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"Lou and me are making this morning call to inquire after a little package that went astray somewhere last night. There's two courses open to you hand over the package or let us take it. I'll give you a tip the first is the best. If we have to take it, we might get real rough in our actions." Mr. Max slipped closer to the bed, an ugly look on his face. The mayor glared fixedly into Magee's eyes.
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.
"Miss Thornhill has just informed me that she knows who has the package!" "Indeed," said the girl calmly, but her face had flushed. "I didn't let her tell me, of course." "Why not?" Oh, how maddening women could be! "Why not?" Magee's tone was hurt. "Because I couldn't use her information in getting the money for you." "You are still 'going to' get the money for me?"
He crossed the swaying platform and disappeared into the other car. For a moment the professor and Magee gazed after him, and then without a word moved down the car to join Cargan and Max. Magee's mind was dazed by the tragedy he had witnessed. "A pleasant thing to think about " He did not envy Kendrick his thoughts. The mayor of Reuton had pushed aside the cards and lighted a huge cigar.
On my return home I was not compelled to ride under the driver's seat. Pioneer Press, April 18, 1908: Frank Moore, superintendent of the composing room if the Pioneer Press, celebrated yesterday the fiftieth anniversary of his connection with the paper. A dozen of the old employes of the Pioneer Press entertained Mr. Moore at an informal dinner at Magee's to celebrate the unusual event. Mr.
"Near the letters of Arabella yes," replied Bland. His keen eyes met Magee's. There was a challenge in them. Mr. Magee turned, and the yellow light of the candle flickered wanly over the great front door Even as he looked at it, the door was pushed open, and a queer figure of a man stood framed against a background of glittering snow. Mr. Bland's arm flew up. "Don't shoot," cried Magee.
Magee's left sat the professor, bearded, spectacled, calm, seemingly undisturbed by this queer flurry of events, beside the fair girl of the station who trusted Magee at last. In the first few moments of silence Mr. Magee compared her delicate features with the coarse knowing face of the woman at the table's foot, and inwardly answered "No." Without the genial complement of talk the dinner began.
Yes, sir, it's returned to the loving hands of little Joe Bland, that brought it here first. It ain't going to roam no more. So what's the use of your sticking around?" "How did you get hold of it?" inquired Mr. Lou Max. "I had my eye on this little professor person," explained Mr. Bland. "This morning when Magee went up the mountain I trailed the high-brow to Magee's room.
By the delay of the artist, this page, designed for the Chelsea article in the February number of The Bay State Monthly, was not ready in season. The unique designs, massive beauty, and artistic grace of Magee's fine-art castings place them in competition with the finest work in brass and bronze.
Magee's thoughts went back to New York. He wondered what they would say if they could see him now, whirling about in a queer romance not of his own writing he who had come to Baldpate Inn to get away from mere romancing and look into men's hearts, a philosopher. He laughed out loud. "To-morrow is another day," he reflected. "I'll solve this whole thing then.
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