urke was a peaceful soul, despite his military training.
His short record on the force had been noteworthy for his ability to
disperse several incipient riots, quiet more than one brawl, and tame
several bad men without resorting to rough work. But there was a
rankling in his spirit which overcame the geniality which had been
reigning in his heart so short a time before.

He was tired. He was weak from his recent confinement. But the
fighting blood of English and some Irish ancestors stirred in his veins.

He walked quietly up to the Monk, and his voice was low, his words
calm, as he remarked: "You clear out of this neighborhood. I am going
to put you where you belong the first chance I get. And I don't want
any of your impudence now. Move along."

Jimmie mistook the quiet manner for respect and a timid memory of the
recent retirement from active service.

He spread his legs, and, with a wink to his companion, he began, with
the strident rasp of tone which can seldom be heard above Fourteenth
Street and east of Third Avenue.

"Say, bo. Do you recollect gittin' a little present? Well, listen,
dere's a Christmas tree of dem presents comin' to you ef ye tries any
more of dis stuff. I'm in _right_ in dis district, don't fergit it.
Ye tink's I'm going to de Island? Wipe dat off yer memory, too. W'y,
say, I kin git yer buttons torn off and yer shield put in de scrap heap
by de Commish if I says de woid down on Fourteenth Street, at de
bailiwick."

"I know who was back of the assault on me, Monk, and let me tell you
I'm going to get the man who threw it. Now, you get!"

Burke raised his right hand carelessly to the side of his collar, as he
pressed up close to the gangster. The big man at his side came nearer,
but as the policeman did not raise his club, which swung idly by its
leather thong, to his left wrist, he was as unprepared for what
happened as Jimmie.

"Why you----" began the latter, with at least six ornate oaths which
out-tarred the vocabulary of any jolly, profane tar who ever swore.

Burke's hand, close to his own shoulder, and not eight inches away from
Jimmie's leering jowl, closed into a very hard fist. Before the tough
knew what had hit him that nearby fist had sent him reeling into the
gutter from a short shoulder jab, which had behind it every ounce of
weight in the policeman's swinging body.

Jimmie lay there.

The other man's hand shot to his hip pocket, but the officer's own
re