"Now, surrender yourself," said the brogue. "Go to this Lieutenant McDowell. Explain the error. Tell them that you were afraid, that you'd been hiding because of the ridicule attendant to the feathers on your scalp. Then go to the press and demand satisfaction for their ridicule, libel; throw the book at them. That will get us the publicity we want, and as soon as the thing is explained, people will come in droves. But first you can explain to McDowell--" "And start now!" exploded McDowell, bursting in angrily. He pointed the business-end of his revolver at them and waved them back. "Sit down," he barked. "And talk!" "It was him," accused the feather-headed one. "He wanted me to do this--to get into an argument. To get publicity. He can grow hair--I've been as bald as an onion." "Sure," drawled McDowell. "The jury will decide." He turned to O'Toole. "Are you a doctor?" "I am not a licensed Doctor of Medicine." "We'll see if what you are doing can be turned into a charge of practicing with no license." "I'm not practicing medicine. I'm a follicologist." "Yeah? Then what's this feather-business all about?" "Simple. Evolution has caused every genus, every specimen of life to pass upward from the sea. Hair is evolved from scales and feathers evolved also from scales. "Now," continued O'Toole, "baldness is attributed to lack of nourishment for the hair on the scalp. It dies. The same thing often occurs in agriculture--" "What has farming to do with hair-growing?" demanded McDowell. "I was coming to that. When wheat will grow no longer in a field, they plant it with corn. It is called 'Rotation of Crops.' Similarly, I cause a change in the growth-output of the scalp. It starts off with a light covering of scales, evolves into feathers in a few days, and the feathers evolve to completion. This takes seven weeks. After this time, the feathers die because of the differences in evolutionary ending of the host. Then, with the scalp renewed by the so-called Rotation of Crops." "Uh-huh. Well, we'll let the jury decide!" Two months elapsed before O'Toole came to trial. But meantime, the judge took a vacation and returned with a luxuriant growth of hair on his head. The jury was not cited for contempt of court even though most of them insisted on keeping their hats on during proceedings. O'Toole had a good lawyer. And Judge Murphy beamed down over the bench and said: "O'Toole, you are guilty, but sentence is suspended indefinitely. Just don't get into trouble again, that's all. And gentlemen, Lieutenant McDowell, Dr. Muldoon, and Sergeant O'Leary, I commend all of your work and will direct that you, Mr. McCarthy, be recompensed. As for you," he said to the ex-featherhead. "Mr. William B. Windsor, we have no use for foreigners--" Mr. Windsor never got a chance to state that he was no foreigner; his mother was a Clancy. THE END.