The detective grinned and replied: “We’ll look you up, don’t worry.”
“And you, what’s your trade?” he asked her father.
“I don’t do much now ’cause my leg’s on the bum,” Mr. Palmer replied. “I used to be a bartender in the old days when we had a little freedom in this town.”
“Well, you’d better stop loafing around and get a job,” the detective advised.
“I always work when I’m able to,” said Mr. Palmer. “I used to manage my boy here, Harry, Battling Murphy—maybe you’ve seen him scrap somewheres. He got a raw deal an’ they barred him from the ring, but he’ll be back there ’fore long, don’t worry.”
The florid detective looked closely at Harry and then said: “Damned if it isn’t Bat’ Murphy himself! I won some dough on you once when you was fighting Kid Morley down at the Terrace. Why didn’t you tell us who you was?”
“You was askin’ my folks questions an’ I didn’t wanna butt in,” Harry replied as he shook hands, warmly, with the detective.
“I hear you been cutting up with a bad gang lately, Bat’,” the other detective interposed, in a tone of friendly reproof. “Better cut it out and get back into condition again. We wouldn’t like to pull you in, y’know.”
“You c’n lay a bet I will,” Harry replied. “I’m no has-been yet, I’m tellin’ you I knocked a coupla fellas out at the gym the other day.... An’ now about this poor kid sister uh mine. She isn’t a bad one, but you know how fellas c’n fill a girl up with a lotta phony gab. I don’t think she knew a damn thing about what was goin’ on.”
“You can bail her out, all right, when we’re through putting the question to her,” the other detective said. “Know any one to go to?”