ALIEN BY GEORGE O. SMITH [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Astounding Science-Fiction, October 1946. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The telephone rang and the lieutenant of police Timothy McDowell grunted. He put down his magazine, and hastily covered the partially-clad damsel on the front cover before he answered the ringing phone. "McDowell," he grunted. "McDowell," came the voice in his ear. "I think ye'd better come overe here." "What's up?" "Been a riot at McCarthy's on Boylston Street." "That's nothing new," growled McDowell, "excepting sometimes it's Hennesey's on Dartmouth or Kelley's on Massachusetts." "Yeah, but this is different." "Whut's so different about a riot in a jernt like McCarthy's on a street like Boylston?" "Well, the witnesses say it wuz started by a guy wearin' feathers instead uv hair." "A bird, you mean." "Naw. 'Twas a big fella, according to tales. A huge guy that refused to take off his hat and they made a fuss. They offered to toss him out until he uncovered, and when he did, here was this full head of feathers. There was a general titter that roared up into a full laugh. The guy got mad." "Yeah?" "Yeah. He got mad and made a few swings. 'Twas quite a riot." "What did McCarthy expect--a dance? When a guy gets laughed at for having feathers instead of hair.... Holy St. Patrick! Feathers, did ye say?" "Yup." "Look, O'Leary," growled McDowell angrily, "you've not been drinkin' yourself, have ye?" "Nary a drop, lieutenant." "So this bird takes off his hat and shows feathers. The crowd laughs and he gets mad. Then what?" "Well, he tossed the bartender through the plate glass window, clipped McCarthy on the button and tossed him across the bar and wrecked about fifteen hundred dollars worth of fine Irish whiskey. Then he sort of picked up Eddy, the bouncer, and hit Pete, the waiter, with him. Then, having started and finished his own riot, the guy takes his drink, downs it, and stamps out, slamming the door hard enough to break the glass." "Some character," glowed McDowell, admiringly. "But what am I supposed to do?" "McCarthy wants to swear out a warrant for the guy. But before we do, I want to know more about this whole thing. First off, what's a man doing wearing feathers instead of honest hair?" "Ask him," grunted McDowell. "Shall I issue the warrant?" "Yeah--disturbing the peace. He did that, anyway. And if it's some advertising stunt--this feathers business--I'll have some wiseacre in jail in the morning. Look, O'Leary, I'll meet you at McCarthy's in ten minutes." He hung up the phone and snapped the button on his communicator. "Doc?" he barked. "Come along if you want to. We've got us a guy wearing feathers instead of hair!" "Trick," growled the doctor. "Go away. No one can grow feathers instead of hair."