"That sounds like a threat! Nobody threatens me!"
"I just did," Martha said. "Oh, go to hell, you nasty old bastard! I'll get the tickets myself!"
There was a click as the line went dead.
The Old Man hung the telephone up and then stood looking down at it for a long moment.
"Mrs. Stevens," he called, "would you see if you can get Mrs. Howell back for me, please?"
"All right."
"And then see if you can get Juan Trippe on the line for me."
"Where is he?"
"I have no idea. Call Pan American Airways, tell them you're calling for me, and ask."
Two minutes later, Mrs. Stevens reported the telephone at Big Foot Ranch was busy, but that she had a Mr. Walpole at Pan American Airways on the line. The Old Man snatched up the telephone and demanded, "Who's this?"
"Ralph Walpole."
"My name is Cletus Marcus Howell. Does that mean anything to you?"
"We've met, Mr. Howell. Good to hear your voice, Sir."
"I was trying to talk to Mr. Trippe."
"He's not available at the moment, Mr. Howell. Is there any way I can be of service?"
"You're connected with Pan American?"
"Yes, I am," Mr. Walpole said, somewhat stiffly. "As a matter of fact, I hap-pen to be Vice-President, Operations."
"Well, Mr. Walpole, I need four seats on your Buenos Aires flight the day after tomorrow."
"Well, that may be somewhat difficult, Mr. Howell. Those planes are in-variably full."
"I'm not concerned with how difficult it is, Mr. Walpole."
/>
"Well, let me take your priority information, and I'll be happy to look into it for you, Mr. Howell. I'm sure that something can be worked out, if not-be-ing completely honest with you-as soon as the day after tomorrow."
"I don't have a priority," the Old Man said.
"Excuse me, Mr. Howell? Did I understand you to say you haven't arranged for your priority yet?"
"What I said was, 'I don't have a priority,'"
"In that case, may I suggest you call me back when you do have the prior-ity? And then we'll see what we can work out for you."
"Listen to me carefully," the Old Man said. "One of your airplanes is going to take off from Miami the day after tomorrow, bound for Buenos Aires. Unless I am mistaken, it will make its first fuel stop at Caracas, Venezuela."
"That is correct, Mr. Howell."
"If there are four people named Howell-myself; my daughter-in-law, Mrs. Martha Howell; and my granddaughters, Miss Elizabeth and Miss Marjorie Howell-on that airplane when it lands in Caracas, then Howell Petro-leum Venezuela will furnish you whatever quantity of 110-130-octane aviation gasoline you require. If we all are not on that airplane, then you had better be prepared to paddle it to Buenos Aires, because I won't pump one drop of avia-tion gasoline, and neither will anyone else in Caracas."
"I can't believe you're serious, Mr. Howell."