"By Jove, you know!" And I just fell back in consternation. "This is awful! I'd look like a--er--dashed human cocktail. Oh, I say!" Then Billings, who was already gasping like a jolly what's-its-name, dropped upon the arm of the chair and held his side. "Dicky, you--you'll be the death of me yet," he panted. I never try to follow Billings. Nobody ever does. So I paid no attention to him. Shaking his head, he lifted the garment again and held it out of the direct rays of the shaded lamp. The five buttons leaped out of the shadow like port lights down the bay on a moonless night. He leered at me, chuckling. "Look _cheap_ to you, eh? What you might call _outre_, so to speak?" "By Jove, of course," I answered ruefully. "I can't sleep in the things now, you know. What would people say?" Billings stared at me disagreeably a moment and said something under his breath. Then he caught up the buttons and the silk, and crushing them in his hands, buried his face in the mass. "Oh you beauties, you darlings!" I heard him murmur. Then he looked at the buttons again, and dash it, he kissed one. Maudlin--jolly maudlin, I say, if you ask me! "I say, Dicky," he said carelessly. "You may not care for them, but I've taken rather a shine to these buttons. Mind letting me have one, eh?" He flashed a quick glance at me and then away. "Mind? Why, certainly not; take 'em all, old chap, and welcome." Yet I responded gloomily enough, scarcely polite, you know. And I felt too jolly prostrated to be curious as to what he could possibly want with the things. Waistcoat buttons, likely--Billings was given to loud dress and other bounder stunts. But he just sat there looking down after I spoke, and presently stole a queer glance at me. "Dicky," he said, and paused. Then he fished out that perfectly impossible pipe of his and began to pack it, slowly shaking his head. "Dicky, anybody that would take advantage of you would lift a baby's milk gurgler." Of course, I saw no more sense in that than you do, you know, but I understood that in his crude, vulgar way he meant some sort of a compliment. "Dash it, of course," I said offhand, straightening up and recrossing my legs. I always say that and do that way when fellows say stupid things. Such a jolly good way to keep from hurting their feelings, you know, and saves talking and thinking. Got on to it myself. Billings' eye ranged at me as he lighted his pipe. The smoke seemed to make him cough, and it was this, I suppose, that set him chuckling. He suddenly held up the row of red buttons again. "Look here, you blessed dodo," he exclaimed brusquely. "Have you really no idea what these are, these glass buttons you are yapping about? Of course you haven't, you jolly chowder head, but I'm going to tell you." He threw the coat into my lap. "They are rubies, old man, that's all," he said quietly. "Oriental rubies, at that--flawless and perfect--the rarest and most precious things in the world." CHAPTER IX