CHAPTER XXI
THE MAYOR IS WELCOMED HOME
It was a good story--the story which the mayor, Max, the professor andMagee read with varying emotions there in the smoking-car. The girl hadserved her employers well, and Mr. Magee, as he read, felt a thrill ofpride in her. Evidently the employers had felt that same thrill. For inthe captions under the pictures, in the head-lines, and in a first-pageeditorial, none of which the girl had written, the _Star_ spokeadmiringly of its woman reporter who had done a man's work--who had goneto Baldpate Inn and had brought back a gigantic bribe fund "alone andunaided".
"Indeed?" smiled Mr. Magee to himself.
In the editorial on that first page the triumphant cry of the _Star_arose to shatter its fellows in the heavens. At last, said the editor,the long campaign which his paper alone of all the Reuton papers hadwaged against a corrupt city administration was brought to a successfulclose. The victory was won. How had this been accomplished? Into the_Star_ office had come rumors, a few days back, of the proposed paymentof a big bribe at the inn on Baldpate Mountain. The paper had decidedthat one of its representatives must be on the ground. It had debatedlong whom to send. Miss Evelyn Rhodes, its well-known special writer,had got the tip in question; she had pleaded to go to the inn. Theeditor, considering her sex, had sternly refused. Then gradually he hadbeen brought to see the wisdom of sending a girl rather than a man. Thesex of the former would put the guilty parties under surveillance offguard. So Miss Rhodes was despatched to the inn. Here was her story. Itconvicted Cargan beyond a doubt. The very money offered as a bribe wasnow in the hands of the _Star_ editor, and would be turned over toProsecutor Drayton at his request. All this under the disquieting title"Prison Stripes for the Mayor".
The girl's story told how, with one companion, she had gone to UpperAsquewan Falls. There was no mention of the station waiting-room, nor ofthe tears shed therein on a certain evening, Mr. Magee noted. She hadreached the inn on the morning of the day when the combination was to bephoned. Bland was already there, shortly after came the mayor and Max.
"You got to get me out of this," Magee heard Max pleading over Cargan'sshoulder.
"Keep still!" replied the mayor roughly. He was reading his copy of the_Star_ with keen interest now.
"I've done your dirty work for years," whined Max. "Who puts on therubber shoes and sneaks up dark alleys hunting votes among the garbage,while you do the Old Glory stunt on Main Street? I do. You got to get meout of this. It may mean jail. I couldn't stand that. I'd die."
A horrible parody of a man's real fear was in his face. The mayor shookhimself as though he would be rid forever of the coward hanging on hisarm.
"Hush up, can't you?" he said. "I'll see you through."
"You got to," Lou Max wailed.
Miss Rhodes' story went on to tell how Hayden refused to phone thecombination; how the mayor and Max dynamited the safe and secured theprecious package, only to lose it in another moment to a still differentcontingent at the inn; how Hayden had come, of his suicide when he foundthat his actions were in danger of exposure--"a bitter smile forKendrick in that" reflected Magee--and how finally, through a strangeseries of accidents, the money came into the hands of the writer for the_Star_. These accidents were not given in detail.
"An amusing feature of the whole affair," said Miss Evelyn Rhodes, "wasthe presence at the inn of Mr. William Hallowell Magee, the New Yorkwriter of light fiction, who had come there to escape the distractionsof a great city, and to work in the solitude, and who immediately on hisarrival became involved in the surprising drama of Baldpate."
"I'm an amusing feature," reflected Magee.
"Mr. Magee," continued Miss Rhodes, "will doubtless be one of thestate's chief witnesses when the case against Cargan comes to trial, aswill also Professor Thaddeus Bolton, holder of the Crandall Chair ofComparative Literature at Reuton University, and Mr. David Kendrick,formerly of the Suburban, but who retired six years ago to take up hisresidence abroad. The latter two went to the inn to represent ProsecutorDrayton, and made every effort in their power to secure the package ofmoney from the reporter for the _Star_, not knowing her connection withthe affair."
"Well, Mr. Magee?" asked Professor Bolton, laying down the paper whichhe had been perusing at a distance of about an inch from his nose.
"Once again, Professor," laughed Magee, "reporters have entered yourlife."
The old man sighed.
