Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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Seven Keys TO Baldpate By EARL] DERR BIGGERS CsfjilsV. 1913. fey ihm ?ofeba MtrlH Ctiaptay Mr Magee im Mr nie man good night snd listened to the thump of his boots ami the closing of the great front door. From his windows he watched the caretaker move down the road without looking hack, to disappear at last la the white night. Throwing off his great coat. Mr. Ma gee noisily attacked the tire. The bisse flared red on his strou?, humor? ous month. In his smiling eyes. Next. In the flickering half light of suit 7 be distributed the contents of his tn v ellng bags shout On the table he placed a number of new magazines and a few books. Then Mr. Mugee sat down In the big leather chair before the fire nud caught his breath Yea, her? he was, and here was the solitude he *uid come to And. Mr. Ma gee looked lerv uisly about, and the smile died ? ut of his gray eyes. For the tlrst ti ne misgivings smote him. Might one not buvo too much of n good thing? A silence like that of the tomb bed descended. He recalled sto? ries of men who went mad from lone linens. What place lonelier than this? The wind bowled along the bnlcony; It rattled the windows. Outside his door lay a great black csve, In summer gay with men snd maids, now like Cru toe's Island before the old man landed. "Alor c. alone; all. nil alone." quoted Mr. Mngee. "If I can t think here It will be became I'm not equipped with the apparatus. I will. I'll show the gloomy old critics! I wonder what's doing In New York?" New York! Mr. Magee looked at his watch. Eight o'clock. The great street was nblaxe. Tho crowds were parad? ing from the restaurants to the thea? ters. The electric signs were pasting lurid legends on a long suffering sky; I the taxis were spraying throats with gasotlno; tbe traffic cop at Broadway and ruMy second street was madly earning his pay. M-. Magee got op and ws*Hed tbe floor. New York! Probably tbe telephone In his rooms was Jaogllng. vslnly calling forth to sport with Amaryllis in the shade of the rubber trees Billy Magee ??Billy Magee who sat alone in the silence on Bnhtpate mountain. Few knew of his departure. This was tbe night of that stupid attempt at theatricals at tho Plssa. stupid In Itself, but gay, almost giddy, since Helen Faulkner was to be there. This was the night of the din uer to farcy at the club. This was tbe night?of many diverting things. Me strode to the window and looked down st the few dim llahts that pro? claimed the existence of Upper Asqtie wan Fall*. Somewhere down there was the Commercial House; some where the girl who had wept so bit terly In that gloomy little waiting room. She was only three mfJes away, and tbe thought cheered Mr. Magee. After all. he watt uot on a desert is land. Ami yet ho was alone, intensely, al? most painfully, alone alone In a vast moaning house that must be his only borne until he could go back to the guy city with his masterpiece. What u roesterplcef! As though with a sur? geon's knife It would lay bare the hearts of men. No tricks of plot, no CHAPTER III. Th# Crack of a Pistol. SR. MAGEE paused. For sharp? ly In the slleuce the bell of his room telephone rung out. ' He stood for a moment gaz? ing In wonder, his heart lieuMug swift? ly, his eyes upon the instrument ou the well. It was a house phoue. He know it could only Ik* rung from tho swif hboanl in the hall below. "I'm going mad already." bo remarked and took down the receiver. A blur of talk, an electric mutter log, a click, and all was still Mr. Mugee opened the door and step? ped out into the shadow*. He heard a voice lielow. Noiselessly he crept to the lauding oimI gazed down Into tbe office. V young uiuu .at at the telephone switchboard. Mr. Magee could see lu the dim light of a soli tary cundle that he was a person of rather hilarious raiment. The candle Kto.nl on the top of the safe, and the door of the latter swung open. Sink log down on the stops lu tbe durk, Mr. Mugee waited "Hello." the young man was say? ing; ' how do you work this thing, tinyhow? I've tried every peg but the right one. Hello, hello! I want long distance- (teuton. 