"Have you
ever heard of a 'sour puss?"
"Several times. Oh, what's the use!" Val kicked at a long twig. A warm
wind brought in its hold the heavy scent of flowering bushes and trees.
His shirt clung to his shoulders damply. It was hot even in the shade of
the oaks. Rupert had gone to town to see LeFleur and hear the worst, so
that Pirate's Haven, save for themselves and Letty-Lou, was deserted.
"Come on," Ricky's arm slid through his, "let's explore. Think of
it--we've been here two whole days and we don't know yet what our back
yard looks like. Rupert says that our land runs clear down into the
swamp. Let's go see."
"But I was going to--" He made a feeble beginning toward stooping for
the pruning-shears.
"Val Ralestone, nobody can work outdoors in this heat, and you know it.
Now come on. Bring those with you and we'll leave them in the carriage
house as we pass it. You know," she continued as they went along the
path, "the trouble with us is that we haven't enough to do. What we need
is a good old-fashioned job."
"I thought we were going to be treasure hunters," he protested
laughingly.
"That's merely a side-line. I'm talking about the real thing, something
which will pay us cash money on Saturday nights or thereabout."
"Well, we can both use a typewriter fairly satisfactorily," Val offered.
"But as you are the world's worst speller and I am apt to become
entangled in my commas, I can't see us the shining lights of any
efficient office.
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