and told to use the
contents to cover his back. Having doubts of the wisdom of the whole
affair, he went reluctantly upstairs to obey. But the result was not so
bad. The broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted coat did not fit him ill,
though the shiny boots were at least a size too large. Timidly he went
down. Ricky was the first to see him.

"Val! You look like something out of _Lloyds of London_. Rupert, look at
Val. Doesn't he look wonderful?"

Having thus made public his embarrassment, she ran to the mirror to
finish her own prinking. The high-waisted Empire gown of soft green
voile made her appear taller than usual. But she walked with a little
shuffle which suggested that her ribbon-strapped slippers fitted her no
better than Val's boots did him. Charity was coaxing Ricky's tight
fashionable curls into a looser arrangement and tying a green ribbon
about them. This done, she turned to survey Val.

"I thought so," she said with satisfaction. "You are just what I want.
But," the tiny lines about her eyes crinkled in amusement, "at present
you are just a little too perfect. Do you realize that you have just
fought off an attack, led by a witch doctor, in which you were wounded;
that you have struggled through a jungle for seven hours in order to
reach your betrothed; and that you are now facing death by torture? I
hardly think that you should look as if you had just stepped out of the
tailor's--"

"I've done all that?" Val demanded, somewhat staggered.

"Well, the author says you have, so you've got to look it. We'd better
muss you up a bit. Let's see." She tapped her fingernail against her
teeth as she looked him up and down. "Off with that coat first."

He wriggled out of the coat and stood with the glories of his ruffled
shirt fully displayed. "Now what?" he asked.

"This," she reached forward and ripped his left sleeve to the shoulder.
"Untie that cravat and take it off. Roll up your other sleeve above the
elbow. That's right. Ricky, you muss up his hair. Let a lock of it fall
across his forehead. No, not there--there. Good. Now he's ready for the
final touches." She went to the table where her paints had been left.
"Let's see--carmine, that ought to be right. This is water-color, Val,
it'll all wash off in a minute."

Across his smooth tanned cheek she dribbled a jagged line of scarlet.
Then instructing Ricky to bind the torn edge of his sleeve above his
elbow, she also stained the bandage. "Well?" she turned