distressed.

"To-morrow there shall come to you a beautiful book for the master's
surprise and joyousness. I myself will settle account satisfactorily
from emoluments accrued."

Bones could only sit down and helplessly wag his head. Presently he
grew calmer. It was a kindly thought, after all. Sooner or later
those poems of his must be offered to the appreciation of a larger
audience. He saw blind Fate working through his servitor's act. The
matter had been taken out of his hands now.

"What made you do it, you silly old josser?" he asked.

"Master, one gentleman friend suggested or proffered advice, himself
being engaged in printery, possessing machines----"

A horrible thought came into Bones's head.

"What was his name?" he asked.

Ali fumbled in the capacious depths of his trousers pocket and produced
a soiled card, which he handed to Bones. Bones read with a groan:

MESSRS. SEEPIDGE & SOOMES,
Printers to the Tra