[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Astounding Science-Fiction, October 1946.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The telephone rang and the lieutenant of police Timothy McDowell
grunted. He put down his magazine, and hastily covered the
partially-clad damsel on the front cover before he answered the ringing
phone.
"McDowell," he grunted.
"McDowell," came the voice in his ear. "I think ye'd better come overe
here."
"What's up?"
"Been a riot at McCarthy's on Boylston Street."
"That's nothing new," growled McDowell, "excepting sometimes it's
Hennesey's on Dartmouth or Kelley's on Massachusetts."
"Yeah, but this is different."
"Whut's so different about a riot in a jernt like McCarthy's on a
street like Boylston?"
"Well, the witnesses say it wuz started by a guy wearin' feathers
instead uv hair."
"A bird, you mean."
"Naw. 'Twas a big fella, according to tales. A huge guy that refused
to take off his hat and they made a fuss. They offered to toss him
out until he uncovered, and when he did, here was this full head of
feathers. There was a general titter that roared up into a full laugh.
The guy got mad."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. He got mad and made a few swings. 'Twas quite a riot."
"What did McCarthy expect--a dance? When a guy gets laughed at for
having feathers instead of hair.... Holy St. Patrick! Feathers, did ye
say?"
"Yup."
"Look, O'Leary," growled McDowell angrily, "you've not been drinkin'
yourself, have ye?"
"Nary a drop, lieutenant."
"So this bird takes off his hat and shows feathers. The crowd laughs
and he gets mad. Then what?"
"Well, he tossed the bartender through the plate glass window, clipped
McCarthy on the button and tossed him across the bar and wrecked about
fifteen hundred dollars worth of fine Irish whiskey. Then he sort of
picked up Eddy, the bouncer, and hit Pete, the waiter, with him. Then,
having started and finished his own riot, the guy takes his drink,
downs it, and stamps out, slamming the door hard enough to break the
glass."
"Some character," glowed McDowell, admiringly. "But what am I supposed
to do?"
"McCarthy wants to swear out a warrant for the guy. But before we do, I
want to know more about this whole thing. First off, what's a man doing
wearing feathers instead of honest hair?"
"Ask him," grunted McDowell.
"Shall I issue the warrant?"
"Yeah--disturbing the peace. He did that, anyway. And if it's some
advertising stunt--this feathers business--I'll have some wiseacre
in jail in the morning. Look, O'Leary, I'll meet you at McCarthy's
in ten minutes." He hung up the phone and snapped the button on his
communicator.
"Doc?" he barked. "Come along if you want to. We've got us a guy
wearing feathers instead of hair!"
"Trick," growled the doctor. "Go away. No one can grow feathers instead
of hair."
"That's why I want you along. Come on, Doc. This is an order!"
"Confound you and your orders." He hung up angrily, and the lieutenant
heard him breaking up the poker game as he snapped his own switch
closed.
* * * * *
It was ten minutes to the second when the car pulled up before
McCarthy's. O'Leary was already inside, talking to a man holding a
chunk of raw beef to his eye.
"Now," said McDowell, entering with the doctor on his heels, "what's
this about feathers?"
"Swear it, lieutenant. An' I want the devil clapped in jail where he
belongs."
"Sure now," said McDowell in a mollifying tone, "and you can prove them
feathers were really growin'?"
"Sure," snapped McCarthy. "Here!" and he handed Lieutenant McDowell
something slightly bloody. It was a bit of skin, to which was attached
three tiny feathers. "Just before he bopped me I got me hands in his
scalp to see if they wuz real. They wuz, because they came hard and he
howled and went madman."
McDowell handed the specimen to Doc. "Examine it, Doc. One, are they
real feathers? Two, is that real human skin, and three, is that human
blood?"
"That'll take time," said the doctor looking at the bloody bit. "Bet
that hurts, though."
"Hurts?" grunted McDowell. "So what?"
"By which I mean that he'll be visiting a doctor or a hospital for
treatment. That's no home-remedy job!"
"O.K.," smiled McDowell cheerfully. "Now look, McCarthy. We'll get
right on it. You've got your warrant and can prefer charges. Meanwhile
there's nothing I can do here. We'll go back to the station and go to
work."
"How about the damages?" growled the owner.
"I'm a policeman, not a civil lawyer," returned McDowell. "Take it to
court when we catch our--bird."
"A fine force we got," grumbled McCarthy belligerently.
McDowell grunted angrily and turned to O'Leary. "He don't like us," he
said.
"McCarthy, have you been closing promptly at midnight on Saturday
night?" demanded O'Leary. "That's a bad law to break, you know."
"I've been lawful," returned the barkeep. "And I'll watch me step in
the future."
McDowell laughed and he and the Doc left the place.
* * * * *
Back at the station, reporters met them with questions. McDowell held
up a hand. "Look, boys," he said with a grin, "this may be something
you can print. It may also be an attempt to ridicule the force. I'll
tell you this much: There was a guy apparently wearing feathers instead
of hair that started a riot in McCarthy's on Boylston a little while
ago. Now if you'll hold off phoning that in until we check, we'll
tell you whether the guy was wearing feathers--or _growing them_!
