Dudley listened with wide-open ears, enraptured with the tale, and glowing at the thought that this was to be his life once he arrived at Mr. Bradshaw's farm, never dreaming that the kindly friend beside him had sad news to convey. For Mr. Blunt was aware that this same Mr. Bradshaw had been killed six months before in an Indian raid, and that Dudley could therefore no longer count upon his help. Then Mr. Blunt demanded more news of himself, and Dudley told that he had been left an orphan when very young, that a guardian had taken care of him till he was nine, and had then sent him to a school at Blackheath.
"He was a bachelor, and always very kind," he said; "but he was such a very busy man that he had very little time to devote to me, and, in fact, we were almost strangers. I seldom saw him in term time, while during the holidays we saw little of each other, as he did not return from London till late every evening, and left early on the following day. I think he had an idea that I should go into his office, but——"
"You hardly looked on that with favor," interposed Mr. Blunt with a knowing smile. "An office stool was not as attractive, perhaps, as the life which Mr. Bradshaw lived?"
"Hardly, sir. I had heard my guardian often speak of him, and of the life which he lived, and I own I longed to try it. But then, too, the headmaster seemed to think that I should be useless at a desk. He said as much openly."
"Which only proves him to be somewhat lacking in perception," was the short answer. "A youth with average intelligence never knows what he can do till he tries, so why discourage him beforehand? However, here you are, and I am sure you will like the life out in Entre Rios. It is rough, full of difficulty and danger, but one is a man there, as free as the air, and engaged in work far more natural to human beings than is that of the clerk, cooped in a stuffy office and poring over figures. Can you ride, lad?"
Dudley owned that he could, just a little. "I have often mounted a horse on the heath, and have even galloped and stuck on over a few jumps."
"And fallen off on other occasions. Then here's a word of advice. If you are asked if you can ride, don't be anxious to admit to any proficiency. You will be a 'gringo' out there, a foreigner, newly arrived, what is sometimes called a greenhorn, and the gauchos are fond of making fun. Can you shoot? Never fired a gun or a revolver! Time you commenced to learn, then. We'll have a little practice as soon as the sea calms down. You'll want to know the business end of a gun before you reach South America, for ruffians abound there. You see that block in the rigging? Well, before you consider you can shoot you must be able to hit it a score of times running, turning on it swiftly, and firing without a pause. It can be done. I could do it now, even with all this movement. It is simply custom, a knack of hand and eye, a useful knack which has saved my life on more than one occasion. Do you smoke, lad?"
The questions were fired at Dudley with surprising shortness, which almost made him gasp.
"Sometimes," he admitted guiltily. "Not very often."
"Good again. The fellow who commences to smoke too soon upsets his digestion, and therefore his development. A cigar is a fine thing, and helps a man when he's troubled. The weed soothes, somehow. You'll start some day and admit the same."