Atlanta Daily World

SYNOPSIS
TERRY ARNOLD, a young Vermont newspaperwoman, has written a fairly successful novel. To gather material for a second book she has gone to the Argentine, her subject matter to be the wealthy playboy set of that Latin-American country.
Other characters are:
BROOKS KIMBERLY, owner of Ultimo Ventura, a race horse;
CORINNE ARTIGAS, Kimberly's fiancee, and
RAFF CORDOBA, architect and friend of Kimberly.
YESTERDAY: On her way to the Kimberly castle in the country, Terry learns some of the history of the Argentine ranches from Brooks Kimberly. The plane in which Kimberly, Raff Cordoba and Terry are flying finally lands and Terry finds herself at the great Norman castle, which is the size of a summer hotel.
CHAPTER NINE
WHEN THE plane rolled to a stop on the macadam runway Terry saw a tall, well-knit man, florid of face and dressed in tan riding breeches and leather boots, jump from a waiting station wagon and stride toward the plane.
"That is Sandy MacLaughlin, the mayordomo," Raff said briefly. "A very important hombre around this place. In fact, he's the boss—that is, when the boss is away."
While Brooks introduced Sandy to Terry she noticed the latter's look of anxiety.
"China's done it again, Senor," he reported excitedly. "He first at Las Palmas."
Terry could see the look of delight that spread over Brooks' face.
Then in a sober tone the mayordomo went on, "But since we've been home he's not been acting too well. I think he got overheated while we were loading."
Brooks' delight faded into concern.
"Has the veterinarian seen him?"
"Yes. He's down at the barn now."
Sandy picked up the three pieces of luggage and they started toward the car. All the way to the palacio Brooks questioned him about the animal's symptoms. When he had rounded the last curve on the white crushed stone driveway he turned to Raff and Terry. "If you'll excuse me," he said, "I'll go on down to the barns with Sandy. Maria will show you to your rooms."
Maria's dark-skinned, round face was bright with smiles as Raff introduced Terry. With affected menace in his tone he quickly added, "You'll have to keep an eye on this lady, Maria. She's a foreigner, you know, from Estados Unidos del Norte America!"
"Buenos!" Maria cried. "Some day Maria go there when she get rich!"
Raff turned to smile at Terry. "When you're ready I'll meet you on the terrace for luncheon. I'm famished."
After Raff had disappeared through the arched doorway that led into the living room, Terry followed closely in the wake of the native woman as she trudged up the long flight of stone steps.
Terry's eyes were wide as they swept in the lavishness of the surroundings.
After the brightness of the early afternoon sun the palacio seemed quite dark. The light gray stone walls and floors made a perfect background for the soft fusion of color in carpets and drapes. Most of them, Brooks had said, the late Senor Kimberly had bought in the Orient. Such a strange blending, Terry thought. The buildings are purely French, the furnishings oriental, and yet there is the quiet dignity of the English manor house about the place. It's like the country; definitely cosmopolitan, yet perfectly blended.
Terry caught her breath. The room had that pleasing quality which comes only with direct contrast. It was like a frosty dish of pink ice cream on a stifling summer day. After Maria had gone Terry stood in the center of the room, just looking. The carpets were the shade of rich, thick cream, the sheer silk drapes an icy blue. French doors stood open onto a wide balcony. A soft breeze heavily laden with the sweet smells of ripening grain drifted into the room.
Terry stepped out onto the balcony. Below stretched acres of neatly clipped green lawn, formal gardens bordered with low, boxlike hedge, the swimming pool so clean and cool in the sun, and beyond the estate grounds, unfolded the endless stretches of pampas—a flat, brown sea of land that seemed to know no bounds except the dim line of horizon.
Terry saw Raff come out through the living room doors and flop into a lounging chair on the terrace. He had changed from his tweeds to white flannels and open-necked white shirt. Suddenly she realized he was waiting for her to have lunch. She pulled her fascinated gaze away from the beauties of her surroundings and hurried to shower and change her dress.
As she came onto the terrace Raff scrambled to his feet. "You've no doubt been told before that yellow's your color."
She smiled. "You do always say the right thing."
Raff nodded toward a bamboo chair. "Sit down," he said. "I'll go tell Maria that we're ready for luncheon."
They had just started eating when Brooks came up the flagstone path, his coat flung over his shoulder his dark hair moist on his forehead. Raff moved quickly to draw up another chair.
Raff said, "You look like the end of a bad wreck. Pour him some tea, Maria, will you?"
Brooks sank down into the chair wearily and mopped a handkerchief across his brow.
"We've really a sick animal on our hands," he said heavily.
Raff sobered. "Think he'll come out all right, don't you?"
"The worst of it is nobody seems to know exactly what's wrong."
Terry had a sudden, almost uncontainable impulse to laugh. Here were two perfectly normal young men apparently thrown into the depths of despair over a sick animal.
"What is China—a horse?" she suddenly asked.
Brooks looked at her darkly.
"China," he said, "is one of the finest bulls in the country."
"Well, I'm sorry if I appear a bit dumb," Terry smiled. "But does a sick bull always throw things into such a dilemma?"
Raff gave her a queer smile.
"China is worth more than twenty thousand dollars," he said.
For an instant Terry looked as if she were going to whistle.
"Twenty thousand dollars?" she said incredulously. "Why, at home you could build a fine house for that!"
Brooks couldn't keep the sharp tone of annoyance out of his voice.
"A house is only a house, but a fine bull is one of man's greatest possessions!"
They finished their lunch in silence. Brooks only picked at his food. Abruptly he pushed back his chair.
"I'll be at the barns if anyone wants me," he said. And then, half apologetically he turned toward Terry. "I'm sorry if I spoke sharply to you. It's just that I'm worried, I guess."
With that he turned and was gone.
"Now, my dear," Raff said lightly, "you will embark on your higher education of the Argentine."
They went through the cool, spacious living room and through a heavily paneled door into a smaller room. Raff closed the door softly behind them.
"This is the pride and joy of every estancia owner—the trophy room."
Against the dark, polished panels of mahogany were shelves lined with glistening silver cups, silver plaques, and countless colored ribbons.
"You mean the Kimberly animals have won all these?" Terry asked.
"These and many more," Raff said. "The way to an Argentinean's heart, my dear, is not like you say in North America, through his stomach, but through his cattle and horses."
"I'll make a note of that," Terry promised demurely.
(To Be Continued)