“Oh, not very,” Eden said carelessly. “He told me he used to drive a vegetable truck in Los Angeles. I got that much out of him, but that’s about all.”
“Silent, eh?”
Eden nodded. “Silent as a lawyer from Northampton, Massachusetts,” he remarked.
Madden laughed. “By the way,” he said, as Thorn went out. “Your father didn’t call.”
“No? Well, he isn’t likely to get home until evening. I’ll try the house tonight, if you want me to.”
“I wish you would,” Madden said. “I don’t want to seem inhospitable, my boy, but I’m very anxious to get away from here. Certain matters in the mail today—you understand—”
“Of course,” Bob Eden answered. “I’ll do all I can to help.”
“That’s mighty good of you,” Madden told him, and the boy felt a bit guilty. “I think I’ll take a nap before dinner. I find, nowadays, it’s a great aid to digestion.” The famous millionaire was more human than Bob Eden had yet seen him. He stood looking down at the boy, wistfully. “A matter you can’t grasp, just yet,” he added. “You’re so damned young—I envy you.”
He went out, leaving Bob Eden to a Los Angeles paper he had picked up in Eldorado. From time to time, as the boy read, the quaint little figure of Ah Kim passed noiselessly. He was setting the table for dinner.
An hour later, there on the lonely desert, they again sat down to Ah Kim’s cooking. Very different from the restaurant of which Bob Eden thought with longing, but if the company was far from lively, the food was excellent, for the Chinese had negotiated well. When the servant came in with coffee, Madden said:
