“Thursday, perhaps.”
“Nonsense. I shall probably be gone by then, I must see you soon.”
“I’ll be out your way in the morning. If you like, I’ll pick you up.”
“That’s kind of you—but morning’s a long way off,” he said. “I’ll think of you tonight, eating at the Oasis. Give my love to that steak, if you see it. Until tomorrow, then—and can’t I buy you an alarm clock?”
“I shan’t oversleep—much,” she laughed. “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” answered Eden. “Thanks for the buggy ride.”
He crossed the street to the railroad station, which was also the telegraph office. In the little cubby-hole occupied by the agent, Will Holley stood, a sheaf of copy paper in his hand.
“Hello,” he said. “Just getting that interview on the wire. Were you looking for me?”
“Yes, I was,” Eden replied. “But first I want to send a wire of my own.”
The agent, a husky youth with sandy hair, looked up. “Say, Mister, no can do. Mr. Holley here’s tied up things forever.”
Holley laughed. “That’s all right. You can cut in with Mr. Eden’s message, and then go back.”
Frowning, Eden considered the wording of his rather difficult telegram. How to let his father know the situation without revealing it to the world? Finally he wrote:
BUYER HERE, BUT CERTAIN CONDITIONS MAKE IT ADVISABLE WE TREAT HIM TO A LITTLE HOO MALIMALI. MRS. JORDAN WILL TRANSLATE. WHEN I TALK WITH YOU OVER TELEPHONE PROMISE TO SEND VALUABLE PACKAGE AT ONCE THEN FORGET IT. ANY CONFIDENTIAL MESSAGE FOR ME CARE WILL HOLLEY, ELDORADO TIMES. THEY HAVE NICE DESERT DOWN HERE BUT TOO FULL OF MYSTERY FOR FRANK AND OPEN YOUNG BUSINESS MAN LIKE YOUR LOVING SON. BOB.
He turned the yellow slip over to the worried telegrapher, with
