Kirk shook his hand.

"You're all right, Steve!" he said huskily, and vanished into the bathroom. A sound as of a tropical deluge came from within.

Steve hammered upon the door. The downpour ceased.

"Say!" called Steve.

"Hello?"

"I don't want to discourage you, squire, but——"

The door opened and Kirk's head appeared.

"What's the matter?"

"Well, you heard what Bailey said?"

"About his father?"

"Sure. It goes."

Kirk came out into the gallery, towelling himself vigorously.

"Who is her father?" he asked, seating himself on the rail.

"He's a son of a gun," said Steve with emphasis. "As rich as John D. pretty nearly and about as chummy as a rattlesnake. Were you thinking of calling and asking him for a father's blessing?"

"Something of the sort, I suppose."

"Forget it! He'd give you the hook before you'd got through asking if you might call him daddy."

"You're comforting, Steve. They call you Little Sunbeam at home, don't they?"

"Hell!" said Steve warmly, "I'm not shooting this at you just to make you feel bad. I gotta reason. I want to make you see this ain't going to be no society walk-over, with the Four Hundred looking on from the pews and poppa signing cheques in the background. Say, did I ever tell you how I beat Kid Mitchell?"

"Does it apply to the case in hand?"

"Does it what to the which?"

"Had it any bearing on my painful position? I only ask, because that's what is interesting me most ju