Magee

“ If you went into the cellar and hunted about, you might find that door and climb up into the card-room."
"A bully idea," agreed Mr. Magee. "I'll hurry down there this minute. I'm more grateful than you can guess for this chance. And this time—but you'll see."
He found the back stairs, and descended. In the kitchen the hermit got in his path.
"Mr. Magee," he pleaded, "I consider that, in a way, I work for you here. I've got something important to tell you. Just a minute—"
"Sorry," answered Magee, "but I can't possibly stop now. In an hour I'll talk to you. ”

“ Magee, "meet all their lives long at pink little teas, and never know one another, while others just smile at each other across a station waiting-room—that's enough."
"I'm so glad," whispered the girl. "I never dreamed I'd meet any one like you—up here. Please, oh, please, be very careful. Neither Cargan nor Max is armed. Bland is. I should never forgive myself if you were hurt. But you won't be—will you?"
"I may catch cold," laughed Mr. Magee; "otherwise I'll be perfectly safe." He went into the room and put on a gay plaid cap. ”

“ Magee, looking at the hermit's shack with interest.
"U-m-m," replied Miss Norton. Thus beautiful sentiments frequently fare, even at the hands of the most beautiful. Mr. Magee abandoned his project of completing the speech.
The door of the hermit's abode opened before Mr. Max's masterful knock, and the bearded little man appeared on the threshold. He was clad in a purple dressing-gown that suggested some woman had picked it. Surely no man could have fallen victim to that riot of color. ”

“ I came up here to be alone. I can't be a hermit and a cook, too. I can't and be true to myself. No, you'll have to accept my resignation, to take effect at once."
He sat down on an uncertain chair and regarded them sorrowfully. His long well-shaped fingers clutched the cord of the purple gown.
"It isn't as though we were asking you to give up the hermit business for good," argued Magee. ”

“ Magee, "and I'm going to find out."
"I haven't time to argue with you," said the holder of the seventh key. His voice was cold, calculating, harsh. "Get out of my way and let me pass. Or—"
"Or what?" asked Billy Magee.
He watched the man lunge toward him in the moonlight. He saw the fist that had the night before been the Waterloo of Mr. Max and the mayor start on a swift true course for his head. Quickly he dodged to one side and closed with his opponent.
Back and forth through the snow they ploughed, panting, grappling, straining. Mr. Magee soon realized that his adversary was no weakling. ”

“ Magee had brought the night before, the three amateurs at the hermit game gathered by the fire in number seven, and Mr. Bland spoke feelingly:
"I don't know where you plucked that cook, but believe me, you get a vote of thanks from yours truly. What is he—an advertisement for a hair restorer?"
"He's a hermit," explained Magee, "and lives in a shack near the mountain-top. Hermits and barbers aren't supposed to mix. He's also an author, and is writing a book in which he lays all the trouble of the ages at the feet of woman. ”

“ Magee leaned back in his chair and smiled in a pleased way at the settings of the stage: Mr. Max in a cloud of smoke on guard at his door; the mayor and Mr. Bland keeping vigil by a telephone switchboard in the office below, watching for the flash of light that should tell them some one in the outside world wanted to speak to Baldpate Inn; a mysterious figure who flitted about in the dark; a beautiful girl who was going to ask Mr. Magee to do her a service, blindly trusting her. ”

“ The big man advanced threateningly. Mr. Magee saw that his face was very red, his neck very thick, but his mouth a cute little cupid's bow that might well have adorned a dainty baby in the park.
"Who are you?" bellowed the mayor of Reuton in a tone meant to be cowering.
"I forget," replied Mr. Magee easily. "Bland, who am I to-day? The cast-off lover of Arabella, the fleeing artist, or the thief of portraits from a New York millionaire's home? Really, it doesn't matter. We shift our stories from time to time. ”

“ Quimby frankly.
"I can't either, to tell the truth," laughed Billy Magee. He turned up his collar. "It's like picturing a summer girl sitting on an iceberg and swinging her open-work hosiery over the edge. I don't suppose it's necessary to register. I'll go right up and select my apartments."
It was upon a suite of rooms that bore the number seven on their door that Mr. Magee's choice fell. A large parlor with a fireplace that a few blazing logs would cheer, a bedroom whose bed was destitute of all save mattress and springs, and a bathroom, comprised his kingdom. ”

