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Magee could have embraced this faded woman for her news. He looked at his watch. It was twelve-twenty. "The siege is over," he cried. "I shall not attempt to direct your actions any longer. Mr. Peters, will you please go down to the village and bring back Mr. Quimby and the coroner?" "The coroner!" The mayor of Reuton jumped to his feet. "I don't want to be in on any inquest scene.
Six of them. The first in bitter memories, memories of a red card that danced fiendishly before my eyes when I closed them the last in a fierce biting desire to come back to the world I had left. At last, a few months ago, I wrote to another college friend of mine, Drayton, and told him the whole story. I did not know that he had been elected prosecutor in Reuton.
Magee looked Bland squarely in the eye, strangled the laugh inside him, and began: "Up to a short time ago I was a haberdasher in the city of Reuton. My name, let me state, is Magee William Magee. I fitted the gay shoulder-blades of Reuton with clothing from the back pages of the magazines, and as for neckties " Mr. Bland's sly eyes had opened wide.
Your command that I withdraw is ill-timed, not to say ill-natured and impolite. Let us all forget it." The mayor of Reuton turned away, and his dog slid into the shadows. "Have I your promise to stay to dinner?" went on Magee. No answer came from the trio in the dusk. "Silence gives consent," he added gaily. "You must excuse me while I dress. Bland, will you inform Mr.
"'Where are you going, my pretty maid?" asked Magee, indicating the pail. ""I'll see you at luncheon, sir," she said," responded Miss Norton, and the door of seventeen slammed shut. Mr. Magee returned to number seven, and thoughtfully stirred the fire. The tangle of events bade fair to swamp him. "The mayor of Reuton," he mused, "has the fifth key. What in the name of common sense is going on?
Magee and the girl turned, they beheld the Hermit of Baldpate staring with undisguised exultation at the tall buildings of Reuton. "Why, it's Mr. Peters!" the girl cried. "Yes," replied Magee. "His prediction has come true. We and our excitement proved too much for him. He's going back to Brooklyn and to her." "I'm so glad," she cried. She stretched out her hand to the hermit.
He had to construct from imagination alone the great Reuton station through which the girl and the money must now be hurrying where? The question would not down. Was she as the professor believed designing? "No," said Mr. Magee, answering aloud his own question. "You are wrong, sir.
No, the public might see them and demand them everywhere. Once, I thought I had convinced somebody. It was down in Reuton the Suburban Railway." There was a rustle as Mr. Bland let his paper fall to the floor. "Old Henry Thornhill was president of the road he is yet, I guess but young Hayden and a fellow named David Kendrick were running it. Kendrick was on my side he almost had Hayden.
We have decided to drop them altogether, and just to take it for granted that, in the words of the song, we're here because we're here." "All right," replied Cargan, evidently relieved. "That suits me. I'm tired explaining, anyhow. There's a bunch of reformers rose up lately in Reuton maybe you've heard about 'em. A lovely bunch. A white necktie and a half-portion of brains apiece.
Magee saw that his face was very red, his neck very thick, but his mouth a cute little cupid's bow that might well have adorned a dainty baby in the park. "Who are you?" bellowed the mayor of Reuton in a tone meant to be cowering. "I forget," replied Mr. Magee easily. "Bland, who am I to-day?
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