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- To wait for the magic of muslin, the lilt of waltzes, the tinkle of laughter, the rhythm of the rockers of the fleet on its verandas, the formal tread of the admiral’s boots across its polished floors, the clink of dimes in the pockets of its bell-boys.
- “Who pays the police?” “We do.” “Who owns ’em?” “Cargan.” Thus question and answer were bandied back and forth.
- Then suddenly his opponent seemed to weaken in his grip.
“Think of the awful job of explaining to the white necktie crowd how you happened to be dynamiting a safe on Baldpate Mountain at midnight.” “I never cared much for humor,” replied the mayor, “especially at this early hour of the morning.” Mr. Max slipped closer to the bed, an ugly look on his face. The mayor glared fixedly into Magee’s eyes.
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“Not exactly that,” Mrs. Quimby answered, brushing back a wisp of gray hair, “but he’s discussed it in my presence, ignoring me at the time. You see, he comes down here and reads his latest chapters to Quimby o’ nights, and I’ve caught quite a lot of it on my way between the cook-stove and the sink.” A shivering group awaited him at the foot of the stair. Mrs. Norton’s hat was on at an angle even the most imaginative milliner could not have approved. The professor looked older than ever; even Miss Thornhill seemed a little less statuesque and handsome in the dusk. Quimby led the way to the door, they passed through it, and Mr. Magee locked it after them with the key Hal Bentley had blithely given him on Forty-fourth Street, New York. Mr. Magee walked to the window, pondering on the odd tangle of events that had not yet been completely straightened out.
The young man looked suspiciously about, his thin nose seemingly scenting plots. “But I’ll have to ask you to go first. You know the way.” His right hand sought the pocket into which the revolver had fallen. “I’d expect it of a Spaniard,” Quimby said. “Be careful of that fire. I’ll be up in the morning.” He stowed away the bill Mr. Magee had given him. “I guess nothing will interfere with your lonesomeness. Leastways, I hope it won’t. Good night.” The two stood together in a great bare room.
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“She’s quick. She’s like lightning. She won’t give me any time if she can help it. That’s why I’d like to have a wonderful speech all ready—something that would hold her spellbound and tongue-tied until I finished. It would take a literary classic to do that.” “There’s some pretty giddy stories going round about the carryings-on up at Baldpate. Shots fired, and strange lights flashing—dog-gone it, the only thing that’s happened here in years, and I wasn’t in on it. I certainly wish you’d put me wise to it.” The first streaks of dawn were in the sky when the hermits of Baldpate filed through the gate into the road, waving good-by to Quimby and his wife, who stood in their dooryard for the farewell. Down through sleepy little Asquewan Falls they paraded, meeting here and there a tired man with a lunch basket in his hand, who stepped to one side and frankly stared while the odd procession passed.
- Then gradually he had been brought to see the wisdom of sending a girl rather than a man.
- A moment longer she held off, and then limply she surrendered.
- He stood facing them in the middle of his hermitage.
- In this order came Mr. Magee’s impressions of her, fur-coated, tall, dark, handsome, with the haughty manner of one engaging a chauffeur.
- Before that gentleman realized what had happened, Magee had wrenched the package from his hand, thrown him back on the prostrate form of the highest official of Reuton, and fled up the steps.
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He muttered “How d’ye do?” and fled toward the door, narrowly averting what would have proved a serious collision with the large woman on the way. “All finished, gentlemen?” he asked, coming forward. “Now, this is solid comfort, ain’t it? I reckon when you get a few days of this, you’ll all become hermits, and build yourselves shacks on the mountain. Solid comfort. No woman to make you put on overshoes when you go out, or lecture you about the effects of alcohol on the stomach. Heaven, I call it.” “We understand one another, it seems,” he said. “I look forward to pleasant companionship where I had expected solitude. You will excuse me now—there is the work to which I referred. Ah, here’s Peters,” he added as the hermit entered through the dining-room door at the side of the stairs.