"They'll be sorry," hinted Rupert darkly. "How about you, Val, beginning to feel hungry?"
"Now that you mention it, I am discovering a rather hollow ache in my center section. Supper ready?"
"Half an hour. I'll bring you up a tray—" began Ricky.
But Val had thrown back the sheet and was sitting on the side of the bed. "Oh, no, you don't! I'm not an invalid yet."
Ricky glanced at Rupert and then left. Val reached for his shirt defiantly. But his brother raised no objection. The painful stiffness Val had felt at first wore off and he was able to move without feeling as if each muscle were tied in cramping knots.
"May I pay Jeems a visit?" he asked as they went out into the hall. Rupert nodded toward a door across the corridor.
"In there. He's a stubborn piece of goods. Reminds me of you at times. If he'd ever get rid of that scowl of his, he'd be even more like you. He warms to Ricky, but you'd think I was a Chinese torturer the way he acts when I go in." There was a shade of irritation in Rupert's voice.
"Maybe he's afraid of you."
"But what for?" Rupert stared at the boy in open surprise.
"Well, you do have rather a commanding air at times," Val countered. If Ricky had told Rupert nothing of Jeems' confession, he wasn't going to.