Jake Fuller

"I didn't expect to ride in a transfer-wagon," Jake remarked. "Haven't
you any autos yet? If not, I'll indent for one when the next stock order
goes home."

"Perhaps you had better wait until you see the roads."

"You're surely British," Jake replied. "If you'd been an American, you'd
get the car first and make the roads fit in. However, you might tell the
ancient dago to get a move on."

Dick was silent for the next few minutes. On the whole, he thought he
would like Fuller, and made some allowance for the excitement he, no
doubt, felt at beginning his career in a foreign country, but none for any
wish to impress his companion. It was unlikely that the self-possessed lad
would care what Dick thought of him, although it looked as if he meant to
be friendly. Then as the sweating mules slowly climbed the rutted track
out of the town Dick began to point out the changing level of the land,
the ravines, or barrancos, that formed natural drainage channels from the
high watershed, and the influence of drought and moisture on the
cultivation. Jake showed a polite interest, but inquired what amusements
were to be had in Santa Brigida, about which Dick gave him as little
information as possible. If he had understood Miss Fuller's hints, the
Spanish city was no place for her brother.

Jake spent the day following Dick about the works and made no complaint
about the heat and dust, though he frowned when a shower of cement or a
splash of oil fell upon his clothes. It was obvious that he knew nothing
about engineering, but the questions he asked indicated keen intelligence
and Dick was satisfied. A room adjoining the latter's quarters had been
prepared for the newcomer, and they sat, smoking, on the veranda after
the evening meal.