“ He smiled his bleak smile.
"I did you an injustice," went on Magee.
"Let us say no more of it," pleaded Professor Bolton.
Mr. Magee walked about the room. Warily the professor turned so that the other was at no instant at his back. He looked so helpless, so little, so ineffectual, that Mr. Magee abandoned his first plan of leaping upon him there in the silence. By more subtle means than this must his purpose be attained.
"I suppose," he said, "your love of fresh air accounts for the strolls on the balcony at all hours of the night?"
The old man merely blinked at him. ”

“ CHAPTER XVI A MAN FROM THE DARK
For fully five seconds Mr. Magee and the man with whom he had collided stood facing each other on the balcony. The identical moon of the summer romances now hung in the sky, and in its white glare Baldpate Mountain glittered like a Christmas-card. Suddenly the wind broke a small branch from one of the near-by trees and tossed it lightly on the snow beside the two men—as though it were a signal for battle.
"A lucky chance," said Mr. Magee. "You're a man I've been longing to meet. Especially since the professor left his window open this afternoon." ”

“ Not a sign of breakfast, and me as hollow as a reformer's victory."
"He's backslid," cried Magee.
"The quitter," sneered Max. "It's only a quitter would live on the mountain in a shack, anyhow."
"You're rather hard on poor old Peters," remarked Magee, "but when I think that I have to get up and dress in a refrigerating plant—I can't say I blame you. If only the fire were lighted—"
He smiled his most ingratiating smile on his companion.
"By the way, Mr. Cargan, you're up and dressed. I've read a lot of magazine articles about you, and they one and all agree that you're a good fellow. ”

“ CHAPTER III BLONDES AND SUFFRAGETTES
Mr. Magee slipped into his dressing gown, seized a candle, and like the boy in the nursery rhyme with one shoe off and one shoe on, ran into the hall. All was silent and dark below. He descended to the landing, and stood there, holding the candle high above his head. It threw a dim light as far as the bottom of the stairs, but quickly lost the battle with the shadows that lay beyond.
"Hello," the voice of Bland, the haberdasher, came out of the blackness. "The Goddess of Liberty, as I live! What's your next imitation?" ”

“ I'll appeal to his better nature."
"Don't do it," cried the girl. "Don't emphasize us to him in any way, or he may exercise his right as cook and leave. Just ignore us. We'll play at being our own bell-boys."
"Ignore you," cried Mr. Magee. "What Herculean tasks you set. I'm not equal to that one." He picked up their traveling-bags and led the way up-stairs. "I'm something of a bell-boy myself, when roused," he said.
The girl selected suite seventeen, at the farther end of the corridor from Magee's apartments. ”

“ Magee?" asked Professor Bolton, laying down the paper which he had been perusing at a distance of about an inch from his nose.
"Once again, Professor," laughed Magee, "reporters have entered your life."
The old man sighed.
"It was very kind of her," he said, "not to mention that I was the person who compared blondes of the peroxide variety with suffragettes. Others will not be so kind. The matter will be resurrected and used against me at the trial, I'm sure. A plucky girl, Mr. Magee—a very plucky girl. How times do change. ”

“ Magee had never been an athlete at the university. But he was a young man of average strength and agility, and he had the advantage of landing most unexpectedly on his antagonist. Before that gentleman realized what had happened, Magee had wrenched the package from his hand, thrown him back on the prostrate form of the highest official of Reuton, and fled up the steps. Quickly the stranger regained his feet and started in pursuit, but he arrived at the great front door of Baldpate Inn just in time to hear the lock click inside. ”

“ Magee. Let me tell it my way. You're right. There was money in that package. Lots of it. Enough to found a university, or buy a woman's gowns for a year. I was examining it careful-like when a shadow came in the doorway. I looked up—"
"Who?" asked Magee breathlessly.
"Who?" asked Magee breathlessly.
"That little blinky-eyed Professor Bolton was standing there, most owlish and interested. He came into the refrigerator. 'That package you have in your hand, Peters,' he says, 'belongs to me. I put it in cold storage so it would keep. I'll take it now.' Well, Mr. Magee, I'm a peaceful man. ”