"It was very kind of her," he said, "not to mention that I was theperson who compared blondes of the peroxide variety with suffragettes.Others will not be so kind. The matter will be resurrected and usedagainst me at the trial, I'm sure. A plucky girl, Mr. Magee--a veryplucky girl. How times do change. When I was young, girls of her agewould scarcely have thought of venturing forth into the highways on suchperilous missions. I congratulate you. You showed unusual perception.You deserve a great reward--the young lady's favor, let us say."
"You got to get me out of this," Max was still telling the mayor.
"For God's sake," cried Cargan, "shut up and let me think." He sat for amoment staring at one place, his face still lacking all emotion, but hiseyes a trifle narrower than before. "You haven't got me yet," he cried,standing up. "By the eternal, I'll fight to the last ditch, and I'llwin. I'll show Drayton he can't play this game on me. I'll show the_Star_. That dirty sheet has hounded me for years. I'll put it out ofbusiness. And I'll send the reformers howling into the alleys, sick ofthe fuss they started themselves."
"Perhaps," said Professor Bolton. "But only after the fight of yourlife, Cargan."
"I'm ready for it," cried Cargan. "I ain't down and out yet. But tothink--a woman--a little bit of a girl I could have put in mypocket--it's all a big joke. I'll beat them--I'll show them--the game'sfar from played out--I'll win--and--if--I--don't--"
He crumbled suddenly into his seat, his eyes on that unpleasant lineabout "Prison Stripes for the Mayor". For an instant it seemed as thoughhis fight was irrevocably lost, and he knew it. Lines of age appeared tocreep from out the fat folds of his face, and stand mockingly there. Helooked a beaten man.
"If I don't," he stammered pitifully, "well, they sent him to an islandat the end. The reformers got Napoleon at the last. I won't be alone inthat."
At this unexpected sight of weakness in his hero, Mr. Max set up arenewed babble of fear at his side. The train was in the Reuton suburbsnow. At a neat little station it slowed down to a stop, and a floridpoliceman entered the smoking-car. Cargan looked up.
"Hello, Dan," he said. His voice was lifeless; the old-time ring wasgone.
The policeman removed his helmet and shifted it nervously.
"I thought I'd tell you, Mr. Cargan," he said "I thought I'd warn you.You'd better get off here. There's a big crowd in the station at Reuton.They're waiting for you, sir; they've heard you're on this train. Thislying newspaper, Mr. Cargan, it's been telling tales--I guess you knowabout that. There's a big mob. You better get off here, sir, and godown-town on a car."
If the mighty Cargan had looked limp and beaten for a moment he lookedthat way no more. He stood up, and his head seemed almost to touch theroof of the car. Over that big patrolman he towered; his eyes were coldand hard again; his lips curved in the smile of the master.
"And why," he bellowed, "should I get off here? Tell me that, Dan."
"Well, sir," replied the embarrassed copper, "they're ugly. There's notelling what they might do. It's a bad mob--this newspaper has stirred'em up."
"Ugly, are they?" sneered Cargan. "Ever seen the bunch I would go out ofmy way for, Dan?"
"I meant it all right, sir," said Dan. "As a friend to a man who's beena friend to me. No, I never saw you afraid of any bunch yet, but this--"
"This," replied Cargan, "is the same old bunch. The same lily-liveredcrowd that I've seen in the streets since I laid the first paving stoneunder 'em myself in '91. Afraid of them? Hell! I'd walk through an anthill as scared as I would through that mob. Thanks for telling me, Dan,but Jim Cargan w
on't be in the mollycoddle class for a century or twoyet."
"Yes, sir," said the patrolman admiringly. He hurried out of the car,and the mayor turned to find Lou Max pale and fearful by his side.
"What ails you now?" he asked.
"I'm afraid," cried Max. "Did you hear what he said? A mob. I saw a mobonce. Never again for me." He tried to smile, to pass it off as apleasant jest, but he had to wet his lips with his tongue before hecould go on. "Come on, Jim. Get off here. Don't be a fool."
The train began to move.
"Get off yourself, you coward," sneered Cargan. "Oh, I know you. Itdoesn't take much to make your stomach shrink. Get off."
Max eagerly seized his hat and bag.
"I will, if you don't mind," he said. "See you later at Charlie's." Andin a flash of tawdry attire, he was gone.
The mayor of Reuton no longer sat limp in his seat. That brief moment ofseeming surrender was put behind forever. He walked the aisle of thecar, fire in his eyes, battle in his heart.
