"That's Larry," said Rose, and drew the bolt.
A policeman's hat was poked through the doorway, followed by a flushed, genial Irish face, and a tall, hulking body in regulation uniform.
"I'm terrible dry," grinned Larry.
"Then you've come to the right shop," was Rose's greeting. "We're just havin' a little drop ourselves. Larry, this is my new friend, Violet."
The policeman grinned again, and sat carefully upon the edge of a kitchen-chair, in evident fear that his bulk might prove too great for it.
"Glad to know you," he said.
"Larry's on this beat nights," Rose explained to Violet, "an' him an' the lieutenant look after us—don't you, Riley?"
"Well, what use is a frind if he don't take care of yez, Miss Rose? We do the bist we can."
"I know that.—What'll it be, Larry? We're takin' beer, but there's wine on the ice if you want it."
"I'll just have a small drap of liquor, ma'am, please," said Riley.