my own
fire."

"I'll make you regret your words, Mrs. Norton," cried Magee. He threw up
the windows, pulled off his coat, and set to work on the furniture. The
girl bustled about, lightening his work by her smile. Mrs. Norton
managed to get consistently in the way. When he had the furniture
distributed, he procured logs and tried his hand at a fire. Then he
stood, his black hair disheveled, his hands soiled, but his heart very
gay, before the girl of the station.

"I hope you don't expect a tip," she said, laughing.

"I do," he said, coming closer, and speaking in a voice that was not for
the ear of the chaperon. "I want a tip on this--do you really act?"

She looked at him steadily.

"Once," she said, "when I was sixteen, I appeared in an amateur play at
school. It was my first and last appearance on the stage."

"Thanks, lady," remarked Mr. Magee in imitation of the bell-boy he was
supposed to be. He sought number seven. There he made himself again
presentable, after which he descended to the office.

Mr. Bland sat reading the New York paper before the fire. From the
little card-room and the parlor, the two rooms to the right and left of
the hotel's front door, Quimby had brought forth extra chairs. He stood
now by the large chair that held Professor Bolton, engaged in
conversation with that gentleman.

"Yes," he was saying, "I lived three years in Reuton and five years in
New York. It took me eight years--eight years to realize the truth."

"I heard about it from John Bentley," the professor said gently.

"He's been pretty kind to me, Mr. Bentley has," replied Quimby. "When
the money was all gone, he offered me this job. Once the Quimbys owned
most of the land around Baldpate Mountain. It all went in those eight
years. To think that it took all those years for me to find it out."

"If I'm not impertinent, Quimby," put in Magee, "to find what out?"

"That what I wanted, the railroad men didn't want," replied Quimby
bitterly, "and that was--the safety of the public. You see, I invented a
new rail joint, one that was a great improvement on the old kind. I had
sort of an idea, when I was doing it--an idea of service to the
world--you know. God, what a joke! I sold all the Quimby lands, and went
to Reuton, and then to New York, to place it. Not one of the railroad
men but admitted that it was an improvement, and a big one--and not one
but fought like mad to keep me from getting it down where the public
woul