"Go back," said Bones, "and jolly quick, dear old fellow." "Go back? What would you go back for?" asked the other, in astonishment. "To make my will," said Bones firmly, "and to write a few letters to dear old friends in the far homeland. I have friends, Ham," he said, with dignity, "jolly old people who listen for my footsteps, and to whom my voice is music, dear old fellow." "What other illusions do they suffer from?" asked Hamilton offensively, closing his book with a bang. "Well, you will be sorry to learn that I shall not recommend you for promotion." "You don't mean that," said Bones hoarsely. "I mean that," said Hamilton. "Well, I thought if I had a pal to examine me, I would go through with flying colours." "Then I am not a pal. You don't suggest," said Hamilton, with ominous dignity, "that I would defraud the public by lying as to the qualities of a deficient character?" "Yes, I do," said Bones, nodding vigorously, "for my sake and for the sake of the child." The child was that small native whom Bones had rescued and adopted. "Not even for the sake of the child," said Hamilton, with an air of finality. "Bones, you're ploughed." Bones did not speak, and Hamilton gathered together the papers, forms, and paraphernalia of examination. He lifted his head suddenly, to discover that Bones was staring at him. It was no ordinary stare, but something that was a little uncanny. "What the dickens are you looking at?" Bones did not speak. His round eyes were fixed on his superior in an unwinking glare. "When I said you had failed," said Hamilton kindly, "I meant, of course----" "That I'd passed," muttered Bones excitedly. "Say it, Ham--say it! 'Bones, congratulations, dear old lad'----" "I meant," said Hamilton coldly, "that you have another chance next month." The face of Lieutenant Tibbetts twisted into a painful contortion. "It didn't work!" he said bitterly, and stalked from the room. "Rum beggar!" thought Hamilton, and smiled to himself. "Have you noticed anything strange about Bones?" asked Patricia Hamilton the next day. Her brother looked at her over his newspaper. "The strangest thing about Bones is Bones," he said, "and that I am compelled to notice every day of my life." She looked up at Sanders, who was idly pacing the stoep of the Residency. "Have you, Mr. Sanders?" Sanders paused. "Beyond the fact that he is rather preoccupied and stares at one----" "That is it," said the girl. "I knew I was right--he stares horribly. He has been doing it for a week--just staring. Do you think he is ill?" "He has been moping in his hut for the past week," said Hamilton thoughtfully, "but I was hoping that it meant that he was swotting for his exam. But staring--I seem to remember----"