The secretary appeared at the door. “Yes, Chief?”
“Remind me to send Evelyn a wire in the morning.”
“I’ll do that, Chief,” said Thorn, and vanished.
“And the band played on,” remarked Madden. “All the way from Denver, mile high amid the Rockies. I tell you, man’s getting too clever. He’s riding for a fall. Probably a sign of age, Mr. Eden, but I find myself longing for the older, simpler days. When I was a boy on the farm, winter mornings, the little schoolhouse in the valley. That sled I wanted—hard times, yes, but times that made men. Oh well, I mustn’t get started on that.”
They listened on in silence, but presently a bedtime story brought a bellow of rage from the millionaire and Thorn, getting his cue, shut off the machine.
Madden stirred restlessly in his chair. “We haven’t enough for bridge,” he remarked. “How about a little poker to pass the time, my boy?”
“Why—that would be fine,” Eden replied. “I’m afraid you’re pretty speedy company for me, however.”
“Oh, that’s all right—we’ll put a limit on it.”
Madden was on his feet, eager for action. “Come along.”
They went into the living-room and closed the doors. A few moments later the three of them sat about a big round table under a brilliant light.
“Jacks or better,” Madden said. “Quarter limit, eh?”
“Well—” replied Eden, dubiously.
He had good reason to be dubious, for he was instantly plunged into the poker game of his life. He had played at college, and was even able to take care of himself in newspaper circles in San Francisco, but all that was child’s play by comparison. Madden was no longer the man who noticed how white the stars were. He noticed how
