n," objected Mr. Quimby.

"He was a god--the god of the fruit-stand men," explained Magee.
"Picture me, if you can, depressed by the overwhelming success of my
latest brain-child. Picture me meeting Hal Bentley in a Forty-fourth
Street club and asking him for the location of the lonesomest spot on
earth. Hal thought a minute. 'I've got it', he said, 'the lonesomest
spot that's happened to date is a summer resort in mid-winter. It makes
Crusoe's island look like Coney on a warm Sunday afternoon in
comparison.' The talk flowed on, along with other things. Hal told me
his father owned Baldpate Inn, and that you were an old friend of his
who would be happy for the entire winter over the chance to serve him.
He happened to have a key to the place--the key to the big front door, I
guess, from the weight of it--and he gave it to me. He also wrote you to
look after me. So here I am."

Mr. Quimby ran his fingers through his white hair.

"Here I am," repeated Billy Magee, "fleeing from the great glitter known
as Broadway to do a little rational thinking in the solitudes. It's
getting late, and I suggest that we start for Baldpate Inn at once."

"This ain't exactly--regular," Mr. Quimby protested. "No, it ain't what
you might call a frequent occurrence. I'm glad to do anything I can for
young Mr. Bentley, but I can't help wondering what his father will say.
And there's a lot of things you haven't took into consideration."

"There certainly is, young man," remarked Mrs. Quimby, bustling forward.
"How are you going to keep warm in that big barn of a place?"

"The suites on the second floor," said Mr. Magee, "are, I hear, equipped
with fireplaces. Mr. Quimby will keep me supplied with fuel from the
forest primeval, for which service he will receive twenty dollars a
week."

"And light?" asked Mrs. Quimby.

"For the present, candles. I have forty in that package. Later, perhaps
you can find me an oil lamp. Oh, everything will be provided for."

"Well," remarked Mr. Quimby, looking in a dazed fashion at his wife, "I
reckon I'll have to talk it over with ma."

The two retired to the next room, and Mr. Magee fixed his eyes on a "God
Bless Our Home" motto while he awaited their return. Presently they
reappeared.

"Was you thinking of eating?" inquired Mrs. Quimby sarcastically, "while
you stayed up there?"

"I certainly was," smiled Mr. Magee. "For the most part I will prepare
my own meals from cans and--er--jars--and such pa