'jsTd West?Mr. Andy Kutter Wiil you get him for me, sis terr Another wait?a Ion.' one ensued. The candle sputtered. The young man fidgeted in Ids ( hah At last he spoke again 'Hello! Andy? is tint you. Andy? Wbat'a the good word.' As quiet as the tomb of Napoleon? Shall I close up shop? Sure' What next? Oh, see here. Aev!.v. I d die up here! IMd you cror bit a ptncsj like this in win? ter? I ShjVI I oh. well. If he says so' fen; 1 raejhj do that. But no longer I couldn't staud It long. Tell ,_ MT.I--X,'-* ? '1 him that. Tell him every thing's O. K. Yes. All right. Well, good night, Andy." turned away from the switch-, board, a ml as he did mo Mr. Ma gee walked calmly down the stairs toward hi n. With a cffjf the young man ran to the sale, threw a package lnsido and swung shut the door. He turned UM knob of the safe several times; then he faced Mr. Magee. The latter Iff* somethiug glitter in his hand. "Good eveidng," remarked Mr. Ma? ie? pleasantly. ' "What are you doing here?" cried the youth wildly. "I live here," Mr. Magee assured him. "Won t you come up to my room?it's right at the head of the stairs. I have a tire, you know." Hack into the young man's lean, hawklike face crept the assurance that belonged wit i the gay attire he wore. He dropped the revolver into his pock? et and smiled a sneering smile. "You gave me a turn," he said "Of course you live here. Are any of the other guests about? And who won the tennis match today?" "You are facetious." Mr. Magee | smiled too. "So much the better. A i lively companion is the very sort 1 should have ordered tonight. Come upstairs." "All right." he said. "But I'll have to ask you to go tlrst. You know the way." His right hand sought the pock? et Into which the revolver.had fallen. "Yuu honor my poor and drafty house," said Mr. Magee. "This way." He mounted the stairs. After him followed the youth of flashy habili? ments, looking fearfully about him as he went. He seemed surprised that they came to Magee's room without in cldeut. inside, Mr. Magee drew up an easy chair before the tire and offered his guest a cigar. "You must l>e cold," he said. "Sit here. 'A bad night, stranger,' as they remark in stories." "You've said It," replied the young man. accepting the cigar. "Thanks." He walked to the door leading into the hall and opened It about a foot. "I'm afraid," he explained Jocosely, "we'll get to talking and miss the breakfast bell." He dropped into the chair and lighted Is cigar at a candle end. "Say. you never can tell, can you? Climbing up old Baldpate I thought to myself that hotel certainly makes the Sahara desert look like a cozy corner. And here you are. as snug and comfortable and at home as If you were In a Har? lem flat. You never can tell. And what now? The story of my life?" "You might relate," Mr. Magee told him. "that portion of it that has led you trespassing on u gentleman seek? ing seclusion at Baldpate inn." "Trespassing, eh?" said the young man. "Far be It from me to quarrel with a man who smokes as good cigars as you do, but there's something I haven't quite doped out. That Is? who's trespussiug me or you?" "My right here," said Mr. Magee, "It Indisputable." "It's a big word." replied the other, "but you can tack It to my right here and tell no He. We can't dispute, so let's drop the matter. With that set? tled I'm encouraged to pour out the story of why you see me here tonight, far from the madding crowd. Have you a stray tear? You'll need it. It's a sad. touching story, concerned with haberdashery "and ft trusting heart, and a fair woman?fair, but, oh, how false!'; "Proceed," laughed Mr. Magee. "I'm an admirer of the vivid Imagination. Don't curb yours, I beg of you." "It's ull straight." said the other in a hurt tone. "Every word true. My name Is Joseph Bland. My profession, until love entered my life, was that of haberdasher and outfitter. In the city of Iteutou. fifty miles from here. I taught the Beau Brummels of the thoroughfares what was doing In Lon dou In the uecktie line. I sold them coats with padded shoulders and col? lars h gh and nwe inspiring. I was happy, twisting n piece of silk over my hand to show them how it would look on their heaving bosoms. Aud then?she came." Mr. Bland puffed on his cigar. "Yes," he said, "Arabella sparkled on the horizon of my life. When I have Ihh'u here in the quiet for about tvo centuries, may be I can do justice to her lieuuty. I wou't attempt to de scrlt>e her now. 1 loved her?madly. She said 1 made a hit with her. I spent ou her the profits of my haber? dashery. 