“Sure. Easy!”
They were in the station and could hear the enthusiastic cries of the hackmen and busmen and taxi drivers. Certainly a conglomeration, Westy thought as they stepped into a Ford taxi and were whisked to their hotel.
“This bird must have had his training on Forty-second Street,” Billy said, as the taxi driver perilously piloted his car through a street so narrow that two people could have shaken hands across the street without leaving the sidewalk.
At the hotel they all registered before Westy, and when it came his turn he looked up at the clerk, an amiable-looking chap, and smiled broadly.
No one ever could resist the warmth of Westy’s smile and this clerk was certainly more than susceptible. He smiled back.
“Came quite a distance to Santa Fe?” he said cordially. “Staying long?”
“No, only a week,” Westy answered.
“Well, you can see a lot in that time,” he said, “if you’re observing.”
“Oh, I’m observant, all right,” Westy remarked casually. “I’m a Boy Scout!”
“Oh, are you?” He seemed interested.