"Savvy Spanish?" asked Grayson.
"I read and write it better than I speak it," said Bridge,
"though I do the latter well enough to get along anywhere
that it is spoken."
Grayson wanted a bookkeeper worse than he could ever
recall having wanted anything before in all his life. His better
judgment told him that it was the height of idiocy to employ a
ragged bum as a bookkeeper; but the bum was at least as
much of a hope to him as is a straw to a drowning man, and
so Grayson clutched at him.
"Go an' turn your cayuse in an' then come back here," he
directed, "an' I'll give you a tryout."
"Thanks," said Bridge, and rode off in the direction of the
pasture gate.
"'Fraid he won't never do," said Grayson, ruefully, after
Bridge had passed out of earshot.
"I rather imagine that he will," said the boss. "He is an
educated man, Grayson--you can tell that from his English,
which is excellent. He's probably one of the great army of
down-and-outers. The world is full of them--poor devils.
Give him a chance, Grayson, and anyway he adds another
American to our force, and each one counts."
"Yes, that's right; but I hope you won't need 'em before
you an' Miss Barbara go," said Grayson.
"I hope not, Grayson; but one can never tell with conditions
here such as they are.
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