“About what?” asked Annan sharply.
“Well, in Frank Donnell she had a gentleman. But Creevy is a vulgar fellow. His staff isn’t so much, either. Too bad the little girl couldn’t have remained in Betsy Blythe’s company. It was a decent bunch.”
“Isn’t hers?”
“Oh—I guess it’s endurable.... Creevy is a rat. So’s Emil Shunk. Marc Blither and Harry Quiss are just common and harmless.... Of course, if anybody offends your little protégée Albert Smull will do murder.”
“You don’t like Smull,” said Annan.
“Neither do you.”
When Coltfoot had gone Annan went to the telephone. And sat there for an hour without calling anybody. He had done this every day for two weeks. Sometimes he did it several times a day.
Mrs. Sniffen knocked and asked him what he wished for dinner.
“I don’t know,” he said absently.