"My mechanic and me."
"Ah." The fellow made a mark or two with his pencil and waited for more—until he perceived that more would not be forthcoming.
"And now that you have lit, what do you expect to do, may I ask?"
"Oh-h—" Johnny covered a wide yawn with his palm, "make money. What else is there to do?"
"Go broke," the reporter suggested, smiling again—with less boredom, by the way.
"Old stuff," Johnny grunted. "I aim to be different."
The fashion plate laughed almost humanly. "If half they said of you is true, you've nothing to complain about. By the way—how much of it was true? I mean how you salvaged the plane from Mexico and used it to catch horse thieves, and the Indian god stuff, and the Lochinvar—"
Johnny sat up belligerently. "Say! What are you looking for?
Trouble?"
"Merely verifying rumors. A very natural professional caution, I assure you."
"Caution! Hnh! Funny way you've got of being cautious, old-timer. I'd call it a fine way of heading down-stairs without waiting for the elevator."