Everyone called him that.

He used to say that he knew what he wanted and that he got it, and that was true, too.

I didn't in the least want to do his odd jobs, even for the ensuing pickings, and I didn't want to be hail-fellow with him.

But I did them and I was, without even realising that it was distasteful to me.

It was probably the same with everybody else.
I used to have an idea that I was going to reform him; that one day I should make him convert the _Hour_ into an asylum for writers of merit.
He used to let me have my own way sometimes--just often enough to keep my conscience from inconveniencing me.