Give me a film of that, and I’ll sit in the Strand watching it over and over until these old eyes go blind.”
“I’d like to,” said the girl. “But those crowds under the Elevated wouldn’t care for it. What they want is the desert—the broad open spaces away from the roar of the town.”
Holley nodded. “I know. It’s a feeling that’s spread over America these past few years like some dread epidemic. I must write an editorial about it. The French have a proverb that describes it—’Wherever one is not, that is where the heart is.’”
The girl held out her hand. “Mr. Eden, I’m leaving you here—leaving you for a happy night at the Desert Edge Hotel.”
“But I’ll see you again,” Bob Eden said quickly. “I must.”
“You surely will. I’m coming out to Madden’s ranch tomorrow. I have that letter of his, and this time I’ll see him—you bet I’ll see him—if he’s there.”
“If he’s there,” repeated Bob Eden thoughtfully. “Good night. But before you go—how do you like your steaks?”
“Rare,” she laughed.
“Yes—I guess one was enough. However, I’m very grateful to that one.”
“It was a lovely steak,” she said. “Good night.”
Will Holley led the way to an aged car parked before the hotel. “Jump in,” he said. “It’s only a short run.”
“Just a moment—I must get my bag,” Eden replied. He entered the hotel and returned in a moment with his suitcase, which he tossed into the tonneau. “Horace Greeley’s ready,” Holley said. “Come west, young man.”
