“Ho!” said Hogan, gruffly, “‘t was th’ fellys that does th’ high jump an’ th’ long jump an’ th’ wide jump was havin’ a meet on Hogan.  An’ I will be one of anny ten of us t’ tell th’ professor t’ call th’ scholards back t’ school agin.  I be but a plain uneducated man, Missus Muldoon, an’ I have no wish t’ speak disrespect of thim as is educated, but th’ conversation of a gang of Frinch educated fleas is annoyin’ t’ a man that wants t’ sleep.”

“I will speak t’ th’ professor, gintlemin,” said Mrs. Muldoon, “an’ remonstrate with him.  Mary, me girrl,” she added, to the maid, who was passing her chair, “would ye mind givin’ me th’ least bit of a rub between me shoulders like?  I will speak t’ th’ professor, for I have no doubt he has but t’ say th’ worrd t’ his scholards, an’ they will all run back where they belong.”

But the professor did not come back that day.  He must have had urgent business in New York, for he remained there all night, and all the next day, too, and if he had not paid his bill in advance, Mrs. Muldoon would have suspected that he had run away.  But his bill was paid, and his luggage was still in the room, and the educated fleas, or their numerous offspring, explored the boarding-house at will, and romped through all the rooms as if they owned them.  If Professor Jocolino had been there he would have had to listen to some forcible remonstrances.  It was Flannery who at length took the law into his own hands.

It was late Sunday evening.  The upper hall was dark, and Flannery stole softly down the hall in his socks and pushed open the professor’s door.  The room was quite dark, and Flannery stole into it and closed the door behind himself.  He drew from his pocket an insect-powder gun, and fired it.  It was an instrument something like a bellows, and it fired by a simple squeeze, sending a shower of powder that fell in all directions.  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 circumstance, and excuses Flannery, but the professor, being a foreigner, could not see the fine point of the distinction, and was angry.