“I intend to keep right on with my work in the plant, Miss Compton,” replied Jimmy.
“How long do you suppose father would keep you after I told him what I know of you? Do you think that he would for a moment place the future of his business in the hands of an ex-waiter from Feinheimer’s—-that he would let a milk-wagon driver tell him how to run his business?”
“It probably might make a difference,” said Jimmy, “if he knew, but he will not know—listen, Miss Compton, I have discovered some things there that I have not even dared as yet to tell your father. The whole future of the business may depend upon my being there during the next few weeks. If I wasn’t sure of what I am saying I might consider acceding to your demands rather than to embarrass you with certain knowledge which I have.”
“You refuse to leave, then?” she demanded.
“I do,” he said.
“Very well,” she replied; “I shall tell father when he returns to this room just what I know of you.”
“Will you tell him,” asked Jimmy, “that you went to the training quarters of a prize-fighter, or that you dined unescorted at Feinheimer’s at night and were an object of the insulting attentions of such a notorious character as Steve Murray?”
The girl flushed. “You would tell him that?” she demanded. “Oh, of course, I might have known that you would. It is difficult to realize that any one dining at my father’s home is not a gentleman. I had forgotten for the moment.”
“Yes,” said Jimmy, “I would tell him, not from a desire to harm you, but because this is the only way that I can compel you to refrain from something that would result in inestimable harm to your father.”