"You are?" Bob was surprised. This upset his suspicions in regard to that gin.
"Yes; don't you think it's a good investment?" The old gentleman's keen blue eyes looked searchingly from under the shaggy brows at Rogeen.
"Lots of cotton raised over there," Bob answered, noncommittally. "And the Mexicans really ought to have a gin on their side of the line."
The old gentleman cleared his throat as though about to say something else; and then changed his mind and sat frowning in silence so long Bob wondered why he had sent for him.
"Lots of cotton raisers 'll go broke this fall." Crill broke the silence abruptly.
"Already are," replied Bob.
"Know what it means." The old gentleman jerked his head up and down. "Hauled my last bale of five-cent cotton to the store many a time, and begged 'em to let the rest of my bill run another year. That was before I ran the store myself; and then struck oil on a patch of Texas land. Haven't got as much money as folks think but too much to let lie around idle. Think this valley is a good place to invest, don't you?" Again the searching blue eyes peered at the young man.
"I certainly do," answered Bob with conviction. "The soil is bottomless; it will grow anything and grow it all the year."
"If it gets water," added the old gentleman.
"Of course—but we had plenty of water this year. And," went on Bob, "this war is not going to smash the cotton market forever. It's going to smash most of us who have no money to hold on with. But next spring or next summer or a year after, sooner or later, prices will begin to climb. The war will decrease production more than it will consumption. The war demands will send the price of wool up, and when wool goes up it pulls cotton along with it. Cotton will go to twenty cents, maybe more."