ign of breakfast, and me as hollow
as a reformer's victory."

"He's backslid," cried Magee.

"The quitter," sneered Max. "It's only a quitter would live on the
mountain in a shack, anyhow."

"You're rather hard on poor old Peters," remarked Magee, "but when I
think that I have to get up and dress in a refrigerating plant--I can't
say I blame you. If only the fire were lighted--"

He smiled his most ingratiating smile on his companion.

"By the way, Mr. Cargan, you're up and dressed. I've read a lot of
magazine articles about you, and they one and all agree that you're a
good fellow. You'll find kindling and paper beside the hearth."

"What!" The mayor's roar seemed to shake the windows. "Young man, with a
nerve like yours, you could wheedle the price of a battleship from
Carnegie. I--I--" He stood for a moment gazing almost in awe at Magee.
Then he burst forth into a whole-souled laugh. "I am a good fellow," he
said. "I'll show you."

He went into the other room, and despite the horrified protests of Lou
Max, busied himself amid the ashes of the fireplace. When he had a blaze
under way, Mr. Magee came shivering from the other room and held out his
hand.

"Mr. Cargan," he laughed, "you're a prince." He noted with interest that
the mayor's broad shoes were mighty near two hundred thousand, dollars.

While Mr. Magee drew on his clothes, the mayor and Max sat thoughtfully
before the fire, the former with his pudgy hands folded over the vast
expanse where no breakfast reposed. Mr. Magee explained to them that the
holder of the sixth key had arrived.

"A handsome young lady," he remarked; "her name is Myra Thornhill."

"Old Henry Thornhill's daughter," reflected the mayor. "Well, seems I've
sort of lost the habit of being surprised now. I tell you, Lou, we're
breaking into the orchid division up here."

While Mr. Magee shaved--in ice-cold water, another black mark against
the Hermit of Baldpate--he turned over in his mind the events of the
night before. The vigil in the office, the pleading of the fair girl on
the balcony, the battle by the steps, the sudden appearance of Miss
Thornhill, the figure in his room, the conversation by the annex
door--like a moving picture film the story of that weird night unrolled
itself. The film was not yet at an end. He had given himself the night
to think. Soon he would stand before the girl of the station; soon he
must answer her questions. What was he to do with the fortune t