Because he was
just as sure as Ricky that the key to their riddle must be directly
before them at that moment, he was thoroughly disgusted.
A strange sound from his sister brought him around. Ricky was not pretty
when she cried. No pearly drops slipped down white cheeks. Her nose
shone red and she sniffed. But Ricky did not cry often. Only when she
was discouraged, or when she was really hurt.
"Why, Ricky--" Val began uncertainly.
"Go 'way," she hiccupped. "You don't care--you don't care 'bout
anything. If we have to lose this--"
"We won't! We'll find a way!" he assured her hurriedly. "I'm sorry I
snapped at you. I'm just tired and hot, and so are you. Let's go
upstairs and freshen up. Lunch will be ready--"
"I kno-o-ow--" her sob deepened into a wail. "Then Rupert will laugh at
us and--"
"Ricky! For goodness sake, pull yourself together!"
She looked up at him, round-mouthed in surprise at his sharpness. And
then to his amazement she began to giggle, her giggles mixed with her
sobs. "You do look so funny," she gasped, "like the stern father of a
family. Why don't you fight back always when I get mean, Val?"
He grinned back at her. "I don't know. Shall I, next time?"
She rubbed her face with a businesslike air and tucked her handkerchief
away. "There isn't going to be any next time," she announced briskly.
"If there is--well--"
"Yes?" Val prompted.
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