[Leans upon back of chair watching her, eager, but smiling cordially.][pg 134]
I don't say he was peddling shoe-strings on the corner or selling weinerwursts—
[LADY CREECH gives a slight scream of indignation.]
PIKE
[continuing]
Probably something more hifalutin' and dignified than that. He was probably agent for a wooden butter-dish factory.
LADY CREECH
[enraged]
He had contracts with the Russian government itself!
PIKE