Mr. Cook almost dropped his hat. Stuffing it under his arm, he clasped Roy’s hand in both his and then patted him on the back.
“Well, sir, my boy, those are about the welcomest words I’ve heard in a long time. I’m sure glad to see you. And you’ve got your machine with you?”
Weston smiled and answered for Roy:
“That’s what brung me, Colonel. Old Doolin’s got her down to the corral.”
“You don’t say so,” exclaimed Manager Cook. “The whole danged shebang?”
“Everything,” said Roy, laughing. “And I’m glad to meet you. I’m ready to get busy, too. I’ve been a long time gettin’ here.”
“The whole business?” went on Mr. Cook, as if the news was too good to be true.
“If it isn’t,” said Roy, with another smile, “I’ll be pretty well disappointed.”
“Well, sir,” went on Mr. Cook, looking at Roy again and patting him on the back, almost affectionately, “you’re about ten or fifteen years younger than I thought you’d be.” Then he sobered, suddenly. “They told you what the work was, did they?”