"Don't be silly," she said, "we're
comfortably well off. With Rupert writing books, and a lot of oil or
something in the swamp, why, what have we got to worry about? And next
fall Rod's going to college and I'm taking that course in dress
designing and Rupert's going to write another book and--and--" Her
inventive powers failed as Holmes came out on the terrace.
"Hello there." Val glanced at his watch. "I don't want to seem
inhospitable, but you're about four hours too early. We haven't even
crawled into our party duds."
"So I see. But this isn't a social call. By the way, where's Charity?"
"Oh, she went off with Rupert this morning," answered Ricky. "And I
think it was mean of them, running out on us that way, when there was so
much to do."
It seemed to Val that there was a faint shadow of irritation across the
open good nature of Holmes' smile when he heard her answer. "That damsel
is becoming very elusive nowadays," he observed as he sat down. "But now
for business."
"More business? Not another oil-well!" Ricky expressed her surprise
vividly with upflung hands.
"Not an oil-well, no. Just this--" He pulled Val's black note-book from
his pocket. "Now I am not going to tell you that I have shown them to a
publisher and that he wants fifty thousand or so at five dollars apiece.
But I did show them to that friend I spoke of. He isn't very well known
at present but he will be some day.
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