1 whlspered?murringe. She didn't scream. 1 had my wedding necktie picked out from the samples of a drummer from Troy. "From here on-the tear I spoke of, please. There flashed on the scene a man she had known and loved In Jer? sey City. I said flashed. He did?just that A swell dresser- say, he had John DttW beat by two mauve neck? ties and a purple frock coat. 1 had a haberdashery back of me. No use. He ontdressed me. I saw that Arabel? la's love for me was waning. With his chamois gloved hands that new guy fanned the ancient flame." He paused. Emotion?or the smoke of the cigar?choked him. "Let's make the short story shorter," he said. "She threw me down. In my haberdashery 1 thought it over. 1 was blue, bitter. 1 resolved on a dreadful step. In the night I wrote her a let? ter and carried it down to the box and posted it Life without Arabella, said the letter, was Shakespeare with Ham? let left out. It hinted at the riser, carbolic a< id. revolvers. Yes; I post ed It. And then"? "And then." urged Mr. Magee. .Mr. Bland felt tenderly of the horse shoe pin in his purple tie. "This is Just between us." he said. "At that point the trouble began. It came from my being naturally a very brave mau. 1 could have died easy. The brave thing was to live. To go on il'iv aTter day devoid of Arabella say, that took courage. 1 wanted to BJJ try it. I'm n courageous man, as I su>." ?'You scorn so," Mr. Magee agreed. "Lion hearted," assented Mr. liland. "I deter:nined to show my nerve and live. Bv.t there was my letter to Ara? bella. 1 feared she wouldn't appro- 1 ciato my bravery. Women are dull | sometimes. It came to me maybe she j would be hurt if I didn't keep my WOfd and die. So I had to?disappear. J I bad a friend mixed up in affairs at Baldpato. No; I can't give his name. I told him my story. He was impress? ed by my spirit, as you have been. He gave me a key he had?the key of the door opening from the east veran? da into the dining room. So I came up here. I came here to he alone, to forgive and forget, to be forgot. And maybe to plan a new haberdashery in distant parts." "Was it your wedding necktie," ask? ed Mr. Magee, "that you threw into the safe when you saw me comingV" "No." replied Mr. Bland, sighing deeply. "A package of letters, writ? ten to me by Arabella at various times. I want to forget 'em. If I kept them on hand I might look at them from time to time. My great courage might give way. You might find my body on the stairs. That's why I hid them." Mr. Magee laughed and stretched forth his hand. "Believe me," he said, "your touch? ing confidence in me will not be be? trayed. I congratulate you on your narrative power. You want my story. Why am I here? I am not sure that it Is worthy to follow yours. But it has Its good points?as I have thought it out." He went over to the table and pick? ed up a popular novel upon which bis gaze had rested while the haberdasher spun his fabric of love and gloom. On the cover was a picture of a very dash? ing maiden. "Do you see that girl?" he asked. "She is beautiful, is she not? Even Arabella In her most splendid mo? ments could get a few points from her, I fancy. Perhaps you are not familiar with the important part such a picture plays iu the success of a novel today. The truth is, however, that the noble art of fiction writing has come to lean more and more heavily on its illustra? tors. The mere words that go with the pictures grow less important every day. There are dozens of distinguish? ed novelists in the country at this moment who might be haberdashers if it weren't for the loug, lean, haughty ladies who are scattered tastefully through their works." Mr. Bland stirred uneasily. "I can seo you are at loss to know what my search for seclusion and pri? vacy has to do with all this," contin? ued Mr. Magee. "I am au artist. For years I have drawn these lovely ladles who make fiction salable to the masses. Many a novelist owes his motorcar and his country house to my brush. Two months ago I