"So they're waiting for me, eh?" he said aloud. "Waiting for Jim Cargan.Now ain't it nice of them to come and meet their mayor?"
Mr. Magee and the professor went into the day coach for their baggage.Mrs. Norton motioned to the former.
"Well," she said, "you know now, I suppose. And it didn't do you no harmto wait. I sure am glad this to-do is all over, and that child is safe.And I hope you'll remember what I said. It ain't no work for a woman, nohow, what with the shooting and the late hours."
"Your words," said Mr. Magee, "are engraven on my heart." He proceededto gather her baggage with his own, and was thus engaged when Kendrickcame up. The shadow of his discovery in the smoking-car an hour beforestill haunted his sunken eyes, but his lips were half smiling with thenew joy of living that had come to him.
"Mr. Magee," he began, "I hardly need mention that the terrible thingwhich happened--in there--is between you and me--and the man who's dead.No one must know. Least of all, the girl who is to become my wife--itwould embitter her whole life--as it has mine."
"Don't say that," Magee pleaded. "You will forget in time, I'm sure. Andyou may trust me--I had forgotten already." And indeed he had, on theinstant when his eyes fell upon the _Reuton Star_.
Miss Thornhill approached, her dark smiling eyes on Magee. Kendricklooked at her proudly, and spoke suddenly, determinedly:
"You're right, I will forget. She shall help me."
"Mr. Magee," said the girl, "I'm so pleased at the splendid end to yourimpulsive philanthropy. I just knew the adventure couldn't have anythingbut a happy ending--it was so full of youth and faith and--and charityor its synonym. This mustn't be good-by. You must come and see me--comeand see us--all."
"I shall be happy to," answered Magee sincerely. "It will always be amatter of regret to me that I was not able to serve you--also--onBaldpate Mountain. But out of it you come with something more preciousthan fine gold, and that shall be my consolation."
"Let it be," smiled Myra Thornhill, "as it is surely mine. Good-by."
"And good luck," whispered Magee, as he took Kendrick's hand.
Over his shoulder, as he passed to the platform, he saw them look intoeach other's eyes, and he felt that the memory of the admiral's gamewould in time cease to haunt David Kendrick.
A shadow had fallen upon the train--the shadow of the huge Reutonstation. In the half-light on the platform Mr. Magee encountered themayor of Reuton. Above the lessening roar of the train there soundedahead of them the voices of men in turmoil and riot. Mr. Cargan turnedupon Magee a face as placid and dispassionate as that of one who entersan apple orchard in May.
"The boys," he smiled grimly, "welcoming me home."
Then the train came to a stop, and Mr. Magee looked down into a greatarray of faces, and heard for the first time the low unceasing rumble ofan angry mob. Afterward he marveled at that constant guttural roar, howit went on and on, humming like a tune, never stopping, disconnectedquite from the occasional shrill or heavy voices that rang out indistinguishable words. The mayor looked coolly down into those upturnedfaces, he listened a moment to the rumble of a thousand throats, then hetook off his derby with satiric politeness.
"Glad to see one and all!" he cried.
And now above the mutterings angry words could be heard, "That's him,""That's two-hundred-thousand-dollar Cargan," "How's the weather onBaldpate?" and other sarcastic flings. Then a fashion of derisivecat-calls came and went. After which, here and there, voices spoke ofropes, of tar and feathers. And still the mayor smiled as one for whomthe orchard gate swung open in May.
A squad of policemen, who had entered the car from the rear, forcedtheir way out on to the platform.
"Want us to see you through the crowd, Mr. Cargan?" the lieutenantasked.
New hoots and cries ascended to the station rafters. "Who pays thepolice?" "We do." "Who owns 'em?" "Cargan." Thus question and answerwere bandied back and forth. Again a voice demanded in strident tonesthe ignominious tar and feathers.
Jim Cargan had not risen from the slums to be master of his town withouta keen sense of the theatric. He ordered the police back into the car."And stay there," he demanded. The lieutenant demurred. One look fromthe mayor sent him scurrying. Mr. Cargan took from his pocket a bigcigar, and calmly lighted it.
"Some of them guys out there," he remarked to Magee, "belong to theSunday-school crowd. Pretty actions for them--pillars of the churchhowling like beasts."
