It was a light, yellow powder, and Flannery deluged the room with it. He stole stealthily about, shooting the curtains, shooting the bed, shooting the picture of the late Mr. Timothy Muldoon, shooting the floor. He bent down and shot under the bed, and under the washstand, until a film of yellow dust lay over the whole room, and then he turned to the closet and opened that. There hung Professor Jocolino's other clothes, and Flannery jerked them from the hooks and carried them at arm's length to the bed, and shot them.

As he was shooting into the pocket of a pair of striped trousers the door opened and Professor Jocolino stood on the threshold. There was no doubt in the professor's mind. He was being robbed! He drew a pistol from his pocket and fired. The bullet whizzed over the bending Flannery's head, and before the professor could fire a second time Flannery rose and turned and, with a true aim, shot the professor!

Shot him full in the face with the insect powder, and before the blinded man could recover his breath or spit out the bitter dose, or wipe his eyes, Flannery had him by the collar and had jerked him to the head of the stairs. It is true; he kicked him downstairs. Not insultingly, or with bad feeling, but in a moment of emotional insanity, as the defense would say. This was an extenuating circ.u.mstance, and excuses Flannery, but the professor, being a foreigner, could not see the fine point of the distinction, and was angry.

That night the professor did not sleep in Westcote, but the next afternoon he appeared at Mrs. Muldoon's, supported by Monsieur Jules, the well-known Seventh Avenue _restaurateur_, and Monsieur Renaud, who occupies an important post as _garcon_ in Monsieur Jules' establishment.

"For the keek," said the professor, "I care not. I have been keek before. The keek by one gentleman, him I resent, him I revenge; the keek by the base, him I scorn! I let the keek go, Madame Muldoon. Of the keek I say not at all, but the flea! Ah, the poor flea! Excuse the weep, Madame Muldoon!"

The professor wept into his handkerchief, and the two men looked seriously solemn, and patted the professor on the back.

"Ah, my Alphonse, the flea! The poor leetle flea!" they cried.

"For the flea I have the revenge!" cried the professor, fiercely. "How you say it? I will be to have the revenge. I would to be the revenge having. The revenge to having will I be. Him will I have, that revenge business! For why I bring the educate flea to those States United? Is it that they should be deathed? Is it that a Flannery should make them dead with a--with such a thing like a pop-gun? Is it for these things I educate, I teach, I culture, I love, I cherish those flea? Is it for these things I give up wife, and patrie, and immigrate myself out of dear France? No, my Jules! No, my Jacques! No, my madame! Ah, I am one heart-busted!"

"Ah, now, professor," said Mrs. Muldoon, soothingly, "don't bawl annymore. There is sure no use bawlin' over spilt milk. If they be dead, they be dead. I wouldn't cry over a million dead fleas."

"The American flea--no!" said the professor, haughtily. "The Irish flea--no! The flea _au naturel_--no! But the educate flea of _la belle France_? The flea I have love, and teach, and make like a sister, a sweetheart to me? The flea that have act up in front of the crowned heads of Spain; that have travel on the ocean; that travel on the land?

Ah, Madame Muldoon, it is no common bunch of flea! Of my busted feelings what will I say? Nothings! Of my banged-up heart, what will I say?

Nothings! But for those dead flea, those poor dead flea, so innocents, so harmless, so much money worth--for those must Monsieur Flannery compensate."

As the professor's meaning dawned on Mrs. Muldoon a look of amazement spread over her face.

"And would be ye makin' poor Mike Flannery pay good money for thim rascal fleas he kilt, and him with his ankles so bit up they look like the small-pox, to say nothin' of other folks which is th' same?" she cried. "'Tis ashamed ye should be, Mister Professor, bringin' fleas into America and lettin' them run loose! Ye should muzzle thim, Mister Professor, if ye would turn thim out to pasture in the boardin'-house of a poor widdy woman, and no end of trouble, and worry, and every one sayin', 'Why did ye let th' Dago come for, annyhow?'"

The professor and his friends sat silent under this attack, and when it was finished they arose.

"Be so kind," said the professor, politely, "to tell the Flannery the ultimatum of Monsieur the Professor Jocolino. One hundred educate French flea have I bring to the States United. Of the progeny I do not say. One milliard, two milliard, how many is those progeny I do not know, but of him I speak not. Let him go. I make the Flannery a present of those progeny. But for those one hundred fine educate French flea must he pay.