determined to give up il? lustration forever and devote my time to painting. I turned my back on the novelists. Can you imagine what hap? pened?" "My imagination's a little tired," apologized Mr. Bland. "Never mind. I'll tell you. Thelead iug authors whose work I had so long illustrated saw ruin staring them in the face. They came to me on their knees, figuratively. They begged. They pleaded. In order to escape them and their really pitiful pleadings I had to flee. I happened to have a friend in? volved in the management of Bnldpate inn. I am not nt liberty to give his name. He gave me a key. So here 1 um. I rely on you to keep my secret. If you perceive a novelist in the dis? tance lose no time in warning me." Mr. Magee paused, chuckling inward? ly. He stood looking down at the lovelorn haberdasher. The latter got to his feet and solemnly took Ma gee'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 as? sured him. "I believe every word of it. It's all us real as the haberdash? ery to me. 1*11 keep my eye peeled for novelists. What gets me is, when you boil our two fly by night stories down, I've come here to be alone. You want i to be alone. We can't be alone here together. One of us must clear out." "Nonsense." answered Billy Magee. "I'll be glad to have you here. Stay ai long as you like." The haberdasher looked Mr. Magee fully In the eye, and the latter was startled by the hostility he saw in the other's face. "The point is," said Mr. Bland, "I don't wtint you here. Why? Maybe because you recall beautiful dames? on book covers?and In that way, Ara? bella. Maybe -but what's the use? 1 put it simply. I got to be alone-alono on Baldpate mountain. 1 won't put you out tonight"? "See here, my friend." cried Mr. Ma? gee, "your grief 1ms turned your head. You won't put DM out tonight or to? morrow. I'm here to stay. You're welcome to do the same, if you like. But you stay-with me. I know you arc a man <?f courage, but It would take at least ten men of courage to put me out of Baldpate inn." They stood eying ea? h other for a moment, Blond's thin lips twisted into a sneer. "We'll see." he said. "We'll settle all that in the morning." His tone took on a more friendly aspect. "I'm going to pick out a downy couch in one of these rooms,'' he said, "and lay me down to sleep. Say, I could greet a blanket like a long lost friend." Mr. Magee proffered some of the cov? ers that Qulmby had given him and neeompanled Mr. Bland to suit 10, across the hall. With a brisk good night Mr Magee returned to No. 7. lint be made im? move toward the chilly brass bed in the inner rooui. Instead lie sat a long time by the fire. He reflected on the event! of his first few hours in that supposedly uninhab ited solitude w here he was to be alone with ins thought*. He pondered the way and manner of the flippant young man who (toiled as a lovelorn haber? dasher and tinder whose tiipi anoy there was certainly an air of hostility. Who was Andy Kutter, down in Ueu ton? What did the young man mean j when he asked if he should ??close up loop?" Who was "he" from whom came the orders, and. most important of all. what was in the package now resting in the great safe? Mr. Magee smiled. Was this the stuff of which solitude was made? He threw off his dressing gown and began to unlace his shoes. "There has been too much crude melodrama in my novels," he reflected. "It's so easy to write. But I'm going to get away from all that up here. I'm going" ? Mr. Magee paused, with one shoe poised in his hand. Tor from below came the sharp crack of a pistol, fol? lowed by the crash of breaking glass. CHAPTER IV. Blonds and Suffragettes. MAGEE slipped into his dressing gown, seized a candle and. like the boy in the nursery rime with one shoe off and one shoe on, ran into the hall. All was silent and dark below. He descended to the landing and stood there, holding tbf candle high above his head. It threw a dim light as far as the bottom j of the stairs, but quickly lost the bat? tle with the shadows that lay beyond. "Hello!" the voice of Bland, the haberdasher, came out of the black? ness. "The Goddess of Liberty, as I i live! What's your next imitation?" "There seems to be something do- I ing," said Mr. Magee. Mr. Bland came into