The Commissioner's face was set in hard, and one would have thought, immovable lines, yet he achieved the feat of turning up, ever so slightly, the corners of his lips in an expression which might pass as the germ of a smile, as he gazed at the small, nude, freckled figure before him with its vivid shaving-brush hair, its intense eyes and its clenched fists posed in approved prize-ring form. Again the official bent over the records and studied them.
"Character recommendations seem pretty good," he mused. "Never has used tobacco or liquor——"
"'Fraid it might stunt me," muttered Peter, "so I couldn't get on the cops."
The commissioner stared at him with one degree more of interest.
"Give the lad a chance," urged the Chief Inspector. "He only lacks a fraction of an inch. He may grow."
"Now, Chief," said the Commissioner turning to the official by his side, "you know I'm a stickler for the rules. What's the good of saying officers must be five feet six and then taking men who are shorter?"
"You know how badly we need men," shrugged the Chief Inspector, "and Mullaney here strikes me as having the making of a good cop. It will do no harm to try him out."
The Commissioner considered for a moment. Then he wheeled round and faced Peter Mullaney.
"You've asked for a chance," he shot out. "You'll get it. You can attend police training school for three months. I'll waive the fact that you're below the required height, for the time being. But if in your final examinations you don't get excellent marks in every branch, by the Lord Harry, you get no shield from me. Do you understand? One slip, and good-by to you. Next candidate!"
They had to guide Peter Mullaney back to his clothes; he was in a dazed blur of happiness.