Part 37 (2/2)
Two drooping figures entered the station--the mayor and his faithful lieutenant, Max. The dignity of the former had faded like a flower, and the same withered simile might have been applied with equal force to the accustomed jauntiness of Lou.
”Good morning,” said Mr. Magee in greeting. ”Taking an early train, too, eh? Have a pleasant night?”
”Young man,” replied Cargan, ”if you've ever put up at a hotel in a town the size of this, called the Commercial House, you know that last question has just one answer--manslaughter. I heard a minister say once that all drummers are bound for h.e.l.l. If they are, it'll be a pleasant change for 'em.”
Mr. Max delved beneath his overcoat, and brought forth the materials for a cigarette, which he rolled between yellow fingers.
”If I was a drummer,” he said dolefully, ”one breakfast--was that what they called it, Jim?--one breakfast like we just pa.s.sed through would drive me into the awful habit of reading one of these here books of _Drummers' Yarns_.”
”Sorry,” smiled Magee. ”We had an excellent breakfast at Mrs. Quimby's.
Really, you should have stayed. By the way, where is Bland?”
”Got shaky in the knees,” said Cargan. ”Afraid of the reformers. Ain't had much experience in these things, or he'd know he might just as well tremble at the approach of a blue-bottle fly. We put him on a train going the other direction from Reuton early this morning. He thinks he'd better seek his fortune elsewhere.” He leaned in heavy confidence toward Magee. ”Say, young fellow,” he whispered, ”put me wise. That little sleight of hand game you worked last night had me dizzy. Where's the coin? Where's the girl? What's the game? Take the boodle and welcome--it ain't mine--but put me next to what's doing, so I'll know how my instalment of this serial story ought to read.”
”Mr. Cargan,” replied Magee, ”you know as much about that girl as I do.
She asked me to get her the money, and I did.”
”But what's your place in the game?”
”A looker-on in Athens,” returned Magee. ”Translated, a guy who had b.u.mped into a cyclone and was sitting tight waiting for it to blow over.
I--I took a fancy to her, as you might put it. She wanted the money. I got it for her.”
”A pretty fairy story, my boy,” the mayor commented.
”Absolutely true,” smiled Magee.
”What do you think of that for an explanation, Lou,” inquired Cargan, ”she asked him for the money and he gave it to her?”
Mr. Max leered.
”Say, a Broadway chorus would be pleased to meet you, Magee,” he commented.
”Don't tell any of your chorus friends about me,” replied Magee. ”I might not always prove so complacent. Every man has his moments of falling for romance. Even you probably fell once--and what a fall was there.”
”Can the romance stuff,” pleaded Max. ”This chilly railway station wasn't meant for such giddy language.”
Wasn't it? Mr. Magee looked around at the dingy walls, at the soiled time-cards, at the disreputable stove. No place for romance? It was here he had seen her first, in the dusk, weeping bitterly over the seemingly hopeless task in which he was destined to serve her. No place for romance--and here had begun his life's romance. The blue blithe sailor still stood at attention in the ”See the World” poster. Magee winked at him. He knew about it all, he knew, he knew--he knew how alluring she had looked in the blue corduroy suit, the bit of cambric pressed agonizingly to her face. Verily, even the sailor of the posters saw the world and all its glories.
The agent leaned his face against the bars.
”Your train,” he called, ”is crossing the Main Street trestle.”
They filed out upon the platform, Mr. Magee carrying Mrs. Norton's luggage amid her effusive thanks. On the platform waited a stranger equipped for travel. It was Mr. Max who made the great discovery.
”By the Lord Harry,” he cried, ”it's the Hermit of Baldpate Mountain.”
And so it was, his beard gone, his hair clumsily hacked, his body garbed in the height of an old and ludicrous fas.h.i.+on, his face set bravely toward the cities once more.
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