the light, par? tially disrobed, his revolver in his hand. "Somebody trying to get in by the front door," he explained. "I shot at him to scare him away. Probably one of your novelists." "Or Arabella," remarked Mr. Magee, coming down. "No," answered Bland. "I distinct? ly saw a derby hat." ?Vith Mr. Magee descended the yel? low candlelight, and, brushing aside the shadows of the hotel office, It re He Ruefully Recorded a Holt Through the Crown. vealed a mattress lying on the floor j close to the clerk's desk, behind which stood the safe. On the mattress was the bedding Magee had presented to the haberdasher, hastily thrown back by the lovelorn one on rising. "You prefer to sleep down here," Mr. Magee commented. "Near the letters of Arabella?yes," replied Bland. His keen eyes met Ma gee'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 j snow. Mr. Bland's arm flew up. "Don't shoot!" cried Magee. ! "No, please don't," urged the man In the doorway. A beard, a pair of round, owlish spectacles, and two ri? diculous earmuffs, left only a sugges? tion of face here and there. "I have every right here. I assure you, even though my arrival Is somewhat uncon? ventional. See?1 have the key." He 1 held up a large brass key that was the counterpart of the one Hal Bentley had bestowed upon Mr. Magee in that i club on far-off Forty-fourth street. "Keys to burn." muttered Mr. Bland sourly. "I bear no ill will with regard to the shooting." went on the newcomer, lie took off his derby hat and rueful? ly regarded a bole through the crown. His bald head seemed singularly frank and naked above a face of so many disguises. "It is only natural that men alone on a mountain should de? fend themselves from invaders at 2 in the morning. My escape was nar? row, but there is no ill will." He blinked about him. his breath a white cloltd in the cold room. "Life, young gentlemen," he remark? ed, sotting down his bag and leaning a green umbrella against it. "has Its surprises even at sixty two. Last night I w as ensconced by my own li? brary lire, preparing a paper on tfie Pugtlll renaissance. Tonight 1 urn on Baldpate mountain, witn a perforation in my hat." Mr. Bland shivered. "I'm going hack to bed," he said in disgust. "First," went on the gentleman with the perforated derby, "permit me to introduce myself. 1 am Professor Thaddeus Boltou, and 1 hold the chair of comparative literature in a big east? ern university.*! Mr. Magee to?k the mittened hand of the professor. "Glad to see you, I'm sure," he said. "My name is Magee. This is Mr. Bland ?he is impetuous, but estimable. I trust you will forgive his first salute. What's a bullet among gentlemen? It seems to me that as explanations may be lengthy and this room is very cold, we would do well to go up to my room, where there is a fire." "Delighted," cried the old man. "A fire. I long to see one. Let us go to your room by all means." Mr. Bland sulkily stalked to his mat? tress and secured a gayly colored bed quilt, which he wound about his thin form. "This is positively the last experience meeting I attend tonight," he growled. They ascended to No. 7. The pro? fessor removed, along with other im? pedimenta, his ear tabs, which were connected by a rubber cord. He waved them like frisky detached ears before him. "An old man's weakness," he re? marked. "Foolish they may seem to you. But I assure you I found them useful companions in climbing Bald pate mountain at this hour, i "But I am not here to apologize for j my apparel, am I? Hardly. You are j saying to yourselves 'Why is he here?' j Yes, that is the question that disturbs I you. What has brought this domes j ticated college professor scampering j from the Pagan renaissance to Bald I pate inn? For answer, I must ask you to go back with me a week's time and gaze at a picture from the rather dreary academic kaleidoscope that is my life. "I am seated back of a desk on a platform in a bare yellow room. In front of me, tier on tier, sit a hundred young men in various attitudes of in? attention. I am trying to tell them something of the Ideal poetry that marked the rebirth of the Saxon gen? ius. They are bored. I?well, gentle? men, in confidence, even the mind of a college professor has been known to wander at