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A brawny, sinewy lot they were, quick of eye and steady of nerve, strong of hand and sure of foot, men to be depended upon whether to raise a barn or to build an empire. The choice of sides fell to Rory, who took the north, or bank, side. "Niver fret, Barney," cried Tom Magee, who in the near approach of battle was his own man again. "Niver ye fret.
They were all there, the professor, the mayor, Max, Bland, Peters, Miss Thornhill, and the newcomer Kendrick, a man prematurely old, grayed at the temples, and with a face yellowed by fever. He and the professor were talking earnestly together, and now the old man came and stood before Magee. "Mr.
Magee to escort him into the hall, and to direct his search for a bed that should serve him through the scant remainder of the night. Overcoats and rugs were pressed into service as cover. Mr. Bland blithely assisted. "If I see any newspaper reporters," he assured the professor on parting, "I'll damage more than their derbies." "Thank you," replied the old man heartily. "You are very kind.
Come on, Max, let's get out of here." Bland stood up, his face was white and worried, his gay plumage no longer set the tone for his mood. "I think I'll go, too," he announced, looking hopefully at Magee. "I'm no longer your jailer," Magee said. "Professor, these gentlemen are your witnesses Do you wish to detain them?"
It was a poor speech compared to what was in his heart, but Billy Magee was rapidly learning that most of the pretty speeches went with puppets who could not feel. Bland and Max came in from a brisk walk on the veranda. The mayor of Reuton, who had been dozing near the desk, stirred. "Great air up here," remarked Mr. Max, rubbing his hands before the fire.
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." "Indeed," replied the other calmly. "May I ask what you want of me?" "Certainly." Mr.
"Ever since I came into this room," he went on, "the eyes of a pompous little man have been following me about. They have constantly recalled to me the nightmare of my life. You have noticed, no doubt, the pictures of the admiral that decorate these walls?" "I have," replied Magee. He gazed curiously at the nearest of the portraits.
I used to think maybe some day they'd transfer me down to Hooperstown there's moving pictures and such goings-on down there. But the railroad never notices you unless you go wrong. Yes, sir, sometimes I want to clear out of this town myself." "A natural wanderlust," sympathized Mr. Magee. "You said something just now about Baldpate Inn "
The professor looked older than ever; even Miss Thornhill seemed a little less statuesque and handsome in the dusk. Quimby led the way to the door, they passed through it, and Mr. Magee locked it after them with the key Hal Bentley had blithely given him on Forty-fourth Street, New York. So Baldpate Inn dropped back into the silence to slumber and to wait.
Magee tossed it on the fire. There followed a shower of sparks and a flood of red light in the room. Through this light Kendrick advanced to Magee's side, and the first of the Baldpate hermits saw that the man's face was lined by care, that his eyes were tired even under the new light in them, that his mouth was twisted bitterly. "Poor devil," thought Magee.
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