“Didn’t I tell you not to bother me unless you wanted to talk sense for a change?”

“You did, my lad.” There was a foolish sort of triumph in his voice. “And I’ll talk you your sense. I want a man to clean this pigsty of a Poisonville for me, to smoke out the rats, little and big. It’s a man’s job. Are you a man?”

“What’s the use of getting poetic about it?” I growled. “If you’ve got a fairly honest piece of work to be done in my line, and you want to pay a decent price, maybe I’ll take it on. But a lot of foolishness about smoking rats and pigpens doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“All right. I want Personville emptied of its crooks and grafters. Is that plain enough language for you?”

“You didn’t want it this morning,” I said. “Why do you want it now?”