“I give you my word,” said the jeweler. “They will start tomorrow at the very latest.”
“All right. I’ll have to wait, I suppose. But this is the last time I deal with you, my friend. I’ll be on the lookout for your man on Tuesday. Good-bye.”
In a towering rage, Madden hung up. His ill-humor continued through breakfast, and Eden’s gay attempts at conversation fell on barren ground. After the meal was finished, Thorn took the little car and disappeared down the road. Bob Eden loafed expectantly about the front yard.
Much sooner than he had dared to hope, his vigil was ended. Paula Wendell, fresh and lovely as the California morning, drove up in her smart roadster and waited outside the barbed-wire fence.
“Hello,” she said. “Jump in. You act as though you were glad to see me.”
“Glad! Lady, you’re a life-saver. Relations are sort of strained this morning at the old homestead. You’ll find it hard to believe, but P.J. Madden doesn’t love me.”
She stepped on the gas. “The man’s mad,” she laughed.
“I’ll say he’s mad. Ever eat breakfast with a rattlesnake that’s had bad news?”
“Not yet. The company at the Oasis is mixed, but not so mixed as that. Well, what do you think of the view this morning? Ever see such coloring before?”
“Never. And it’s not out of a drug store, either.”
“I’m talking about the desert. Look at those snowcapped peaks.”
“Lovely. But if you don’t mind, I prefer to look closer. No doubt he’s told you you’re beautiful.”
“Who?”
