The Greatest Works of Earl Derr Biggers (Illustrated Edition). Earl Derr Biggers

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Thorn, "he doesn't stop to think. I'm warning you, that's all."

      "Mighty kind of you," answered Eden carelessly. Thorn dropped his spade and basket by the cookhouse, from which came the pleasant odor of bacon on the stocks. Walking slowly, the secretary moved on toward the patio. Ah Kim emerged from his work-room, his cheeks flushed from close juxtaposition to a cook-stove.

      "Hello, boss," he said. "You takee look-see at sunrise thisee mawnin'?"

      "Up pretty early, but not as early as that," the boy replied. He saw the secretary vanish into the house. "Just been watching our dear friend Thorn bury some rubbish back of the barn," he added. "Among other items, a can that lately contained arsenic."

      Chan dropped the role of Ah Kim. "Mr. Thorn plenty busy man," he said. "Maybe he get more busy as time goes by. One wrong deed leads on to other wrong deeds, like unending chain. Chinese have saying that applies: 'He who rides on tiger can not dismount.'"

      Madden appeared in the patio, full of pep and power. "Hey, Eden," he called. "Your father's on the wire."

      "Dad's up early," remarked Eden, hurrying to join him.

      "I called him," said Madden. "I've had enough delay."

      Reaching the telephone, Bob Eden took up the receiver. "Hello, dad. I can talk freely this morning. I want to tell you everything's all right down here. Mr. Madden? Yes—he's fine—standing right beside me now. And he's in a tearing hurry for that necklace."

      "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—"

      "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?"

      "Wilbur, your fiance."

      "His name is Jack. Don't jump on a good man when he's down."

      "Of course he's a good man, or you wouldn't have picked him." They plowed along the sandy road. "But even so—look here, lady. Listen to a man of the world. Marriage is the last resort of feeble minds."

      "Think so?"

      "I know it. Oh, I've given the matter some thought. I've had to. There's my own case. Now and then I've met a girl whose eyes said, 'Well, I might.' But I've been cautious. Hold fast, my lad—that's my motto."

      "And you've held fast?"

      "You bet. Glad of it, too. I'm free. I'm having a swell time. When evening comes, and the air's full of zip and zowie, and the lights flicker round Union Square, I just reach for my hat. And who says, in a gentle patient voice, 'Where are you going, my dear? I'll go with you.'"

      "Nobody."

      "Not a living soul. It's grand. And you—your case is just like mine. Of course there are millions of girls who have nothing better to do than marriage. All right for them. But you—why—you've got a wonderful job. The desert, the hills, the canyons—and you're willing to give all that up for a gas-range in the rear room of an apartment."

      "Perhaps we can afford a maid."

      "Lots of people can—but where to get one nowadays? I'm warning you—think it over well. You're having a great time now—that will end with marriage. Mending Wilbur's socks—"

      "I tell you his name is Jack."

      "What of it? He'll be just as hard on the socks. I hate to think of a girl like you, tied down somewhere—"

      "There's a lot in what you say," Paula Wendell admitted.

      "I've only scratched the surface," Eden assured her.

      The girl steered her car off the road through an open gate. Eden saw a huge, rambling ranch house surrounded by a group of tiny cottages. "Here we are at Doctor Whitcomb's," remarked Paula Wendell. "Wonderful person, the doctor. I want you two to meet."

      She led the way through a screen door into a large living-room, not so beautifully furnished as Madden's, but bespeaking even greater comfort. A gray-haired woman was rocking contentedly near a window. Her face was kindly, her eyes calm and comforting. "Hello, Doctor," said the girl. "I've brought some one to call on you."

      The СКАЧАТЬ