"Be quiet, my child, until we hear the story," put in Mrs. Pease, who usually objected to her daughter's methods.
And the policeman told his tale.
"This here young chap," he said, with generous fervor, "must be a regular Herculaneum. He burst the lock and stopped the van and knocked two of the robbers out of time. When I came up he had the Frenchman by the throat, a-rolling of him in the mud. All I had to do was to ring for the patrol, and help him bring the stuff right back to you for recognition."
"Ahem!" said Mr. Livermore. "Ahem! Ahem!"
"Papa," cried Selma, while tears of triumph made her eyes more bright, "aren't you going to shake hands with George?"
And thereupon Mr. Livermore cordially enough did shake hands with George.
"Papa," said Selma, "won't you tell George that his part in this night's work shall not go unrewarded?"
"Oh, tell him that yourself," cried old Mrs. Pease impatiently.
In the drawing-room Mr. Bertram Pease was playing the Wedding March.