Part 13 (2/2)

The mayor pointed dramatically to the stair.

”I give you fifteen minutes,” he roared, ”to pack up and get out. I don't want you here. Understand?”

To Cargan's side came the slinking figure of Lou Max. His face was the withered yellow of an old lemon; his garb suggested shop-windows on dirty side streets; unpleasant eyes s.h.i.+fted behind a pair of gold-rimmed gla.s.ses. His att.i.tude was that of the dog who crouches by its master.

”Clear out,” he snarled.

”By no means,” replied Magee, looking the mayor squarely in the eye. ”I was here first. I'm here to stay. Put me out, will you? Well, perhaps, after a fight. But I'd be back in an hour, and with me whatever police Upper Asquewan Falls owns to.”

He saw that the opposing force wavered at this.

”I want no trouble, gentlemen,” he went on. ”Believe me, I shall be happy to have your company to dinner. 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. Peters that we are to have company to dinner? Handle him gently. Emphasize the fact that our guests are men.”

He ran up the stairs. At the top of the second flight he met the girl, and her eyes, he thought, shone in the dark.

”Oh, I'm so glad,” she whispered.

”Glad of what?” asked Magee.

”That you are not on their side,” she answered.

Mr. Magee paused at the door of number seven.

”I should say not,” he remarked. ”Whatever it's all about, I should say not. Put on your prettiest gown, my lady. I've invited the mayor to dinner.”

CHAPTER VII

THE MAYOR BEGINS A VIGIL

One summer evening, in dim dead days gone by, an inexperienced head waiter at Baldpate Inn had attempted to seat Mrs. J. Sanderson Clark, of Pittsburgh, at the same table with the una.s.suming Smiths, of Tiffin, Ohio. The remarks of Mrs. Clark, who was at the time busily engaged in trying to found a first family, lingered long in the memory of those who heard them. So long, in fact, that Miss Norton, standing with Mr. Magee in the hotel office awaiting the signal from Peters that dinner was ready, could repeat them almost verbatim. Mr. Magee cast a humorous look about.

”Lucky the manners and customs of the summer folks aren't carried over into the winter,” he said. ”Imagine a Mrs. Clark asked to sit at table with the mayor of Reuton and his picturesque but somewhat soiled friend, Mr. Max. I hope the dinner is a huge success.”

The girl laughed.

”The natural nervousness of a host,” she remarked. ”Don't worry. The hermit and his tins won't fail you.”

”It's not the culinary end that worries me,” smiled Magee. ”It's the repartee and wit. I want the mayor to feel at home. Do you know any good stories ascribed to Congressman Jones, of the Asquewan district?”

Together they strolled to a window. The snow had begun to fall again, and the lights of the little hamlet below showed but dimly through the white blur.

”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.

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