And still, like that of beasts, the mutter of the mob went on, now in anundertone, now louder, and still that voice that first had plead for tarand feathers plead still--for feathers and tar. And here a grouppreferred the rope.
And toward them, with the bland smile of a child on his great face, hiscigar tilted at one angle, his derby at another, the mayor of Reutonwalked unflinchingly.
The roar became mad, defiant. But Cargan stepped forward boldly. Now hereached the leaders of the mob. He pushed his way in among them, smilingbut determined. They closed in on him. A little man got firmly in hispath. He took the little man by the shoulders and stood him aside withsome friendly word. And now he was past ten rows or more of them on hisway through, and the crowd began to scurry away. They scampered likeants, clawing at one another's backs to make a path.
And so finally, between two rows of them, the mayor of Reuton went hisway triumphantly. Somewhere, on the edge of the crowd, an admiring voicespoke. "Hello, Jim!" The mayor waved his hand. The rumble of theirvoices ceased at last. Jim Cargan was still master of the city.
"Say what you will," remarked Mr. Magee to the professor as they stoodtogether on the platform of the car, "there goes a man."
He did not wait to hear the professor's answer. For he saw the girl ofthe Upper Asquewan station, standing on a baggage truck far to the leftof the mob, wave to him over their heads. Eagerly he fought his way toher side. It was a hard fight, the crowd would not part for him as ithad parted for the man who owned the city.
CHAPTER XXII
THE USUAL THING
"Hello, Mr. Hold-up Man!" The girl seized Mr. Magee's proffered hand andleaped down from the truck to his side.
"Bless the gods of the mountain," said Magee; "they have given me backmy accomplice, safe and sound."
"They were black lonesome gods," she replied, "and they kept whisperingfearful things in my ear I couldn't understand. I'm glad they didn'tkeep me."
"So am I." The crowd surged about them; many in it smiled and spokeadmiringly to the girl. "It's great to be acquainted with the heroine ofthe hour," Mr. Magee continued. "I congratulate you. You have overthrownan empire of graft, it seems."
"Alone and unaided," she quoted, smiling mockingly up into his face.
"Absolutely alone and entirely unaided," said Billy Magee. "I'll swearto that in court."
Mrs. Norton panted up to them.
"Hello, dearie!" she cried. "Thank heaven you're safe. Have you been upto the house? How's Sadie getting along? I just know everything istopsyturvy."
"Not at
all," replied Miss Rhodes. "Breakfast passed off like clockworkat seven, and even Mr. Golden had no complaints to offer. Dear, I mustthank you for all you've done for me. It was splendid--"
"Not now," objected Mrs. Norton. "I got to get up to the house now. Whatwith Christmas only two days away, and a lot of shopping to be done, Ican't linger in this drafty station for thanks. I want you to bring Mr.Magee right up to the house for lunch. I'll have a meal ready that'llshow him what suffering must have been going on inside me while I satstill watching that hermit man burlesquing the cook business."
"Delighted," said Magee. "I'll find you a cab." He led the way to a rowof such vehicles, Mrs. Norton and the girl following.
"Seems like you're always putting me in a cab," remarked the older womanas she climbed inside. "I don't know what Mary and me would have done ifit hadn't been for you. You're a mighty handy person to have around, Mr.Magee. Ain't he, dearie?" She winked openly at Magee.
"And a delightful one," agreed the girl, in a matter-of-fact tone.
Mrs. Norton was driven away up the snowy street. As Mr. Magee and thegirl turned, they beheld the Hermit of Baldpate staring with undisguisedexultation at the tall buildings of Reuton.
"Why, it's Mr. Peters!" the girl cried.
"Yes," replied Magee. "His prediction has come true. We and ourexcitement proved too much for him. He's going back to Brooklyn and toher."
"I'm so glad," she cried. She stretched out her hand to the hermit. Hetook it, somewhat embarrassed.
"Glad to see you," he said. "You certainly appear to have stirred thingsup, miss. But women are good at that. I've always said--"
"Mr. Magee tells me you're going back, after all?" she broke in.
"Yes," returned Peters. "I knew it. I told you so. It was all right inthe summer, when the bands played, and the warm wind was hermiting onthe mountain, too. But in the fall, it's always been hard, and I'veheard the white lights calling, calling--why, I've even heard her--heardEllen. This fall you came, and there was something doing onBaldpate--and I knew that when you went, I'd just naturally have to go,too. So--I'm going."
