“Ah, that depends. I sincerely hope so. I want to see this country after the spring rains—the verbena and the primroses in bloom. The thought enchants me. What says the prophet Isaiah?’And the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose. And the parched ground shall become a pool, and the thirsty land springs of water.’You know Isaiah, Mr. Madden?”
“No, I don’t. I know too many people now,” responded Madden grimly.
“I believe you said you were interested in the fauna round here, Professor?” Bob Eden remarked.
Gamble looked at him quickly. “You give me my title,” he said. “You are an observant young man. Yes, there are certain researches I intend to pursue—the tail of the kangaroo-rat, which attains here a phenomenal length. The maxillary arch in the short-nosed pocket-mouse, I understand, has also reached in this neighborhood an eccentric development.”
The telephone rang, and Madden himself answered it. Listening carefully, Bob Eden heard: “Telegram for Mr. Madden.” At this point the millionaire pressed the receiver close to his ear, and the rest of the message was an indistinct blur.
Eden was sorry for that, for he perceived that as Madden listened an expression of keen distress came over his face. When finally he put the receiver slowly back on to its hook, he sat for a long time looking straight before him, obviously very much perplexed.
“What do you grow here in this sandy soil, Mr. Madden?” Professor Gamble inquired.
“Er—er—” Madden came gradually back to the scene. “What do I grow? A lot of things. You’d be surprised,