One dollar per each educate flea must he pay, that Flannery! It is the ultimatum! I come Sunday at past-half one on the clock. That Flannery will the money ready have, or the law will be on him. It is sufficient!"

The three compatriots bowed low, and went away. For fully five minutes Mrs. Muldoon sat in a sort of stupor, and then she arose and went about her work. After all it was Flannery's business, and none of hers, but she wished the men had gone to Flannery, instead of delegating her to tell him.

"Thief of th' worrld!" exclaimed Flannery, when she told him the demand the professor had made. "Sure, I have put me foot in it this time, Missus Muldoon, for kill thim I did, and pay for thim I must, I dare say, but 't will be no fun t' do it! One hunderd dollars for fleas, mam!

Did ever an Irishman pay the like before? One week ago Mike Flannery would not have give one dollar for all the fleas in th' worrld. But 'Have to' is a horse a man must ride, whether he wants to or no."

But the more Flannery thought about having to pay out one hundred dollars for one hundred dead insects the less he liked it and the more angry be became. It could not be denied that one dollar was a reasonable price for a flea that had had a good education. A man could hardly be expected to take a raw country flea, as you might say, and educate it, and give it graces and teach it dancing and all the accomplishments for less than a dollar. But one hundred dollars was a lot of money, too. If it had been a matter of one flea Flannery would not have worried, but to pay out one hundred dollars in a lump for flea-slaughter, hurt his feelings. He did not believe the fleas were worth the price, and he inquired diligently, seeking to learn the market value of educated fleas. There did not seem to be any market value. One thing only he learned, and that was that the government of the United States, in Congress a.s.sembled, had recognized that insects have a value, for he found in the list of customs duties this:--"Insects, not crude, 1/4 cent per pound and 10 per cent. ad valorem."

As Flannery leaned over his counter at the office of the Interurban Express Company and spelled this out in the book of customs duties he frowned, but as he looked at it his frown changed to a smile, and from a smile to a grin, and he shut the book, and put it in his pocket. He was ready to meet the professor.

"Good day to yez," he said, cheerfully, when he went into the little parlor on Sunday afternoon, and found the professor sitting there, flanked by his two fellow countrymen. "I have come t' pay ye th' hunderd dollars Missus Muldoon was tellin' me about."

The professor bowed and said nothing. The two gentlemen from Seventh Avenue also bowed, and they, too, said nothing.

"I'm glad ye spoke about it," said Flannery, good-naturedly, "for 'tis always a pleasure to Mike Flannery to pay his honest debts, and I might not have thought of it if ye had not mentioned it. I was thinkin' them was nawthin' but common, ignorant fleas, professor."

"Ah, no!" cried the professor. "The very educate flea! The flea of wisdom! The very teached flea!"

"Hear that, now!" said Flannery, "and did they really come all th' way from France, professor? Or is this a joke ye are playin' on me?"

"The truly French flea!" explained the professor. "From Paris herselfs.

The genuine. The import flea."

"And to think ye brought thim all th' way yerself, professor! For ye did, I believe?"

"Certain!" cried all three.

"An' t' think of a flea bein' worth a dollar!" said Flannery. "Thim can't be crude fleas at sich a price, professor."

"No! Certain, no!" cried the three men again.

"Not crude," said Flannery, "and imported by th' professor! 'T is odd I should have seen a refirince t' them very things this very day, professor. 'T is in this book here." He took the list of customs duties from his pocket and leaned his elbows on his knees, and ran his hand down the pages.

"'Cattle, if less than one year old, per head, two dollars. All other, if valued less than $14 per head, $3.75; if valued more than $14 per head, twinty-sivin and one half per cent.,'" read Flannery. "Sure, fleas does not count as cattle, professor. Nor does they come in as swine, th'

duty on which is one dollar an' fifty cints per head. I know th' pig, an' I am acquainted with th' flea, an' there is a difference between thim that annyone would recognize. Nor do they be 'Horses an' Mules' nor yet 'Sheep,' Some might count them in as 'All other live animals not otherwise specified, twinty per cent.,' but 't was not there I saw refirince t' thim. 'Fish,'" he read, "th' flea is no more fish than I am--" He turned the pages, and continued down through that wonderful list that embraces everything known to man. The three Frenchmen sat on the edges of their chairs, watching him eagerly.

