"So that's what we lack. Well, now we know. How much sugar should we have, Rupert? Rupert--Mr. Rupert Ralestone--Mr. Rupert Ralestone of Pirate's Haven!" Her voice grew louder and shriller until he did lay down his reading matter and really looked at them for the first time. "What do you want?" "A little attention," answered Ricky sweetly. "We aren't Chinese, Arabs, or Malays, but we are kind of nice to know, aren't we, Val? If you'd only come out of your subconscious, or wherever you are most of the time, you'd find that out without being told." Rupert laughed and pushed away his letters. "Sorry. I picked up the bad habit of reading at breakfast when I didn't have my table brightened by your presence. I know," he became serious, "that I haven't been much of a family man. But there are reasons--" "Which, of course, you can not tell _us_," flashed Ricky. His face lengthened ruefully. He pulled at his tie with an embarrassed frown. "Not yet, anyway. I--" He fumbled with his napkin. "Oh, well, let me see how it comes out first." Ricky opened her eyes to their widest extent and leaned forward, every inch of her expressing awe. "Rupert, don't tell me that you are an _inventor_!" she cried. "Now I know that we'll end in the poorhouse," Val observed. Rupert had recovered his composure. "'I yam what I yam,'" he quoted. "Very well. Keep it to yourself then," pouted Ricky. "We can have secrets too." "I don't doubt it." He glanced at Val. "Unfortunately you always tell them. See any more bogies last night, Val? Did a big, black, formless something reach out from under the bed and clutch at you?" But his brother refused to be drawn. "No, but when it does I'll sic it onto you. A big, black, formless something is just what you need. And I'll--" "Am I interrupting?" Charity stood in the door. "Goodness! Haven't you finished breakfast yet? Do you people know that it is almost ten?" "Madam, we have banished time." Rupert drew out the chair at his left. "Will you favor us with your company?" "I thought you were going to be busy today," said Ricky as she rang for Letty-Lou and a fresh cup of coffee for their guest. "So did I," sighed Charity. "And I should be. I've got this order, you know, and now I can't get any models. Why there should be a sudden dearth of them right now, I can't imagine. I thought I could use Jeems again, but somehow he isn't the type." She raised her cup to her lips. "Are you doing story illustrations?" asked Rupert, more alive now than he had been all morning. "Yes. A historical thriller for a magazine. They want a full-page cut for the first chapter and a half-page to illustrate the most exciting scene. Then there're innumerable smaller ones. But the two large ones are what I'm worrying about. I like to get the important stuff finished first, and now I simply can't get models who are the right types." "What's the story about?" demanded Ricky.