Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1914-02-06
What train?" inquired Mr. Ma

gee.
Your train back to New York city. -
replied Mr.. Quimby. Don't try to
start back in the night. There ain't
no train till morning"
"Ah. Quimby." laughed Mr.. Magee
you taunt me. You think / won't
stick it out. But I'll show you. tell
you I'm hungry for solitude"
That's all right" Mr.. Quimby re-
sponded. You can't make three
square meals day off solitude"
I'm desperate" said Magee. Henry
Cabot Lodge must come to me, 1 say
with tears in his eyes. Ever see the
senator that way? No? It's going to
be an easy job. 1 must put it over.
must go deep into the hearts Of men
up here and write what 1 find. No
more shots in the night. Just the ad-
venture of soul and SOUL Do you see
BY the way, here's $40, your first
weeks pay as caretaker Of New York
Quixote.'
What's that?" asked Quimby.
"Quixote," explained Mr.. Magee,
was a Spanish lad who was a little
confused in his mind and went about
the country putting up at summer re-
sorts in midwinter."
I'D expect it of Spaniard," Quinn
by said. BE careful Of that fire. I'll
be up in the morning." He slowed
away the bill Mr.. Magee had given
him. Il guess nothing will interfere
with your lonesomeness. Leastwise l
hope it won't. Good night"
Mr. Magee bade the man good night
and listened to the thump Of his boots
and the closing Of the great front
door, From his windows he watched
the caretaker move down the road
without looking back, to disappear at
last in the white night.
Throwing off his great coat, Mr.. Ma
gee noisily attacked the fire. The
blaze fiared red on his strong, humor-
Gus mouth, in his smiling eyes. Next,
in the fiickering half light Of suit Z,
he distributed the contents of his trav-
cling bags about On the table he
placed a number of new magazines
and a few books.
Then Mr.. Magee sat down in the big
leather chair before the fire and
caught his breath.
Yes, here he was. and here was the
solitude he had come to find. Mr.. Ma
gee looked nervously about, and the
smile died out of his gray eyes. For
the first time misgivings smote him.
Might one not have too much Of a
good thing? A silence like that OF the
tomb had descended. He recalled sto-
ries Of men who went mad from lone
illness. What place lonlier than this?
The wind howled along the balcony; it
ratified the windows. Outside his door
lay a great black cave, in summer gay
with men and maids, now like Cru
soe's island before the old man landed.
alone, alone; all, all alone" quoted
Mr.. Magee. IF l can't think here it
will be because I'm not equipped with
the apparatus. l will. I'll show the
gloomy old critics! 1 wonder what's
doing in New York;"
New York, Mr.. Magee looked at
his watch. Eight o'clock. The great
street was ablaze. The crowds were
parading from the restaurants to the
theatres. The electric signs were past
ing lurid legends on a long suffering
sky; the taxis were spraying throats
with gasoline; the traffic cop at Broad
way and Forty-second street was mad
ly earning his pay. Mr. Magee got up
and walked the floor. New York!
Probably the telephone in his rooms
was jangling, vainly calling forth to
sport with Amaryllis in the shade of
the rubber trees, Billy Magee-Billy
Magee, who sat alone in the silence on
Baldpate mountain. Few knew of his
departure. This was the night Of that
stupid attempt at theatricals at the
Plaza, stupid in itself, but gay, almost
giddy, since Helen Faulkner was to be
there. This was the night of the din
ner to Carey at the club. This was the
night-of many diverting things.
He strobe to the window and looked
down at the few dim lights that pro-
claimed the existence of Upper Asque-
wan Falls. 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 miles away,
and the thought cheered Mr.. Magee.
After all, he was not on adesert is
land.
And yet, he was alone, intensely. al
most painfully, alone-alone in vast
moaning house that must be his only
home until be could go. back to the gay
city with his masterpieces. What a
masterpieces, AS though with a sur
geons knife it would lay bare the
hearts of men. No tricks of plot, no
(To be Continued.)