But the good Saint, holding his whiskers in his hand in the excitement of the moment, had stooped to the floor for the bit of blue paper, and was examining it closely in the glow of the tree.
"It's genuine, all right," he answered. "It's Peter Hanson's check for one hundred dollars on the First National Bank of New York."
"It came this afternoon," said Francis smilingly,—"and knowing what it might be, I received it and put it on the tree for you. I took the last snap shot and sent it away while you were ill, Miss Billy."
A prolonged, mighty, deafening cheer went up from the assembled throats of the Improvement Club,—a glorified cheer,—a cheer of triumph, pride, and growing strength, with cat-calls innumerable tacked on to the end. The astonished Maggie, entering the door with a tray piled high with plates and napkins, was brushed lightly aside by Mr. Hennesy.
"Clare the middle av the room," he shouted in stentorian tones: "I'm a-goin' to cut a pigeon wing."
"Three cheers for Miss Billy," proposed Francis.
"And now a tiger for Francis," returned Miss Billy, and the hubbub, but just ended, rose again.
"An' another fer the frinds av the Club," said Mr. Hennesy, shaking hands right and left with everybody.
Saint Nicholas, with his whiskers readjusted, rapped once more for order. "Let me suggest, my friends," he said, "that we give one last lusty cheer for Cherry Street. One, two, three—Now!"