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Updated: May 17, 2025
A young woman was crying bitterly in the waiting-room of the railway station at Upper Asquewan Falls, New York. A beautiful young woman? That is exactly what Billy Magee wanted to know as, closing the waiting-room door behind him, he stood staring just inside. Were the features against which that frail bit of cambric was agonizingly pressed of a pleasing contour?
In through the dining-room door stamped Quimby, grave of face, dazed at being roused from sleep, and with him an important little man whose duty it was to investigate at Upper Asquewan Falls such things as had happened that night at Baldpate. Even from his slumber he rose with the air of a judge and the manner of a Sherlock Holmes.
For an hour he pondered, threshing out as best he could this mysterious game in which he played a leading part unequipped with a book of rules. He went back to the very beginning even to the station at Upper Asquewan Falls where the undeniable charm of the first of these girls had won him completely.
Magee, from the platform, waved good-by to the agent standing forlorn in the station door. He watched the building until it was only a blur in the dawn. A kindly feeling for it was in his heart. After all, it had been in the waiting-room The village of Upper Asquewan Falls gave a correct imitation of snow upon the desert's dusty face, and was no more.
And he also wondered if absolute solitude was quite the thing necessary to the composition of the novel that should forever silence those who sneered at his ability. Absolute solitude! Only the crackle of the fire, the roar of the wind, and the ticking of his watch bore him company. He strode to the window and looked down at the few dim lights that proclaimed the existence of Upper Asquewan Falls.
When the lady spoke, however, he hastily revised his opinion. "Yes," she said, "you can do something. You can go away far, far away." Mr. Magee stiffened. Thus chivalry fared in Upper Asquewan Falls in the year 1911. "I beg your pardon," he remarked. "You seemed to be in trouble, and I thought I might possibly be of some assistance." The girl removed the entire handkerchief.
"It's not the culinary end that worries me," smiled Magee. "It's the repartee and wit. I want the mayor to feel at home. Do you know any good stories ascribed to Congressman Jones, of the Asquewan district?" Together they strolled to a window. The snow had begun to fall again, and the lights of the little hamlet below showed but dimly through the white blur.
Magee emerged and continued his journey through the stinging snow. Upper Asquewan Falls on its way home for supper flitted past him in the silvery darkness. He saw in the lighted windows of many of the houses the green wreath of Christmas cheer. Finally the houses became infrequent, and he struck out on an uneven road that wound upward. Once he heard a dog's faint bark.
The very money offered as a bribe was now in the hands of the Star editor, and would be turned over to Prosecutor 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 Upper Asquewan Falls. There was no mention of the station waiting-room, nor of the tears shed therein on a certain evening, Mr.
But he had never for a moment caught a glimmering of what it was really to care to care as he cared now for the girl who had gone from him somewhere down the mountain. Quimby dragged into the room, the strain of a rather wild night in Upper Asquewan Falls in his eyes. "Jake Peters asked me to tell you he ain't coming back," he said. "Mis' Quimby is getting breakfast for you down at our house.
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