Still, Mike hadn’t realized that it was as late as all that.
He looked at Jeffers’ lean, bony face. “Reaction? No, it’s not that. Look, Pete, you know me. Would you say I was a pretty levelheaded guy?”
“Sure.”
“My old man always said, ‘Never make an enemy accidentally,’ and I think he was right. So I usually think over what I say before I open my big mouth, don’t I?”
Again Jeffers said, “Sure.”
“I wouldn’t call myself over-cautious,” Mike persisted, “but I usually think a thing through pretty carefully before I act—that is, if I have time. Right?”
“I’d say so,” Jeffers admitted. “I’d say you were about the only guy I know who does the right thing more than 90 per cent of the time. And says the right thing more than 99 per cent of the time. So what do you want? Back-patting, or just hero worship?”
Mike took a small taste of the brandy. “Neither, you jerk. But about eight hours ago I said something that I hadn’t planned to say. I practically proposed to Leda Crannon without knowing I was going to.”
Peter Jeffers didn’t laugh. He simply said, “How’d it happen?”
Mike told him.