Clive stared in blank astonishment at his unexpected visitor. The latter grinned pleasantly and sat himself down, unasked, in a chair near the door, tucking his derby hat between his feet.
“Good evening, Mr. Standish,” said Billy. “Pleased to see you again. ‘Same here,’ says you,” he added, after an embarrassed little pause which Clive made no move to break.
“What do you want?” asked the candidate at last.
“Just a little gabfest with you. That’s all. I——”
“You come with a message from Mr. Conover?”
“Not me. I ain’t seen the Boss this ten days.”
“I thought you were his special henchman,” said Clive, amused in spite of himself by the heeler’s ingratiating manner, and puzzled as to the cause of this midnight call.
“The Boss’s what?” queried Billy.
“His ‘henchman,’ I said. Aren’t——”
“No, I ain’t. I don’t know just what a hench-person is, but I ain’t one. This ain’t the first time I’ve been called that. Some day when I get time I’m goin’ to look it up in the dicshunary. An’ if it means what I think it does, I’m going to lick——”