Also--whether he was human. Mind waiting?"
"We'll wait," came the chorused reply.
"Whatcha going to use for lead?" asked one reporter of another.
"I don't know yet. It depends whether he was having a frat initiation
or was really one of our fine feathered friends."
McDowell followed the doctor in--and the reporters followed the
lieutenant in. Gag or not, thought McDowell, these guys will be as
good to me as I am to them. And if it is a gag, we'll show 'em that we
know how to find out about such, anyway.
Doc ignored the room teeming with people, and went to work. He made
test after test, and then pored through a couple of volumes from his
bookcase. Finally he gave that up and faced the group, casting a glance
at McDowell.
McDowell said: "This is off the record until I find out what he's got
to say. If it's O.K., you get it first hand, O.K.?"
The reporters nodded.
Doc cleared his throat. "The skin is human--so is the blood.
Indications are the feathers were growing out of the skin, not merely
inserted."
"You're certain?" gasped one reporter.
"I'm reasonably sure," qualified the doctor. "Skin ... well, skin has
certain tests to prove it. This stuff is human skin, I'm certain. It
couldn't be anything else. The feathers--I tried to classify them, but
it will take a professional ornithologist to do that."
"But Doc," queried the reporter, "if that's human skin, how can
feathers be growing out of it?"
"Ask me another," said the doctor, puzzled.
"Huh," grunted the reporter. "Man from--?" He shut his trap but quick,
but the words carried enough connotation.
"Look," said McDowell, "you can use that Man from Mars gag if you want
to, but don't say we said so. It's your own idea, see?"
"Right, lieutenant," they said, happy to get this much. It would make a
bit of reading, this item.
"Now," said McDowell. "Doc and I are going over to Professor Meredith's
place and ask him if he knows what kind of feathers these are."
One reporter spoke up quickly. "I'm holding mine until we get
Meredith's report," he said. "And I've got a station wagon outside.
Come on, lieutenant and Doc--and any of you mugs that want to ride
along."
There was a grand rush for the door.
* * * * *
Professor Meredith looked the feather over carefully, classifying it as
best he could. He sorted through several books, consulted many notes
of his own, and made careful counts of the spines-per-inch along the
shaft of the feather. He noted its coloring carefully and called for
a general statement as to the color, size, and general shape of the
feather.
"This is done somewhat like you file fingerprints," he told the
lieutenant. "But here at home I'm stumped. I've never seen that kind
before. However, over at the university we have a punched-card sorter.
We can run through all known birds and see if any of the feathers agree
with this specimen."
This time they took Professor Meredith along with them. Using official
sanction, the professor opened the laboratory and entered the
building. It was three hours later that the professor made his official
statement to the police and to the press.
"This feather is not known to the scientific world," he said. "However,
it does exist, and that proves that the scientific world does not know
everything there is. I would say, however, that the animal from which
this came is not known in any regular part of the civilized world."
"Explain that, Professor Meredith," requested McDowell.
"It is a small feather--fully grown. It is in an advanced stage of
evolution. Feathers, you know, evolved from scales and we can tell
how far they have come. It must come from a small bird, which is also
evidenced by the fact that it is not known to man. There are places in
the backwaters of the Amazon where man has not been, and certain spots
in Africa and the part of the world near Malaya. Oceania, and others."
"May we quote you on this, professor?" asked the _Press_.
"Why--yes. But tell me now, where did you get that feather?"
McDowell explained. And Professor Meredith gasped. "I'll revise my
statements," he said with a smile. "This feather is not known to exist
in the scientific world. If the story is true, that this feather
emerged from the scalp of a man, it is a scientific curiosity that
would startle the world--and make a mint for the owner in any freak
show."
The reporter from the _Press_ said: "Professor, you state that this
feather is not known to the scientific world. Is there any chance that
this--creature--is utterly alien?"
"Since the disclosure of the affair at Hiroshima and Nagasaki,"
smiled the professor, "a lot of people have been thinking in terms of
attaining the stars--interplanetary travel. As a member of a certain
society known as the Forteans, one of our big questions has been this:
If interplanetary travel is possible, why hasn't someone visited us?
Gentlemen, I'd not like to hear myself quoted as giving the idea too
much credulence, but it is something to ponder."
That did it. There was another general rush for the car. There was a
wild ride following, in which the man from the _Press_ displayed that
he had two things--a careful disregard for traffic laws, plus illegal
ownership of a siren. But they delivered Professor Meredith to his
home, the policemen to their station, and then the party broke up
heading for their respective telephones.
Three hours later Lieutenant McDowell was reading a headline stating:
"Hub of world to be Hub of Universe?"
* * * * *
McDowell groaned. "Everything happens to Boston, and everything in
Boston happens on Boylston Street. And everything that happens on
Boylston Street happens to me."