"You let me out or I'll break you in two," the determined man replied, and a tremendous struggle took place.
Ultimately Harold was vanquished, and Schmidt, piling his huge bulk on the worn-out body of the young man, held him until his notion changed.
"Did you ever have a tree burn up in your head?" he asked.
"Pring a policeman," whispered Schmidt to the girl, "and a doctor. De man is grazy mit fevers; he aindt trunk."
When the officer came in Harold looked at him with sternly steady eyes. "See here, cap, don't you try any funny business with me. I won't stand it; I'll shoot with you for dollars or doughnuts."
"What's the matter—jim-jams?" asked the officer indifferently.
"No," replied Schmidt, "I tondt pelief it—he's got some fever onto him."
The policeman felt his pulse. "He's certainly hot enough. Who is he?"
"Hank Jones."
"That's a lie—I'm 'Black Mose,'" said Harold.