The watchman and southron. [volume] (Sumter, S.C.) 1881-1930, 1914-05-09

ued his journey through the stinging
SNOW.
don Quixote, my boy" he mutter-
ed, Il know how YOU felt when you
moved on the windmills."
Ii was not the whir of windmills
but the Creak Of q gate in the storm
that brought Mr.. Magee at last to a
stop. He walked gladly up the path
to Elijah Quimby's door.
In answer to Billy Magees gay
knock, a man of about sixty years ap-
peared. Evidently he had just finish.
ed supper. At the moment he was
engaged in lighting his pipe. He ad.
mitted Mr.. Magee into the intimacy
Of the kitchen. and took number of
calm judiciOus puffs on the pipe be-
fore speaking to his visitor.
"My names Magee," blithely ex-
planned that gentleman, dragging in
his bags. And you're Elijah Quimby
of course. How are you? Glad to see
YOU"
The older man did not reply, but
regarded Mr.. Magee wonderingly
through white puffs of smoke. His
face was kindly, gentle, Intellectual.
"Yes," he admitted at last "Yes,
I'm Quimby."
Mr.. Magee threw back his coat, and
sprayed with snow Mrs. Quilnby's i'm
maculate floor.
I'm Magee," he elucidated again,
"William HallOwell Magee, the man
Hal Bentley wrote to you about. You
got his letter, didn't your"
Mr.. Quimby removed his pine and
forgot to close the aperture as he
stared in amaZement.
Good Lord" he cried; you don't
mean-you've really come? Why, we
we thought it was all a joker
Hal Bentley has his humorous mo-
ments,' agreed Mr.. Magee, but it
isn't his habit to fling his jests into
Upper Asquewan Falls"
"And-and you're really going to-
Mr.. Quimby could get 10 further.
"Yes," said Mr.. Magee brightly, slip
ping into q rocking chair. "Yes; I'm
going to spend the next few months
at Baldpate inn."
Its closed" eXpOstulated AIr. Quinn
by. "The inn is closed, young fellow"
II know it's clOsed,' smiled Magee
That's the very reason I'm going to
honor it with my presence. I'm sorry
to take you out OH night like this,
but Ill have to ask you to lead me up
to 3aldpate. believe those were Hal
Bentley's instructions-in the letter."
Mr.. Quimby lowered above Mr.. Ma
gee, shirt sleeved statue of honest
American manhood. He scOwled.
Excuse plain question, young
man." he said, but what are you hid
ing from!
I'm not hiding" said Magee. Didn't
Bentley explain? Well, Ill try to,
though I'm not sure you'll understand.
Sit down, Mr.. Quimby. You are not,
take it, the sort of man to follow close
ly the frivolous literature Of the day"
whats that?" inquired Mr.. Quimby.
"YOu don't read," continued Mr.. Ma
gee, "the sort Of novels that are sold
by the pound in the department stores.
Now, II you had Il daughter-a fluffy
daughter inseparble from hammock
in the summer-she could help me ex-
plain. You see-I write those novels.
Wild thrilling tales for the tired busi-
ness mans tired wife-shOts in the
night, chases after fortunes, Cupid
busy with his arrows all over the
f,r., nd II o.. Il
it. There's money in it,
"Is there:" asked Mr.. Quimby, with
n show OF interest.
"COnsiderable," replied Mr.. Magee.
but now and then l get q longing to
do something that will make the critics
sit up-the real thing, you know. The
other day l picked up newspaper and
found my latest brain child advertised
as the best fall novel Magee ever
wrote 1t got OH my nerves. l felt
like literary dressmaker, and could
see my public laying down my fall
novel and signing for my early spring
styles in fiction. l remembered that
once upon a time critic advised me
to go away for ten years to some quiet
spot and think. l decided to do It.
Baldpate inn is the quiet spot
"IOu don't mcan.' gasped Mr.. Quinn
by, that you're going to stay there
ten years?"
BLESS you, no!' said Mr.. Magee
"Critics exaggeratc. Two months will
do. They say l am cheap melo-
dramatic ranter. They say l don't 60
deep. They say my thinking process
is scream. I'm afraid they're right
Now, I'm going to 20 up to Baldpatc
inn and think. I'm going to get away
from mclOdrama. I'm going to do u
novel SO fine and literary that Henry
Cabot Lodge will come to me with
tears in his eyes and ask me to Join
his Wnch Of self made immOrtals. Pm
going to dO all this up there at the
inn, sitting on the mountain and look
ing down on this little old world as
JOve looked down from Olympus"
IL don't know who you mean," OBJ
jectcd Mr.. Quimby.
"He was Il gOd-the god Of the fruit