Then—oh, excellent young woman, thought the boy—the secretary answered: “Not today. He went with some friends to another links. He didn’t say which.”
“Thank you so much,” Eden said. “Just leave the message on his desk, please.” He hung up.
“Too bad,” he remarked cheerfully. “Gone off to play golf somewhere, and nobody knows where.”
Madden swore. “The old simpleton. Why doesn’t he attend to his business—”
“Look here, Mr. Madden,” Eden began.
“Golf, golf, golf,” stormed Madden. “It’s ruined more good men than whisky. I tell you, if I’d fooled round on golf links, I wouldn’t be where I am today. If your father had any sense—”
“I’ve heard about enough,” said Eden, rising.
Madden’s manner changed suddenly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But this is annoying, you must admit. I wanted that necklace to start today.”
“The day’s young,” Eden reminded him. “It may get off yet.”
“I hope so,” Madden frowned. “I’m not accustomed to this sort of dilly-dallying, I can tell you that.”
His great head was tossing angrily as he went out. Bob Eden looked after him, thoughtfully. Madden, master of many millions, was putting what seemed an undue emphasis on a little pearl necklace. The boy wondered. His father was getting on in years—he was far from the New York markets. Had he made some glaring mistake in setting a value on that necklace? Was it, perhaps, worth a great deal more than he had asked, and was Madden fuming to get hold of it before the jeweler learned his error and perhaps called off the deal? Of course, Alexander