"Ho, ho!" Flannery sang out at length. "Here it is! 'Insects, not crude, one quarter cent per pound and tin per cint. ad valorum.' What is ad valorum, I dunno, but 't is a wonderful thing th' tariff is. Who would be thinkin' tin years ago that Professor Jocolino would be comin'

t' Ameriky with one hundred fleas, not crude, in his dress-suit portmanteau? But th' Congress was th' boy t' think of everything. 'No free fleas!' says they. 'Look at th' poor American flea, crude an'

uneducated, an' see th' struggle it has, competin' with th' flea of Europe, Asia, an' Africa. Down with th' furrin flea,' says Congress, 'protect th' poor American insect. One quarter cent per pound an' tin per cint. ad valorum for th' flea of Europe!"

Mike Flannery brought his hand down on the book he held, and the three men, who had been watching him with a fascinated stare, jumped nervously.

"That's what Congress says," said Flannery, glaring at the professor, "but up jumps th' Sinator from Californy. 'Stop!' he says, 'wait! 'T is all right enough for th' East t' rule out th' flea, but th' Californian loves th' flea like a brother. We want free fleas.' Then up jumps th'

Sinator from New York. 'I don't object t' th' plain or crude flea comin'

in free,' says he, 'for there be need of thim, as me frind from th' West says. What amus.e.m.e.nt would th' dogs of th' nation have but for th'

flea?' says he. 'But I am thinkin' of th' sivinty-three theayters on an'

off Broadway,' says he. 'Shall th' amusemint industry of th' metropolis suffer from th' incoming of th' millions of educated an' trained fleas of Europe? Shall Shakespere an' Belasco an' Shaw be put out of business by th' pauper flea theayters of Europe? No!' says he. 'I move t' amend th' tariff of th' United States t' read that th' duty on insects, not crude, be one fourth of a cent per pound an' tin per cint. ad valorum,'

he says, 'which will give th' dog all th' crude fleas he wants, an' yit shut out th' educated flea from compyt.i.tion with grand opera an'

Barnum's circus.' An' so 'twas voted," concluded Mike Flannery.

Monsieur Jules fidgeted and looked at his watch.

"Be easy," said Flannery. "There's no hurry. I'm waitin' for a frind of mine, an' 't is fine t' talk over th' tariff with educated min once in a while. Th' frind I'm lookin' for anny minute now is a fine expert on th'

subject of th' tariff himself. O'Halloran is th' name of him. Him as is th' second deputy a.s.sistant collector of evidence of fraud an' smugglin'

in th' revenue service of th' United States. 'T was a mere matter of doubt in me mind," said Flannery, easily, "regardin' th' proper valuation of th' professor's fleas. I was thinkin' mebby one dollar was not enough t' pay for a flea, not crude, so I asks O'Halloran. ''T will be easy t' settle that,' says O'Halloran, 'for th' value of thim will be set down in th' books of th' United States, at th' time whin th'

professor paid th' duty on thim. I'll just look an' see how much th'

duty was paid on,' says he. 'But mebby th' professor paid no duty on thim,' I says. 'Make no doubt of that,' says O'Halloran, 'for unless th'

professor was a fool he would pay th' duty like a man, for th' penalty is fine an' imprisonmint,' says O'Halloran, 'an' I make no doubt he paid it. I will be out Sunday at four,' says O'Halloran, 'an' give ye th'

facts, an' I hope th' duty is paid as it should be, for if 't is not paid 't will be me duty t' arrest th' professor an'--'"

Flannery stopped and listened.

"Is that th' train from th' city I hear?" he said. "O'Halloran will sure be on it."

The professor arose, and so did the two friends who had come with him to help him carry home the one hundred dollars. The professor slapped himself on the pockets, looked in his hat, and slapped himself on the pockets again.

"_Mon Dieu!_" he exclaimed, and in an instant he and his friends were in an excited conversation that went at the rate of three hundred words a minute. Then the professor turned to Flannery.

"I return," he said. "I have lost the most valued thing, the picture of the dear mamma. It is lost! It is picked of the pocket! Villains! I go to the police. I return."