I'll take them
to LeFleur tomorrow. We can't allow them to lie about here."
"I should hope not!" Charity eyed the portfolio wistfully. "Imagine
actually owning six of those--"
"They won't pay our bills," said Ricky, practical for once in her life.
Treasure to Ricky was not half a dozen sketches on yellowed paper but
good old-fashioned gold with a few jewels thrown in for her own private
satisfaction. The portfolio and its contents left her unmoved. Val
admitted to himself that he, too, was disappointed. After all--well,
treasure should be treasure.
Rupert carried the portfolio into his bedroom and locked it in one of
his mysterious brief-cases which had somehow found its way upstairs.
The two chests they moved out farther into the hall and the trunk was
placed back against the wall, ready for further investigation.
"Mistuh Ralestone, suh," Letty-Lou, standing half-way up the back
stairs, addressed Rupert, "lunch am on de table. Effen yo'all doan come
now, de eatments will be spiled."
"All right," he answered.
"Letty-Lou," called Ricky, "put on another plate. Miss Charity is
staying to lunch."
"Dat's all ri', Miss 'Chanda. I'se done done dat. Yo'all comin' now?"
"You see how we are bullied," Ricky appealed to Charity. "Of course
you're going to stay," she swept aside the other's protests. "What's
food for, if not to feed your friends? Val, go wash up; your hands are
frightful.
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