“No, stick around. You’re my best man, aren’t you?”
Grady wheeled on the Saint.
“Best man, is it?” he yelled. “So it’s a plot!”
“Not so far as I’m concerned,” the Saint said hastily.
“You listen to me, Mike.” The fighter seized Grady by the lapel. “Seeing that you’re going to be my father-in-law, you might as well—”
“In a pig’s eye!” Grady sputtered. “Let go me coat, you punch-drunk jerk, or I’ll... I’ll...”
He turned wildly and grabbed a boxing trophy that stood on his desk. Nelson ducked nimbly and clutched his wrist, shaking the heavy metal statuette from his grasp.
“You might as well get used to the idea, Mike,” said the Saint. “It seems to be settled that Steve loves Connie and Connie loves Steve, and they’re going to be married, and since they’re both of age I don’t see what you can do about it.”
“Oh, Daddy!” Connie pleaded, coming round to face him. “You’re acting like a spoiled brat. You’ve got nothing against Steve—”
“Let go me arm!” Grady snapped at Nelson. “Or are you trying to break it, you foul-fightin’ blackguard?”