"Come here, I want you! We've got something to say to you."
Halsey sat motionless.
Rawn approached slowly, obviously annoyed. "If it's important—" he began. He had found love-making to his young wife especially delicious this evening, although he mistook her strange silence and preoccupation merely for wifely coyness.
"It is important!" Grace exclaimed; and rising, clutched at his arm.
"Well, then, what's it all about, what's it about? Come, come!"
"Charley's done it, he's got it—he's got the machines finished—over there—!" Her voice was almost a scream, hoarse, croaking. She stood bent, tense.
"What's that?" demanded Rawn. "What do you mean? Is that the truth, boy?"
"He came over in his own car, under International overhead—he told me so, right now," she went on, half hysterically. "You owe him money—a lot, a pile of money—he told me so right now—it's worth more than any fifty thousand. Oh, we're going to have money too. You see!"
Rawn shook off her arm and half flung her back in her chair. "What's this about, Halsey?" he said. "Is it true?"
Halsey nodded calmly, but said nothing.