"
"I certainly hope so. That must have been some battle."
"One of our better efforts." He coughed in mock modesty. "Ricky saved
the day with alarms and excursions without. Rupert probably told you
that."
"Yes, he can be persuaded to talk at times. Is he always so silent?"
"Nowadays, yes," he answered slowly. "But when we were younger--You
know," Val turned toward her suddenly, his brown face serious to a
degree, "it isn't fair to separate the members of a family. To put one
here and one there and the third somewhere else. I was twelve when
Father died, and Ricky was eleven. They sent her off to Great-aunt
Rogers because Uncle Fleming, who took me, didn't care for a girl--"
"And Rupert?"
"Rupert--well, he was grown, he could arrange his own life; so he just
went away. We got a letter now and then, or a post-card. There was money
enough to send us to expensive schools and dress us well. It was two
years before I really saw Ricky again. You can't call short visits on
Sunday afternoons seeing anyone.
"Then Uncle Fleming died and I was simply parked at Great-aunt
Rogers'. She"--Val was remembering things, a bitter look about
his mouth--"didn't care for boys. In September I was sent to a military
academy. I needed discipline, it seemed. And Ricky was sent to Miss
Somebody's-on-the-Hudson. Rupert was in China then. I got a letter from
him that fall. He was about to join some expedition heading into the
Gobi.
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