“And now?” Sherm adored to set Jane off.
“None of your sarcasm, Mr. Dart.” Then soberly: “Truly, Sherm, I know I’m a lot older. Things seem so different to me.”
“I know you are, too, Lady Jane. I was only teasing you.”
They had a beautiful half hour among the Captain’s treasures. Sherm gloated especially over the prints–their wonderful composition and soft color.
“Say, the Japs know a thing or two, don’t they? That wouldn’t be my idea of what to put into a picture, but it’s awfully satisfying.” He held the print off and closed one eye to see the outlines more vividly.
“Sherm, you surely were intended for an artist.” Chicken Little had gone on to the drawer below. “Oh, Sherm, I believe this is the drawer the Captain didn’t show me before. Do you suppose he wants us to go through it?”
“He said all of them. What’s in it?”
“Oh, sashes and scarfs and things. I thought maybe they used to belong to his wife.”
Sherm lifted a Roman scarf of crimson and yellow and rich blue, and examined it admiringly. “It 359doesn’t look as if this had ever been worn. I guess he wouldn’t have told us to go ahead if there had been anything here he didn’t want us to find. Say, Chicken Little, this would look dandy on you. Here, I’m going to fix you up for Captain Clarke to see.”
Sherm shook out the glowing silken folds and proceeded to wreathe the scarf around Chicken Little’s head, turban fashion. Her brown eyes glowed and the color in her cheeks grew deeper, as she met the admiration in Sherm’s eyes. He was staring at her, enchanted at the result of his efforts. Jane moved restlessly.