“Well?”
“Whose corner are you in for this scrap?”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Well, are you rooting for Kirk, or are you holding the towel for old man Bannister?”
“You mean, do I wish Mr. Winfield to marry my niece?”
“You’re hep.”
“Most certainly I do. It was I who brought them together.”
“Bully for you! Well, say, I just been shooting the dope into Kirk upstairs. I been—you didn’t happen to read the report of a scrap I once had with a gazook called Kid Mitchell, did you, ma’am?”
“I seldom, I may say never, read the sporting section of the daily papers.”
Steve looked at her in honest wonder.