It was the only sign of nervousness he displayed, save a frequent swift scanning of faces in the room.

Any diner there who observed him would have said that Cliff was retailing some current scandal which concerned an acquaintance.

Any diner would have said that the good-looking boy in flyer's togs was listening with mental reservations, ready to argue a point, but nevertheless eager to hear the whole story.
"I mean, what about the mechanic?
Have you any contract with him, or are you tied up with him in any way?
Can you get rid of him, in other words ?" Johnny studied his little cup of coffee, his subconscious mind registering the incongruity of such a skimpy amount of coffee after such an amazingly ample meal.

Consciously he was having a hurried, whispered conversation with his native honesty.
"Well--I ain't married to Bland," he stated judicially, meeting candidly the other's intent stare.

"I never made any contract with him.