times from the subject in hand. And then?I begin to read a poem?a poem descriptive of a woman dead GOO years and more. Ah, gentle? men"? He sat erect on the edge of his great chair. Back of the thick lenses of his spectacles he had eyes that still could flash. "This is not an era of romance." he said. "Our people grub in the dirt for the dollar. Their visions perish. Their souls grow stale. Yet now and then, at most inopportune times, comes the flash that reveals to us the glories that might be." Mr. Bland wrapped his gay quilt more securely about him. Mr. Magee smiled encouragement on the newest raconteur. "I shall be brief," continued Profes? sor Bolton. "Heaven knows that ped? agogic room was no place for visions, nor were those athletic young men fit companions for a soul gone giddy. Yet ?I lost my head. As I read on there returned to my heart a glow 1 had not j known in forty years. The bard spoke j of her hair: Her yellow leeks, crisped like golden wyre, About her shoulders were loosely shed. And 1 saw, as in a dream?ahem, I can trust you, gentlemen?a girl I supposed 1 had forever forgotten in the mold and dust of my later years. I will not go further into the matter. My wife's hair is black. "And reading on, but losing the thread of the poet's eulogy in the gold? en fabric of my resurrected dream, it came to me to compare that maid I knew in the loug ago with the women I know today. Ah, gentlemen! Lips i made but for smiling fling weighty ar? guments on the unoffending atmos? phere. Eyes made to light with that light that never was by land or sea, blaze instead with what they call the Injustice of woman's servitude. White hands made to find their way to the hands of some young man in the moon? light carry banners in the dusty streets. It seemed I saw the blue eyes of that girl of long ago turned, sad, rebuking, on her sisters of today. As I finished reading my heart was awhirl. I said to the young men before ma: m 'There was a woman, gentlemen?a woman worth a million suffragettes.' i "They applauded. The fire In me died down. Soon I was my old meek, academic self. The vision had left no trace. I dismissed my class and went j home. I found that my wife-she of j the black hair?had left my slippers by j the library tire. I put them on and I plunged into a pamphlet lately pub- j Iis hod by a distinguished member of a i German university faculty. 1 thought j the incident closed forever." He gazed sorrowfully at the two young men. "But. gentlemen, I had not counted on that viper that we nourish in our bosom?the American newspaper. At present I will not take time to de? nounce the press. I am preparing an article on the subject for a respectable weekly of select circulation. Suffice it to record what happened. The next day an evening paper appeared with a huge picture of me on its front page and the hideous statement that this was the Professor Bolton who bad said that 'One peroxide blond is worth a million suffragettes.' "Yes. that was the dreadful version of my remark that was spread broadcast. Up to tile time llial story appeared 1 lind no Idea as to what sort of creature the peroxide blond inlglll be. 1 pro tested, of course I might as well have tried to den a tidal wave with a table fork. The wrath of the world swept down upon me. I was deluged with telegrams, editorials, letters, denounc? ing me. Firm faced females lay la wait for me and waved umbrellas in my eyes. Even my wife turned from me, saying that while she did not ask me to hold her views on the question of suffrage, she thought I might at least refrain from publicly commend? ing a type of woman found chiefly in musical comedy choruses. 1 received a note from the president of the uni , versity asking me to be uioae circum? spect in my remarks. Me?Thaddeus ' Rolton -the most con: < vative man on earth by instinct! j "And still the dei:ii|eiations of me j poured in; still worn n't clubs held 1 meetings resolving against me; still a steady stream of reporters flowed through my life, urging me to state my views further, to name the ten greatest blonds in hhtory, to?heaven knows what. Yesten' iy I resolved I could stand it no long er. I determined I to go away until the '^hole thing was forgotten. 