sor's right arm with a blow of his hickory, so that the rattan cane fell to the ground.
O'Mahoney jerked the Professor up by the collar.
"An' fwhat may yer name be, me bucko?"
"I am Attila, the Scourge of God!" chanted the Professor.
The Irishman smiled.
"Glory be—but it's a foine scourrge ye are, me lad! Take thot then for bein a scourrge!" and he tapped him, not very gently, with his hickory.
But the Professor was not subdued.
"I am Attila!" he shouted again. "I am Genghis Khan! I am Tamerlane!"
O'Mahoney whistled through his teeth.
"Ye are, are ye? All three of them? Begorry, I think ye're a dangerous character, and the chief'll be afther wantin ye."
And so he fetched him a wallop on the ear, whistled for the police wagon, tumbled both his prisoners inside, and made a long report to the captain,
"Captain," he said, "of course, I know old Ivan. It's just his weekly dhrunk, and divil a bit o' harrm did he mean. But there's another lad—and I think he'll be wanted by the police in Boston. He gave me three aliases—wait till I write 'em down."
