“Evenin’, Charlie,” was the Colonel’s greeting as they shook hands.
“Evening, Colonel,” responded the Chief, hanging up his overcoat and hat. “Been gettin’ yourself inter trouble, eh?”
“No, ’twas Mary Louise who considered a soldier must be, perforce, an honest man.”
“I know him, and I believe she’s right in this case,” replied Charlie Lonsdale. “If your man-of-all-work isn’t honest, I’m not honest and no judge of an honest man.”
Irene, who had remained to supper, although she lived next door, clapped her hands gleefully. Mary Louise walked around the table and kissed the Chief upon his grizzly chin; the Colonel alone frowned.
“Think I’m going to eat over here and take ‘potluck’ for nothing?” inquired the Chief.
“You’re an old idiot,” declared Colonel Hathaway, who was very fond of the Chief of Police and often had him over for a Sunday dinner.
“If the stranger soldier hadn’t been all right,” responded the other, “do you think I’d let you keep him and allow him to take charge of Mary Louise’s precious auto? Or risk my poor stomach on corned beef and cabbage, such as we’re going to have presently?”
“Why, how did you know that?” asked Mary Louise. “I didn’t know that myself until you told me!”
“Eyes—nose—presently, taste,” said the policeman, laughing at them. “Saw Aunt Sally lugging it home in a basket this morning—”