'But,' they said to me, 1 'there is no place on laud or sea where j the reporters will not find you.' I talk ! ed the matter over with my old friend, ' John Bentley, owner of Baldpate inn, j and he in his kindness gave me the ' key to this hostelry." Wisely Professor Bolton blinked 1 about him. Mr. Bland was half asleep j in his chair, but Mr. ? U.gee was quick with sympathy. "Professor," he said, ' you are a much suffering man. I feel tor yoj. Here, I I am sure, you are safe fron, reporters, i and the yellow journtjs; wi.'l soon for? get you in their discovery of the next I distorted wonder. Briefly, Mr. Bland and myself will outline the tangle of events that brought ut? to the inn"? "Briefly is right," Vroke in Bland. "And then it's me for that mountain? ous mattress of mine. I can rattle my I story off in short order and give you j the fine points tomorrow. Up to a I short time ago"? But Billy Magee interrupted. An , idea, magnificent, delicious, mirthful, i had come to him. Why not? He ' chuckled inwardly, but his face was most serious. i "I should like to tell my story first, if you please," he sah] The haberdasher granted. The pro? fessor nodded. Mr.fc Magee looked Bland squarely in tbT eye, strangled the laugh inside and b gan: "Up to a short time ago I was a haberdasher in the city of Reuton. My name, let me state, is dagee?William Magee. I fitted tue gay shoulder blades of Reuton wit; clothing from ! the back of pages of the magazines, ; and as for neckties"? Mr. Bland's sly eye? had opened wide. He rose to a majestic height majestic considering the bedquilt "See here"? he began. "Please don't interrupt,'* requested j Mr. Magee sweetly. "I was. as I have j said, a happy, carefree haberdasher. And then?she entered my life. Ara i bella was her name, f An, professor, t your lady of the yellow locks, crisped like golden wire?even she must nev? er in my presence be compared with Arabella. She?she had a?face?Noah Webster couldn't have found words to describe it. And her heart was true to yours truly?at least I thought that it was." Mr. Magee rattled Ota, The haber? dasher, his calling and his tragedy snatched from him by the humorous Magee, retired with sul.en face into his bedquilt. Carefully Mr. Magee led up to the comiug of the man from Jersey City; in detail he laid bare the duel of haberdashery fought in the name of the fair Arabella. As he proceeded his enthusiasm grew. He idded tine bits that had escaped Mr. I and. He paint? ed with free hand the t icture of trag? edy's dark hour; the Jote hinting at suicide he gave in full. Then he told of how his courage grew again, of how he put the cowardice of death behind him. resolved to dare all-and live. He1 finished at last, his voice husky with emotion. Out of the corner of his eye he gianced triumphantly at Bland, j That gentleman was gazing thought-' fully at the blazing logs. I "You did quite rigl> ." commented Professor Rolton. "in n aking up your mind to live. And now, tae gentlemsn in the?er?the bedquilt. Has he, too, a story?" "Yes." laughed Mr. Mngee, "let's hear now from the gentleman in the bed? quilt. Has he. too, a story? And if so, what is it?" He smiled delightedly into the eyes of Bland. What would the ex-haber? dasher do, shorn of his tirtional expla? nation? Would he rise in his wnth and denounce the man who had stolen his Arabella? Mr. Bland smiled back. He stood up. and a contingency that had not entered Mr. Magee's mind i came to be. CHAPTER V. #t A Professional Harm it Appaara. BLAND walked calmly to the table and ph *ed up a pop? ular novel that lay thereou. I on its cover win the picture of a very beautiful maiden. ? See that dame?" he immlred of the professor. ' Sort of mak s a man sit up and take notice, doesn she? Even the frostbitten haberdasher here has got to admit that in SOSM ways she lias this Arabella person ?oking like a faded chromo in your grandmother's parlor on a rainy afternoon. Ever get any notion, professor, the way a pic? ture like that boosts ? uov.d In the busy marts of trade? No Well"? Mr. Bland continued. Mr. Magee leaned back, overjoyed, n his chair. ITere was a man not to in annoyed by the mere filching of his story. Here was a man with a sense of humor, an opponent worthy his foe's best ef forts