We can't--we just can't
have this only to lose it again. We can't!" her voice broke.
"So we won't."
"Val, when you say things like that, I can almost believe them. If--if
we do lose, let's stick together this time. Promise?" her voice lifted
in an effort toward lightness.
"I promise. After this it will be the two of us together. Do you know,
I've never really had a chance to get acquainted with my very
good-looking sister."
She laughed. "I can't very well curtsy while sitting down in here, but
'thank yuh for them purty words, stranger.' And now for the express
station. Then you are to stop at the Southeastern News Association
headquarters for something of Rupert's and--"
The afternoon went quickly enough. They despatched the rest of their
possessions from the express station to Pirate's Haven, went on a round
of miscellaneous shopping, picked up a weighty box at the News
Association, and ended up at five o'clock by visiting that institution
of New Orleans, a coffee-house. Ricky was earnestly peeking into one of
her ten or so small bags. They had parked the car and Val complained
that he had become a sort of packhorse, and anything but patient one.
"What if your feet do hurt," his sister said wearily as she closed the
bag and reached for another. "So do mine. These sidewalks feel like
red-hot iron. I'll bet I could do one of those fakir tricks where you're
supposed to walk over red-hot plowshares.
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