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.

"It's laid in Haiti during the French invasion led by Napoleon's
brother-in-law, the one who married Pauline. All voodoo and aristoc