“I could try,” said Bridge. “I can read and write, you know. Let me try.” Bridge wanted money for the trip to Rio, and, too, he wanted to stay in the country until Billy was ready to leave.
“Savvy Spanish?” asked Grayson.
“I read and write it better than I speak it,” said Bridge, “though I do the latter well enough to get along anywhere that it is spoken.”
Grayson wanted a bookkeeper worse than he could ever recall having wanted anything before in all his life. His better judgment told him that it was the height of idiocy to employ a ragged bum as a bookkeeper; but the bum was at least as much of a hope to him as is a straw to a drowning man, and so Grayson clutched at him.
“Go an' turn your cayuse in an' then come back here,” he directed, “an' I'll give you a tryout.”
“Thanks,” said Bridge, and rode off in the direction of the pasture gate.
“'Fraid he won't never do,” said Grayson, ruefully, after Bridge had passed out of earshot.
“I rather imagine that he will,” said the boss. “He is an educated man, Grayson—you can tell that from his English, which is excellent. He's probably one of the great army of down-and-outers. The world is full of them—poor devils. Give him a chance, Grayson, and anyway he adds another American to our force, and each one counts.”
“Yes, that's right; but I hope you won't need 'em before you an' Miss Barbara go,” said Grayson.
“I hope not, Grayson; but one can never tell with conditions here such as they are. Have you any hope that you will be able to obtain a safe conduct for us from General Villa?”