Holmes fanned himself with his hat. "So romance isn't dead after all.
Well, Charity, shall we stay--in town I mean?"
"Why?" a thin line appeared between her eyes as if she had little liking
for such a plan.
"Well, Creighton is here on the track of a mysterious new writer who is
threatening to produce a second _Gone with the Wind_. And I--well, I
like the climate."
"We'll see," muttered Charity.
CHAPTER X
INTO THE SWAMP
In spite of the fact that they received but lukewarm encouragement from
Charity, both Holmes and Creighton lingered on in New Orleans. Mr.
Creighton made several attempts to get in touch with Jeems, whom he
seemed to suspect of concealing vast literary treasures. And he spent
one hot morning going through the trunk of papers which the Ralestones
had found in the storage-room. Ricky commented upon the fact that being
a publisher's scout was almost like being an antique buyer.
Holmes was a perfect foil for his laboring friend. He lounged away his
days draped across the settee on Charity's gallery or sitting down on
the bayou levee--after she had chased him away--pitching pebbles into
the water. He told all of them that it was his vacation, the first one
he had had in five years, and that he was going to make the most of it.
Companioned by Creighton, he usually enlarged the family circle in the
evenings. And the tales he could tell about the far corners of the earth
were as wildly romantic as Rupert's--though he did assure his listeners
that even Tibet was very tame and well behaved nowadays.
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