But though she could not understand, her own defiant spirit stormed up to fight this unexpected opposition. He didn't believe in her—that was it! He didn't think she was equal to working with him! Her young figure stiffened in angered pride, and her mind was gathering hot phrases to fling at him when the door from the pawnshop began to creak open. Instantly Larry turned toward it, relaxed and yet alert for anything. Old Jimmie and Barney Palmer entered.
“Hello, Larry!” cried the old man, crossing. “Welcome to our city!”
“Hello, Jimmie. Hello, Barney.” And Larry shook hands with his partners of other days.
“Gee, Larry, it's good to see you!” exclaimed the cunning-eyed old man. “Didn't know you were back till I bumped into Gavegan on Broadway. He told me, and so Barney and I beat it over here to see you. Believe me, Larry, that flatfoot is certainly sore at you!”
Larry ignored the last sentence. “Think it exactly wise for you two to come here?”
“Why, Larry?”
“Gavegan, Casey, the police, may follow, thinking you've come to see me for some purpose. That outfit may act upon suspicion.”
Jimmie grinned cunningly. “A man can come to visit his own daughter as often as he likes. Father love, Larry.”
“I see; that'll be your explanation.” Larry's eyes grew keen at the new understanding. “I hadn't thought of that before, Jimmie. So that's why you've always boarded Maggie around in shady joints: so's you could meet your pals and yet always have the excuse that you had come to meet your daughter?”
“Partly that,” smiled Old Jimmie blandly—perhaps too blandly. “Suppose we sit down.”