said. “My daughter, Thorn and I have certainly been discretion itself. However, I’m inclined to think it’s all a pipe dream, as you say.”
“Probably is,” agreed Eden.
“Come outside,” the millionaire invited. He led the way through the glass doors to the patio. There a huge fire roared in the outdoor fireplace, glowing red on the stone floor and on wicker chairs. “Sit down,” suggested Madden. “A cigar—no, you prefer your cigarette, eh?” He lighted up, and leaning back in his chair, stared at the dark roof above—the far-off roof of the sky. “I like it out here best,” he went on. “A bit chilly, maybe, but you get close to the desert. Ever notice how white the stars are in this country?”
Eden looked at him with surprise. “Sure—I’ve noticed,” he said. “But I never dreamed you had, old boy,” he added to himself.
Inside, Thorn was busy at the radio. A horrible medley of bedtime stories, violin solos, and lectures on health and beauty drifted out to them. And then the shrill voice of a woman, urging sinners to repent.
“Get Denver,” Madden called loudly.
“I’m trying, Chief,” answered Thorn.
“If I must listen to the confounded thing,” Madden added to the boy, “I want what I hear to come from far away. Over the mountains and the plains—there’s romance in that.” The radio swept suddenly into a brisk band tune. “That’s it,” nodded Madden. “The orchestra at the Brown Palace in Denver—perhaps my girl is dancing to that very music at this moment. Poor kid—she’ll wonder what’s become of me. I promised to be there two days ago. Thorn!”