“ Magee shaved—in ice-cold water, another black mark against the Hermit of Baldpate—he turned over in his mind the events of the night before. The vigil in the office, the pleading of the fair girl on the balcony, the battle by the steps, the sudden appearance of Miss Thornhill, the figure in his room, the conversation by the annex door—like a moving picture film the story of that weird night unrolled itself. The film was not yet at an end. He had given himself the night to think. Soon he would stand before the girl of the station; soon he must answer her questions. ”

“ Magee smiled as he put the package in the girl's hand.
"Possibly," he said. "But, Mr. Cargan, the blackness of the kettle always has annoyed the pot. Do not be afraid," he added to the girl. "Every gentleman in this room is to spend the evening with me. You will not be annoyed in any way." He looked around the menacing circle. "Go," he said, "and may the gods of the mountain take care of you."
The little professor of Comparative Literature stepped forward and stood pompously before Magee. ”

“ Peters. "Something women don't understand." He came close to Mr. Magee, and whispered low: "You didn't warn me there was another of 'em."
"The last, on my word of honor," Magee told him.
"The last," sneered Mr. Peters. "There isn't any last up here." And with a sidelong glance at the new Eve in his mountain Eden, he turned away to the kitchen.
"Now," whispered Magee to Miss Norton, "I'll get you that package. I'll prove that it was for you I fought and bled the mayor of Reuton. Watch for our chance—when I see you again I'll have it in my pocket." ”

“ He nodded, and picked up the candle. "All right," he said. "But I'll have to ask you to go first. You know the way." His right hand sought the pocket into which the revolver had fallen.
"You honor my poor and drafty house," said Mr. Magee. "This way."
He mounted the stairs. After him followed the youth of flashy habiliments, looking fearfully about him as he went. He seemed surprised that they came to Magee's room without incident. Inside, Mr. Magee drew up an easy chair before the fire, and offered his guest a cigar.
"You must be cold," he said. "Sit here. ”

“ I can't just get the full meaning of it all."
"You have nothing on me there, Peters," Magee answered. "I can't either."
"Well," went on the hermit, "as I say, through all this downpour of people, including women, I've hung on to one idea. I'm working for you. You give me my wages. You're the boss. That's why I feel I ought to give what information I got to you."
"Yes, yes," Mr. Magee agreed impatiently. "Go ahead."
"Where you find women," Peters continued, "there you find things beyond understanding. ”

“ Norton." She came nearer the easel, and smiled at the late lamented's tonsorial crown. "I must leave you—just a moment—"
Billy Magee's heart beat wildly. His breath came fast. He seized her by the hand.
"You're never going to leave me again," he cried. "Don't you know that? I thought you knew. You're mine. I love you. I love you. It's all I can say, my dearest. Look at me—look at me, please."
"It has happened so quickly," she murmured. "Things can't be true when they—happen so quickly."
"A woman's logic," said Mr. Magee. "It has happened. My beautiful girl. Look at me." ”

“ Magee and the girl turned, they beheld the Hermit of Baldpate staring with undisguised exultation at the tall buildings of Reuton.
"Why, it's Mr. Peters!" the girl cried.
"Yes," replied Magee. "His prediction has come true. We and our excitement proved too much for him. He's going back to Brooklyn and to her."
"I'm so glad," she cried. She stretched out her hand to the hermit. He took it, somewhat embarrassed.
"Glad to see you," he said. "You certainly appear to have stirred things up, miss. But women are good at that. I've always said—"
"Mr. Magee tells me you're going back, after all?" ”

“ Magee," muttered Bland.
"Oh, come now," smiled Magee. "Let's tell our real names. I heard you greeting your friend a minute ago. How are you, Mr. Hayden?"
He held out his hand. Hayden looked him angrily in the eyes.
"Who the devil are you?" he asked.
"Do you mean," said Magee, "that you didn't catch the name. It's Magee—William Hallowell Magee. I hold a record hereabouts, Mr. Hayden. I spent nearly an hour at Baldpate Inn—alone. You see, I was the first of our amiable little party to arrive. Let me make you welcome. Are you staying to dinner? You must." ”

“ Magee but a puppet of the shadows, a figure more fictitious than real. Now for the first time he looked upon her as a flesh-and-blood girl, noted the red in her olive cheeks, the fire in her dark eyes, and realized that her interest in that package of money might be something more than another queer quirk in the tangle of events. ”