Three days later Hamilton, walking to business, was overtaken by a beautiful blue Carter-Crispley, ornamented, it seemed from a distance, by two immense bosses of burnished silver. On closer examination they proved to be nothing more remarkable than examples of the Tibbett-Jelf Lamp. "Yes," said Bones airily, "that's the lamp, dear old thing. Invented in leisure hours by self and Jelf. Step in, and I'll explain." "Where do I step in," asked Hamilton, wilfully dense--"into the car or into the lamp?" Bones patiently smiled and waved him with a gesture to a seat by his side. His explanation was disjointed and scarcely informative; for Bones had yet to learn the finesse of driving, and he had a trick of thinking aloud. "This lamp, old thing," he said, "never goes out--you silly old josser, why did you step in front of me? Goodness gracious! I nearly cut short your naughty old life"--(this to one unhappy pedestrian whom Bones had unexpectedly met on the wrong side of the road)--"never goes out, dear old thing. It's out now, I admit, but it's not in working order--Gosh! That was a narrow escape! Nobody but a skilled driver, old Hamilton, could have missed that lamp-post. It is going to create a sensation; there's nothing like it on the market--whoop!" He brought the car to a standstill with a jerk and within half an inch of a City policeman who was directing the traffic with his back turned to Bones, blissfully unconscious of the doom which almost overcame him. "I like driving with you, Bones," said Hamilton, when they reached the office, and he had recovered something of his self-possession. "Next to stalking bushmen in the wild, wild woods, I know of nothing more soothing to the nerves." "Thank you," said Bones gratefully. "I'm not a bad driver, am I?" "'Bad' is not the word I should use alone," said Hamilton pointedly. In view of the comments which followed, he was surprised and pained to receive on the following day an invitation, couched in such terms as left him a little breathless, to spend the Sunday exploiting the beauties of rural England. "Now, I won't take a 'No,'" said Bones, wagging his bony forefinger. "We'll start at eleven o'clock, dear old Ham, and we'll lunch at what-you-may-call-it, dash along the thingummy road, and heigho! for the beautiful sea-breezes." "Thanks," said Hamilton curtly. "You may dash anywhere you like, but I'm dashed if I dash with you. I have too high a regard for my life." "Naughty, naughty!" said Bones, "I've a good mind not to tell you what I was going to say. Let me tell you the rest. Now, suppose," he said mysteriously, "that there's a certain lady--a jolly old girl named Vera--ha--ha!" Hamilton went red. "Now, listen, Bones," he said; "we'll not discuss any other person than ourselves." "What do you say to a day in the country? Suppose you asked Miss Vera----"