Peter did not go.
"Commissioner," he began urgently, "all I ask is a chance——"
His eyes were tense and pleading.
The Chief Inspector, grizzled Matthew McCabe, plucked at the Commissioner's coat-sleeve.
"Well, Chief?" inquired Commissioner Kondorman, a little impatiently.
"He's a good lad," put in the Chief Inspector, "and well spoke of in the Second Ward."
"He's under height," said the Commissioner, briefly.
"But he knows how to handle his fists," argued the old Chief Inspector.
"Does he?" said the Commissioner, skeptically. "He looks rather small." He examined Peter through his eye-glasses; beneath that chill and critical gaze Peter felt that he had shrunk to the size of a bantam rooster; the lumps in his throat were almost choking him; in an agony of desperation, he cried,
"Bring in the biggest man you got. I'll fight him."