“I guess you two chaps are the highest humans of your age in Mexico,” gurgled Cranny. “Come on, Raymond, we want to have a conversation with you.”
When compatriots meet in a foreign land the ties of country, the common tongue, are often the means of forming warm friendships in a remarkably brief space of time. Such was the case of Jimmy Raymond and the others. And they quickly found that the lad had a lively tongue, but apparently a strong disinclination to talk about himself.
“Really, fellows,” he told them, as they walked out on the street together, “I haven’t much to tell you. I’m from Texas. You see,” he hesitated, “I got confoundedly hard up in this town, and, as an awful lot of good money was spent on my musical education, I hit upon the melody business as a way to keep me alive.”
“You play like a bird; you touch the heart-strings,” chirped Dick.
“Thanks, old chap. Whatever ability I have has proven a mighty good thing for me. I believe every one ought to learn something so he can turn it to account in case of necessity.”
“There it goes again,” grumbled Cranny to himself. Then the old joyous light came back into his eyes, and he chuckled without any apparent reason. “You’re mighty right, Jimmy,” he said aloud.
If Jimmy was not prodigal in dispensing information about himself, he proved decidedly inquisitive regarding the lives and adventures of each of his companions. A continual flow of questions was constantly receiving answers. Jimmy seemed profoundly happy, though at times a curious expression flitted over his face, half sad, half discontented, as if life to his mind was not altogether what it should be.
Of course the atmosphere of mystery which, to Tom at least, surrounded the Texas lad, made him all the more interesting to the Rambler, and having found one who listened to his tales of the club with unconcealed delight he was eloquent on the subject of life in the open. His descriptions of cowboy life in Wyoming especially pleased the lad.
“Crickets! What a dandy time you must have had,” he exclaimed, a wistful note in his voice. “But come along to my room. You’ve no idea, fellows, what a relief it is to hear English spoken.”
“Then why are you staying in Mexico?” asked Tom bluntly.