Billings took the gla.s.s mechanically from the tray tendered by Jenkins and sipped it slowly, eying me curiously over the top. Then he set it back, very deliberately, wiped his mouth with the bit of napery, and without taking his glance from me, waited until Jenkins had left the room. Whereupon, after another searching look at the b.u.t.ton, he dropped it with the garment upon the table, and with hands jammed deep in his pockets, faced me with a long-drawn whistle.

"Well, I'll be hanged!" he exclaimed. Just a coa.r.s.e, vulgar outburst, you know--no sense to it; no point at all, you know--that's Billings.

He caught up the coat again. "And these others--four of them--are they just the same?" he demanded sharply.

"Dash it, how should I know? I suppose so," I answered indifferently.

And I closed my eyes and leaned back, feeling a bit--just a bit--weary.

Somehow, Billings is always so exhausting when he gets started on something.

"Oh, cut it out, old chap," I protested, drowsy-like.

"I will," I heard him say. Then I guess I must have dropped off a bit, for the next thing I knew he was shaking me.

"d.i.c.ky! d.i.c.ky! Say, look here! _Look_, I tell you!"

I did look, and--well, I was jolly vexed, that's all.

"Oh, I say now!" I spoke severely--just that way, you know. I went on, remonstrating: "Devilish silly joke, if you ask me. You've gone and ruined the thing, Billings! Flashy b.u.t.tons like that, you know--too tawdry, too cheap."

"_Cheap!_" He almost shouted it. Then he leaned over the back of the leather chair and pounded his fat head against the cushions, writhing his big bulk from side to side.

"Quite impossible," I said firmly. "Not _en regle_ at all, you know!"

And I fixed my gla.s.s and stared gloomily at the things. The five shiny b.u.t.tons just lay there against the delicate silk like so many fiery crimson cherries. And they reminded me of something--something--what the deuce was it? Something devilish familiar, whatever it was. And then of a sudden I had it!

"By Jove, you know!" And I just fell back in consternation. "This is awful! I'd look like a--er--dashed human c.o.c.ktail. 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.

"d.i.c.ky, you--you'll be the death of me yet," he panted.

I never try to follow Billings. n.o.body 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 b.u.t.tons 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 b.u.t.tons and the silk, and crushing them in his hands, buried his face in the ma.s.s.

"Oh you beauties, you darlings!" I heard him murmur.

Then he looked at the b.u.t.tons again, and dash it, he kissed one.

Maudlin--jolly maudlin, I say, if you ask me!

"I say, d.i.c.ky," he said carelessly. "You may not care for them, but I've taken rather a shine to these b.u.t.tons. 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 b.u.t.tons, 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.

"d.i.c.ky," he said, and paused. Then he fished out that perfectly impossible pipe of his and began to pack it, slowly shaking his head.

"d.i.c.ky, 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 b.u.t.tons again.

"Look here, you blessed dodo," he exclaimed brusquely. "Have you really no idea what these are, these gla.s.s b.u.t.tons 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

AN AMAZING REVELATION

I stared blankly at Billings. "Rubies!" I gasped.

He nodded. "Genuine pigeon bloods, my son, no less."

"Oh, come now, Billings," I protested. I felt a little miffed, just a little you know. So jolly raw to try it on that way.

"By jove, old chap, you must think me a common a.s.s," I suggested disgustedly.

Billings grinned at the very idea.

"_You_ a common a.s.s, d.i.c.ky?" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "n.o.body who knows you would ever think that, old man."

"But, I say--"

"See here, d.i.c.ky boy, I'm in dead earnest," he interrupted eagerly.

"Don't you remember my one fad--gems? Got enough tied up in them to build two apartment houses as big as this. Best amateur collection in New York, if I do say it. But I haven't anything like one of these rubies, and neither has any one else--no one else in this country, anyhow. There's nothing like them in all New York, from Tiffany's down to Maiden Lane, and never has been. I never saw anything like--near like any of them--except the one in the Russian crown of Anna Ivanovana.

That's bigger, but it hasn't the same fire."

I just laughed at him. "Why, Billings, these pajamas were sent me by a friend in China, and I a.s.sure you--"

"a.s.sure? What can you a.s.sure--what do _you_ know about it?" said Billings rudely. "What did your friend know, or the one he had these things from--or the one before him--or the one still before that?

Pshaw!" And he snapped his fingers.