Evening star., 1913-03-02
SUNDAY MAGAZINE FOR MARCH 2. 1913
SEVEN KEYS TO BALDPATE


as much about that girl as l do. She asked
me to get her that money, and | did
"But what's your place in the game?'
"A looker-on in Athens" returned Magee:
translated, guy who had bumped into a
cyclone and was sitting tight waiting for it
to blow over. IL took a fancy to her, as
you might put it. She wanted the money.
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 expla-
nation, Lou?' inquired Cargan. "She asked
him for the money, and he gave it to her!"
Max 1eered. 3Say, Broadway chorus
would be pleased to meet you, Magee," he
commented.
"Don't tell any of your chorus friends
about me, replied Magee. Il might not al
ways 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? Magee looked round at the
dingy walls, at the soiled timecards, at the
disreputable stove. No place for romance?
1t 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 1ifes 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 cambria pressed
agonizingly to her face. Verify, even the
sailor of the poster saw the world and all
its glories!
The agent leaned his face against the bars
3Your train,' he called, "is crossing the
Main-st. trestle."
THEY filed out upon the platform, Magee
carrying Mrs. Nortons luggage amid
her effusive thanks. On the platform waited
stranger equipped for travel. 1t was 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 fashion, his
face set bravely toward the cities once more
ayes" he said, u walked the floor, think
ing it all over. 1 knew it would happen, and
it has. The winters are hard, and the sight
of you-it was too much: The excitement,
the talk it did for me, did for my oath. So
I'm going back to her-back to BROOKLYN for
Christmas"
"A merry one to you!" growled Cargan.
Maybe" replied Peters. Every likely,
if she's feeling that way. hope so. amt
giving up the hermit job altogether: I'll
come back in the summers, to my postcard
business. There's money in it, if it's han
died right. But I've spent my last winter on
that lonesome hill"
@As author to author, asked Magee, show
about your bookP'
"There won't be any mention of that.
the hermit predicted, @in Brooklyn. I've
packed it away. Maybe l can work on it
summers, if she doesn't come up here with
me and insist on running my hermit busi-
ness for me. I hope she won't,-it would
sort of put crimp in it,-but if she wants
to won't refuse. And maybe that book Il
never get done. Sometimes as I've sat in
my shack at night and read, it's come to me
that all the greatest works since the world
began have been those that never got fin
ished."
The Reuton train roared up to them
through the gray morning, and paused i'm
patiently at Upper Asquewan Falls. Aboard
it clambered the hermits, amateur and pro-
fessional. Magee, from the platform, waved
goodby to the agent standing forlorn in the