Bob was taken aback. He saw now why his remark about the bull fight had given offence. The boy was embittered against people of his own race. Poor kid, thought Bob, what a tough time he must have! Fortunately his mother supported him. Though how a Mexican widow, living in this poor quarter of the town, should possess enough money to enable her son to indulge his hobby was a facer.
While he still struggled mentally for a reply, Captain Cornell cut in with:
“Come on, Bob. They’ll get away, maybe. Thought you had something up your sleeve! But just chinning this kid isn’t getting us anywhere.”
Bob saw he would have to inform his companion of what was in his mind, so he replied rapidly:
“Just a minute, Captain. What I wanted was to get the boy’s interest and then ask him about that house.”
“Oh.” Captain Cornell saw the light, and his impatience in a measure abated.
“Well,” said Bob, addressing the boy again, “my friend here is anxious to be gone, so I suppose I’ll have to stop. I’d like to talk some more to you about radio, though. Maybe, some time, you’ll let me have a look at your set.”
“Oh, yes, senor,” said the boy, all eagerness. “Right now, if the senor wishes.”
“No,” said Bob, “I’ll have to be moving. By the way, though,” he added, letting his glance rove toward the rear of the two-story house on the next street, the upper windows of which could be seen above the low ’dobe adjoining the boy’s home; “by the way, though, do you know who happens to live in that house?”
The boy stepped closer, in order to face about and see what place Bob was indicating.