"I shan't forget what you say," answered Mr. Magee. "Shall we look about up-stairs?"
Bland shook his head.
"No," he said. "Go in and go to bed. It'ss the down-stairs that—that concerns me. Good night."
He went swiftly down the steps, leaving Mr. Magee staring wonderingly after him. Like a wraith he merged with the shadows below. Ma gee turned slowly, and entered number seven. A fantastic film of frost was on the windows; the in ner room was drear and chill. Partially undress ing, he lay down on the brass bed and pulled the covers over him.
The events of the night danced in giddy array before him as he closed his eyes. With every groan Baldpate Inn uttered in the wind he started up, keen for a new adventure. At length his mind seemed to stand still, and there remained of all that amazing evening's pictures but one—that of a girl in a blue corduroy suit who wept—wept only that her smile might be the more dazzling when it flashed behind the tears. "With yellow locks, crisped like golden wire," murmured Mr. Magee. And so he fell asleep.
