The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

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 aristocratic young hero and beautiful maiden pursued by an officer of the black rebels. And,” she almost wailed, “here I am with the clothes spread all over my bed—the right costumes, you know—with no one to wear them. I went over to the Corners this morning and called Johnson—he runs a registration office for models—but he couldn’t promise me anyone.” She bit absent-mindedly into a round spiced roll Ricky had placed before her.
    “Wait!” She laid down the roll in a preoccupied fashion and stared across the table. “Val, stand up.”
    Wondering, he pushed back his chair and arose obediently.
    “Turn your head a little more to the right,” Charity ordered. “There, that’s it! Now try to look as if there were something all ready to spring at you from that corner over there.”
    For one angry moment he thought that she had been told of what had happened the night before and was baiting him, as the others had done. But a sidewise glance showed him that her interest lay elsewhere. So he screwed up his features into what he fondly hoped was a grim and deadly smile.
    “For goodness sake, don’t look as if you had eaten green apples,” Ricky shot at him. “Just put on that face you wear when I show you a new hat. No, not that sneering one; the other.”
    Rupert threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Better let him alone, Ricky. After all, it’s his face.”
    “I’m glad that someone has pointed out that fact,” Val said stiffly, “because—”
    “Oh, be quiet!” Charity leaned forward across the table. “Yes,” she nodded, “you’ll do.”
    “For what?” Val asked, slightly apprehensive.
    “For my hero. Of course your hair is too short and you are rather too youthful, but I can disguise those points. And,” she turned upon Ricky, “you can be the lady in distress. Which gives me another idea. Do you suppose that I might use your terrace for a background and have that big chair, the one with the high back?” she asked Rupert.
    “You may have anything you want within these walls,” he answered lightly enough, but it was clear that he really meant it.
    “What am I supposed to do?” Val asked.
    Charity considered. “I think I’ll try the action one first,” she said half to herself. “That’s going to be the most difficult. Ricky, will you send one of Lucy’s children over with me to help carry back the costumes and my material—” She was already at the door.
    “Val and I will go instead,” Ricky replied.
    Some twenty minutes later Val was handed a suitcase 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