Her mouth trembled.
“I’m sorry. I might have known that you’d talk just like Steve does... You and that — trainer of his.”
Simon’s brows lifted.
“Trainer?”
“Whitey Mullins.”
Hoppy, reaching for the coffee-pot, turned eagerly.
“Ya mean Whitey’s trainin’ de Champ? Say!” He beamed with the fanged grimace of a delighted dinosaur. “Whitey’s a great guy.”
The green eyes flashed at him.
“Is he? What does Mullins care what happens to Steve? All he cares about is getting even with Spangler. He’s just using Steve for a cat’s-paw!”
Hoppy blinked, his mouth open.