"Splendid," commented the girl.
"It'll be somewhat delicate," continued the hermit, "bursting in onEllen after all these years. As I told Mr. Magee, I wish I had aninaugural address, or something like that."
"I have it," responded Evelyn Rhodes. "I'll write a story about you forto-morrow morning's paper. All about how the Christmas spirit hasovercome the Hermit of Baldpate, and how he's going back to his wife,with his heart filled with love for her--it is filled, isn't it?"
"Well, yes," agreed Mr. Peters. "I reckon you might call it that."
"And then you can send her a copy of the paper, and follow it up inperson."
"A good idea," commented Billy Magee.
"At first glance, yes," studied Peters. "But, on the other hand, itwould be the death knell of my post-card business, and I'm calculatingto go back to Baldpate next summer and take it up again. No, I'm afraidI can't let it be generally known that I've quit living in a shack onthe mountain for love of somebody or other."
"Once more," smiled Magee, "big business muzzles the press."
"Not that I ain't obliged to you for the offer," added the hermit.
"Of course," said the girl, "I understand. And I wish you the best ofluck--along with a merry Christmas."
"The same to you," replied the hermit heartily.
"Miss--er--Miss Rhodes and I will see you again," predicted Mr. Magee,"next summer at Baldpate Inn."
The hermit looked at the girl, who turned her face away.
"I hope it'll turn out that way, I'm sure," he said. "I'll let you havea reduction on all post-cards, just for old times' sake. Now I must findout about the New York trains."
He melted into the crowd, an odd figure still, his garb in a fashionlong forgotten, his clumsily hacked hair brushing the collar of hisancient coat. Magee and the girl found the check room, and after he hadbeen relieved of the burden of his baggage, set out up the main streetof Reuton. It was a typical up-state town, deep in the throes of theholiday season. The windows of the stores were green with holly; thefaces of the passers-by reflected the excitements of Christmas and ofthe upheaval in civic politics which were upon them almost together.
"Tell me," said the girl, "are you glad--at the way it has turned out?Are you glad I was no lady Captain Kidd?"
"It has all turned out--or is about to turn out--beautifully," Mr. Mageeanswered. "You may remember that on the veranda of Baldpate Inn I spokeof one summer hotel flirtation that was going to prove more than that.Let me--"
Her laugh interrupted.
"You don't even know my name."
"What's the matter with Evelyn Rhodes?" suggested Magee.
"Nothing. It's a perfectly good name. But it isn't mine. I just writeunder it."
"I prefer Mary, anyhow," smiled Billy Magee. "She called you that. It'sMary."
"Mary what?"
"You have no idea," said he, "how immaterial that is."
They came upon a throng blocking the sidewalk in front of a tallbuilding of stone. The eyes of the throng were on bulletins; it mutteredmuch as they had muttered who gathered in the station.
"The office of the _Star_," explained the girl. "The crowd is lookingfor new excitement. Do you know, for two whole hours this morning we hadon exhibition in the window a certain package--a package of money!"
"I think," smiled Magee, "I've seen it somewhere."
"I think you have. Drayton came and took it from us as soon as he heard.But it was the very best proof we could have offered the people. Theylike to see for themselves. It's a passion with them. We've done forCargan forever."
"Cargan says he will fight."
"Of course he will," she replied. "But this will prove Napoleon'sWaterloo. Whether or not he is sent to prison--and perhaps he can escapethat, he's very clever--his power in Reuton is broken. He can't possiblywin at the next election--it comes very soon. I'm so glad. For years oureditor has been fighting corruption, in the face of terrible odds andtemptations. I'm so glad it's over now--and the _Star_ has won."
"Through you," said Magee softly.
"With--some one--to help," she smiled. "I must go up-stairs now and findout what new task is set for me."
Mr. Magee postponed the protest on the tip of his tongue, and, climbingthe gloomy stairs that newspapers always affect, they came into the cityroom of the _Star_. Though the paper had been long on the street, theexcitement of the greatest coup of years still lingered in the place.Magee saw the deferential smiles that greeted the girl, and watched heras she made her way to the city editor's desk. In a moment she was backat his side.
"I've got my assignment," she smiled ruefully. They descended to thestreet. "It's wonderful," she went on, "how curt a city editor can bewith any one who pulls off a good story. The job I've got now reminds meof the experience of an old New York reporter who used to work on the_Star_."
