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. His name is Fenly Moss and he is
interested in animated cartoons. He has some ideas that sound rather big
to me.

"Fen says that these animal drawings of yours show promise and he wants
to know whether you ever thought of trying something along his line?"

Val shook his head, impatient to hear the rest.

"Well, he's in town right now on his vacation and he's coming out to see
you tomorrow. I advise you, Ralestone, that if Fen makes you the
proposition I think he's going to, to grab it. It'll mean hard work for
you and plenty of it, but there is a future to it."

"I don't know how to thank you," the boy began when Holmes frowned at
him half-seriously. "None of that. I was really doing Fen a favor, but
you needn't tell him that. Do you know how long Charity and your brother
are going to be gone?"

"No. But they'll be back for lunch," Ricky said. "If they remember
lunch--they're getting so vague lately. Val went out to call them to
dinner last night and it took him a good five minutes to get them out of
the garden."

"Five? Nearer ten," scoffed her brother.

Holmes got up abruptly. "Well, I'll be drifting. When is this binge of
yours?"

"Three-thirty, which really means four," answered Ricky. "Aren't you
going to stay to lunch?"

The New Yorker shook his head. "Sorry, I've another engagement. Thanks
just the same."

"Thank _you_!" Val waved the note-book as he vanished. "Wonder why he
hurried off that way?"

"Mad to think that Miss Charity was gone," answered Rod shrewdly. "Yo've
had that board long enough." He calmly possessed himself of Val's
drawing equipment. "Time to rest."

"Yes, grandfather," his cousin assented meekly.

Ricky slapped at a fly. "It seems to get hotter and hotter," she said.
From the breast pocket of her sport dress she produced a handkerchief
and mopped her face. Then she looked at the handkerchief in surprise.

"What's the matter? Some face come off along with the paint?" asked