Clinton’s family had always had dogs.
Given the hours the FBI demanded, a pet just wasn’t in the cards, but he missed a wet nose greeting him at night.
The first time he went to Peter’s house, Satchmo greeted him as though Clinton was already a member of the family, by jumping up and trying to lick his face.
“Down, Satch! Bad boy!” Mrs. Burke scolded, apparently embarrassed by her wayward “child”
She probably hadn’t noticed the smile on Clinton’s face.
He’d suspected that working for Peter Burke would be a good move.
Now he had no doubts at all.