She had taken her portfolio from under her arm and laid it on his desk.
It was a pretty portfolio, bound in powder blue and silver, and was
fastened by a powder blue tape with silver tassels. Bones eyed it with
pardonable curiosity.
"I'm not asking you for money, Mr. Tibbetts," Miss Stegg went on in her
soft, sweet voice. "I think we can raise all the money we want at the
bazaar. But we must have things to sell."
"I see, dear old miss," said Bones eagerly. "You want a few old
clothes? I've got a couple of suits at home, rather baggy at the
knees, dear old thing, but you know what we boys are; we wear 'em until
they fall off!"
The horrified Hamilton returned to the scrutiny of his notes.
"I don't suppose under-garments, if you will permit the indelicacy, my
dear old philanthropist----" Bones was going on, when the girl stopped
him with a gentle shake of her head.
"No, Mr. Tibbetts, it is awfully kind of you, but we do not want
anything like that. The way we expect to raise a lot of money is by
selling the photographs of celebrities," she said.
"The photographs of celebrities?" repeated Bones. "But, my dear young
miss, I haven't had my photograph taken for years."
Hamilton gasped. He might have gasped again at what followed, but for
the fact that he had got a little beyond the gasping stage.
The girl was untying her portfolio, and now she produced something and
laid it on the desk before Bones.
"How clever of you to guess!" she murmured. "Yes, it is a portrait of
you we want to sell."
Bones stared dumbfounded at a picture of himself--evidently a snapshot
taken with a press camera--leaving the building. And, moreover, it was
a flattering picture, for there was a stern frown of resolution on
Bones's pictured face, which, for some esoteric reason, pleased him.
The picture was mounted rather in than on cardboard, for it was in a
sunken mount, and beneath the portrait was a little oblong slip of pale
blue paper.
Bones gazed and glowed. Neatly printed above the picture were the
words: "Our Captains of Industry. III.--Augustus Tibbetts, Esq.
(Schemes Limited)."
Bones read this with immense satisfaction. He wondered who were the
two men who could be placed before him, but in his generous mood was
prepared to admit that he might come third in the list of London's
merchant princes.
"Deuced flattering, dear old thing," he murmured. "Hamilton, old boy,
come and look at this."
Hamilton crossed to the desk, saw, and wondered.
"Not so bad," said Bones, dropping his head to one side and regarding
the picture critically. "Not at all bad, dear old thing. You've seen
me in that mood, I think, old Ham."