“I understand, perfectly,” answered Roy. “I can do it.”
“That’s the talk,” snapped Mr. Cook. “Come,” he added, glancing around at the rather squalid courtyard. “Let’s go over to the office and talk it over. Where’s your baggage?” he added, turning to Roy.
“Down at the corral.”
“Well, don’t send it here. You’ll bunk with me. Sink,” he went on, “what d’you mean by steerin’ the boy up against this?” He pointed to the Mexican food.
“I enjoyed it,” exclaimed Roy, smiling.
Mr. Cook sniffed.
“You think you did, youngster. But you’ll find out later that it ain’t fit for white men. Sink’s been here so long he ain’t really white any more,” continued Mr. Cook, with a dig at Weston’s ribs; “but that’s no reason why he should poison you. Keep them things out o’ your system as long as you can. Let’s vamose!”
There was only a short stop at the company’s office, and then all went at once to the corral. But the stay in the company headquarters was long enough to show Roy that he had become connected with no small company. Roy presented his letter of introduction and another from Mr. Atkinson, the president of the aeroplane company, in reference to Roy’s expenses and compensation.
“No trouble about that,” exclaimed Mr. Cook impulsively. “But we won’t stop to thresh over figures this morning. When you get time,” he said to Roy, “make out a statement of all your expenses, and I’ll include the amount in our check to the company. The salary is all right. You won’t find much use for money down here. But, whenever you need any, let me know.”
Roy assured him he had plenty of cash on hand.