With difficulty they threaded their way through the crowd, and movedalong beside the green-decked windows.
"He was the first man sent out by his paper on Park Row on the SpanishWar assignment," she went on, "and he behaved rather brilliantly, Ibelieve. Well, he came back after the fight was over, all puffed up andimportant, and they told him the city editor wanted him. 'They're goingto send me to the Philippines,' he told me he thought as he went intothe presence. When the city editor ordered him to rush down to atwo-alarm fire in Houston Street he nearly collapsed. I know how hefelt. I feel that way now."
"What was it--a one-alarm fire?" asked Magee.
"No," she replied, "a sweet little story about the Christmas toys. I'vedone it to death every Christmas for--three years. Oh, well, I can do itagain. But it'll have to wait until after Mrs. Norton's lunch."
She led him into a street where every house was like its neighbor, evento the "Rooms" sign in the windows, and up the steps of one she couldhave recognized only by counting from the corner. They entered the murkyand stereoty
ped atmosphere of a boarding-house hallway, with itsinevitable hat-rack and the uncollected letters of the homeless on atable. Mrs. Norton came breezily forth to meet them.
"Well, Mr. Magee," she said, "I certainly am glad you've came. I'm busyon that lunch now. Dearie, show him into the parlor to wait."
Mr. Magee was shown in. That rooming-house parlor seemed to moandismally as it received him. He strolled about and gazed at the objectsof art which had at various times accrued to Mrs. Norton's personality:a steel engraving called _Too Late_, which depicted an angry fatherarriving at a church door to find his eloping daughter in the arms ofstalwart youth, with the clergy looking on approvingly; another of Mr.John Drew assuming a commanding posture as Petruchio in _The Taming ofthe Shrew_; some ennuied flabby angels riding on the clouds; a child ofunhealthy pink clasping lovingly an inflammable dog; on the mantel aminiature ship, under glass, and some lady statuettes whose toilettesslipped down--down.
And, on an easel, the sad portrait of a gentleman, undoubtedly the latelamented Norton. His uninteresting nose appeared to turn up at theconstant odor of cookery in which it dwelt; his hair was plastered downover his forehead in a gorgeous abandoned curve such as some of theleast sophisticated of Mr. John T. McCutcheon's gentlemen affect.
Mr. Magee stared round the room and smiled. Was the romance of realitynever to resemble the romance of his dreams? Where were the dim lights,where the distant waltz, where the magic of moonlight amid which he wassome day to have told a beautiful girl of his love? Hardly in Mrs.Norton's parlor.
She came and stood in the doorway. Hatless, coatless, smiling, sheflooded the place with her beauty. Mr. Magee looked at the flabby angelson the wall, expecting them to hide their faces in shame. But no, theystill rode brazenly their unstable clouds.
"Come in," he cried. "Don't leave me alone here again, please. And tellme--is this the gentleman who took the contract for making Mrs. Nortonhappy?"
"I--I can't come in," she said, blushing. She seemed to wish to avoidhim. "Yes, that is Mr. Norton." She came nearer the easel, and smiled atthe 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 bythe 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 cansay, my dearest. Look at me--look at me, please."
"It has happened so quickly," she murmured. "Things can't be true whenthey--happen so quickly."
"A woman's logic," said Mr. Magee. "It has happened. My beautiful girl.Look at me."
And then--she looked. Trembling, flushed, half frightened, halfexultant, she lifted her eyes to his.
"My little girl!" he cried down at her.
A moment longer she held off, and then limply she surrendered. And BillyMagee held her close in his arms.
"Take care of me," she whispered. "I--I love you so." Her arm wenttimidly about his shoulders. "Do you want to know my name? It's Mary--"
Mary what? The answer was seemingly of no importance, for Mr. Magee'slips were on hers, crushing the word at its birth.
So they stood, amid Mrs. Norton's gloomy objects of art. And presentlyshe asked:
"How about the book, dear?"
But Mr. Magee had forgot.
"What book?" he asked.
"The novel you went to Baldpate to write Don't you remember, dearest--nomelodrama, no wild chase, no--love?"
"Why--" Mr. Magee paused for a moment in the joy of his discovery. Thenhe came back to the greater joy in his arms.
"Why, darling," he explained gently, "this is it."
THE END
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