“As a—as a—oh, as his right-hand man.”
“Does he want a right-hand man?”
“Sure to. He's a young fellow trying to get along. Sure to want a right-hand man.”
“'M yes,” said Ginger reflectively. “Of course, I've never been a right-hand man, you know.”
“Oh, you'd pick it up. I'll take you round to him now. He's staying at the Astor.”
“There's just one thing,” said Ginger.
“What's that?”
“I might make a hash of it.”
“Heavens, Ginger! There must be something in this world that you wouldn't make a hash of. Don't stand arguing any longer. Are you dry? and clean? Very well, then. Let's be off.”
“Right ho.”