“Whatever he is, he’s a bird,” said Mike Dowling; “and you want to watch him fly.”

Taking by the wing the alien fowl that had fluttered into the nest of Liberty, Mike led him to the door of the engine-house and bestowed upon him a kick hearty enough to convey the entire animus of Company 99.  Demetre Svangvsk hustled away down the sidewalk, turning once to show his ineradicable grin to the aggrieved firemen.

In three weeks John Byrnes was back at his post from the hospital.  With great gusto he proceeded to bring his war map up to date.  “My money on the Japs every time,” he declared.  “Why, look at them Russians—­they’re nothing but wolves.  Wipe ’em out, I say—­and the little old jiu jitsu gang are just the cherry blossoms to do the trick, and don’t you forget it!”

The second day after Byrnes’s reappearance came Demetre Svangvsk, the unidentified, to the engine-house, with a broader grin than ever.  He managed to convey the idea that he wished to congratulate the hose-cart driver on his recovery and to apologize for having caused the accident.  This he accomplished by so many extravagant gestures and explosive noises that the company was diverted for half an hour.  Then they kicked him out again, and on the next day he came back grinning.  How or where he lived no one knew.  And then John Byrnes’s nine-year-old son, Chris, who brought him convalescent delicacies from home to eat, took a fancy to Svangvsk, and they allowed him to loaf about the door of the engine-house occasionally.

One afternoon the big drab automobile of the Deputy Fire Commissioner buzzed up to the door of No. 99 and the Deputy stepped inside for an informal inspection.  The men kicked Svangvsk out a little harder than usual and proudly escorted the Deputy around 99, in which everything shone like my lady’s mirror.

The Deputy respected the sorrow of the company concerning the loss of Erebus, and he had come to promise it another mate for Joe that would do him credit.  So they let Joe out of his stall and showed the Deputy how deserving he was of the finest mate that could be in horsedom.

While they were circling around Joe confabbing, Chris climbed into the Deputy’s auto and threw the power full on.  The men heard a monster puffing and a shriek from the lad, and sprang out too late.  The big auto shot away, luckily taking a straight course down the street.  The boy knew nothing of its machinery; he sat clutching the cushions and howling.  With the power on nothing could have stopped that auto except a brick house, and there was nothing for Chris to gain by such a stoppage.

Demetre Svangvsk was just coming in again with a grin for another kick when Chris played his merry little prank.  While the others sprang for the door Demetre sprang for Joe.  He glided upon the horse’s bare back like a snake and shouted something at him like the crack of a dozen whips.  One of the firemen afterward swore that Joe answered him back in the same language.  Ten seconds after the auto started the big horse was eating up the asphalt behind it like a strip of macaroni.