“Very well—we’ll get it to him at once,” the elder Eden said. Bob Eden sighed with relief. His telegram had arrived.
“Ask him to get it off today,” Madden commanded.
“Mr. Madden wants to know if it can start today,” the boy said.
“Impossible,” replied the jeweler. “I haven’t got it.”
“Not today,” Bob Eden said to Madden. “He hasn’t got—”
“I heard him,” roared Madden. “Here—give me that phone. Look here, Eden—what do you mean you haven’t got it?”
Bob Eden could hear his father’s replies. “Ah—Mr. Madden—how are you? The pearls were in a quite disreputable condition—I couldn’t possibly let them go as they were. So I’m having them cleaned—they’re with another firm—”
“Just a minute, Eden,” bellowed the millionaire. “I want to ask you something—can you understand the English language, or can’t you? Keep still—I’ll talk. I told you I wanted the pearls now—at once—pronto—what the devil language do you speak? I don’t give a hang about having them cleaned. Good lord, I thought you understood.”
“So sorry,” responded Bob Eden’s gentle father. “I’ll get them in the morning, and they’ll start tomorrow night.”
“Yeah—that means Tuesday evening at the ranch. Eden, you make me sick. I’ve a good mind to call the whole thing off—” Madden paused, and Bob Eden held his breath. “However, if you promise the pearls will start tomorrow sure—”
