Was he accustomed to horses?
He hoped so.
Could he cook?
Ye-s-s, some. Not good for delicate folks.
Well, then, he was the very man for the position.
And Blue Jeans hadn't been able to think offhand of an objection; not one which he wanted to voice. He couldn't admit outright that the prospect was dismaying to his young pride. That he was afraid of the ridicule which certainly it would bring down upon him.
"I'm a cowpuncher, not a grave-robber," was the way it rose to his mind. But that wouldn't serve. It sounded neither dignified nor convincing.
Then if that was settled, what remuneration would he expect per month?
He had been of astonishing though dense persistence, that professor. Blue Jeans had pounced upon the query with sensations of deliverance.
"Wel-l-l," and he named a figure which struck him as outrageous.