Fenner went out and closed the door.
Kells sat looking at the door for a moment and then he said: “Shep — you’re the new editor of the Coast Guardian. How do you like that?”
“Lousy. I don’t carry enough insurance.”
“You’ll be all right. A hundred a week and all the advertising you can sell on the side.”
“When do I start?”
“Right now. I parked Dickinson up at Bill Cullen’s. I’ll drop you there and you can get the details from him — if he’s conscious. I’ll turn the, uh — data over to you...”
Beery rubbed his eyes, yawned. He smiled a little and said: “Oh well, what the hell. I guess I’m beginning to like it.”
Kells looked at his wrist. “The bastards smashed my watch — what time is it?”
“Twelve-two.”
Kells picked up the telephone and called a Hempstead number. He said: “Hello, baby... Sure... Have you got any ham and eggs?... Have you got some absorbent cotton and bandages and iodine?... That’s fine, I’ll be up in about ten minutes... I’ve been on a party.”