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Updated: June 20, 2025
"I fear my my press-agent stole it." A scornful remark as to the antiquated methods of that mythical publicity promoter rose to Mr. Magee's lips, but before he spoke he looked into her eyes. And the remark was never made. For in their wonderful depths he saw worry and fear and unhappiness, as he had seen them there amid tears in the station.
How ridiculously small that bit of cambric had been to hide so much beauty. Soon Mr. Magee's thoughts were climbing Baldpate Mountain, there to wander in a mystic maze of ghostly figures which appeared from the shadows, holding aloft in triumph gigantic keys. Mr. Magee had slept but little the night before. The quick December dusk filled number seven when he awoke with a start.
Magee started for the stairs. Between him and them loomed suddenly the great bulk of Mr. Cargan. His hard menacing eyes looked full into Magee's. "I want to speak to you, young fellow," he remarked. "I'm flattered," said Magee, "that you find my company so enchanting. In ten minutes I'll be ready for another interview." "You're ready now," answered the mayor, "even if you don't know it."
"I want you to know," said the girl, "that I trust you now. And when the time comes, as it will soon to-night I am going to ask you to help me. I may ask a rather big thing, and ask you to do it blindly, just trusting in me, as I refused to trust in you." She stopped and looked very seriously into Mr. Magee's face. "I'm mighty glad," he answered in a low tone.
In answer to Billy Magee's gay knock, a man of about sixty years appeared. Evidently he had just finished supper; at the moment he was engaged in lighting his pipe. He admitted Mr. Magee into the intimacy of the kitchen, and took a number of calm judicious puffs on the pipe before speaking to his visitor.
It was midnight when, after carefully examining the ground, Fiske returned to the gunboat and reported the road under water, and quite impracticable for all arms. The fleet then got under way, and proceeding about six miles farther up the lake, anchored beyond Magee's Point.
Then he added, to Cargan: "That's my answer. I'm going to let him in." "Let him in," bellowed the mayor. "Let the hound in. I guess I've got something to say to Mr. Hayden." There came to Magee's ears the sound of opening doors, and of returning footsteps. "How do you do, Cargan," said a voice new to Baldpate. "Cut the society howdydoes," replied the mayor hotly.
"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.
Magee's mind came to be. Mr. Bland walked calmly to the table, and picked up a popular novel that lay thereon. On its cover was the picture of a very beautiful maiden. "See that dame?" he inquired of the professor. "Sort of makes a man sit up and take notice, doesn't she?
He stood looking down at the lovelorn haberdasher. The latter got to his feet, and solemnly took Magee's hand. "I I oh, well, you've got me beat a mile, old man," he said. "You don't mean to say " began the hurt Magee. "Oh, that's all right," Mr. Bland assured him. "I believe every word of it. It's all as real as the haberdashery to me. I'll keep my eye peeled for novelists.
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