We'd better
muss you up a bit. Let's see." She tapped her fingernail against her
teeth as she looked him up and down. "Off with that coat first."
He wriggled out of the coat and stood with the glories of his ruffled
shirt fully displayed. "Now what?" he asked.
"This," she reached forward and ripped his left sleeve to the shoulder.
"Untie that cravat and take it off. Roll up your other sleeve above the
elbow. That's right. Ricky, you muss up his hair. Let a lock of it fall
across his forehead. No, not there--there. Good. Now he's ready for the
final touches." She went to the table where her paints had been left.
"Let's see--carmine, that ought to be right. This is water-color, Val,
it'll all wash off in a minute."
Across his smooth tanned cheek she dribbled a jagged line of scarlet.
Then instructing Ricky to bind the torn edge of his sleeve above his
elbow, she also stained the bandage. "Well?" she turned to Rupert.
"He looks as though he had been through the wars all right," he agreed.
"But what about the costume?"
"Oh, we needn't worry about that. They knew I'd have to do this, so they
duplicated everything. Now for you, Ricky. Pull your sleeve down off
your shoulder and see if you can tear the skirt up from the hem on that
side--about as far as your knee. Yes, that's fine. You're ready now."
Rupert picked up from the table a sword and a long-barrelled dueling
pistol and led the way out onto the terrace.
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