w how Caesar felt when he rode through Rome with his ex-foes
festooned about his chariot wheels."

Mr. Max again chose the rear, triumphantly escorting Mr. Peters. As Mr.
Magee and the girl swung into the lead, the former was moved to recur to
the topic he had handled so amateurishly a short time before.

"I'll make you believe in me yet," he said.

She did not turn her head.

"The moment we reach the inn," he went on "I shall come to you, with the
package of money in my hand. Then you'll believe I want to help
you--tell me you'll believe then."

"Very likely I shall," answered the girl without interest. "If you
really do intend to give me that money--no one must know about it."

"No one shall know," he answered, "but you and me."

They walked on in silence. Then shyly the girl turned her head. Oh, most
assuredly, she was desirable. Clumsy as had been his declaration, Mr.
Magee resolved to stick to it through eternity.

"I'm sorry I spoke as I did," she said. "Will you forgive me?"

"Forgive you?" he cried. "Why, I--"

"And now," she interrupted, "let us talk of other things. Of ships, and
shoes, and sealing-wax--"

"All the topics in the world," he replied, "can lead to but one with
me--"

"Ships?" asked the girl.

"For honeymoons," he suggested.

"Shoes?"

"In some circles of society, I believe they are flung at bridal
parties."

"And sealing-wax?"

"On the license, isn't it?" he queried.

"I'll not try you on cabbage and kings," laughed the girl. "Please, oh,
please, don't fail me. You won't, will you?" Her face was serious. "You
see, it means so very much to me."

"Fail you?" cried Magee. "I'd hardly do that now. In ten minutes that
package will be in your hands--along with my fate, my lady."

"I shall be so relieved." She turned her face away, there was a faint
flush in the cheek toward Mr. Magee. "And--happy," she whispered under
her breath.

They were then at the great front door of Baldpate Inn.

CHAPTER XII

WOE IN NUMBER SEVEN

Inside, before the office fire, Miss Thornhill read a magazine in the
indolent fashion so much affected at Baldpate Inn during the heated
term; while the mayor of Reuton chatted amiably with the ponderously coy
Mrs. Norton. Into this circle burst the envoys to the hermitage,
flushed, energetic, snowflaked.

"Hail to the chef who in triumph advances!" cried Mr. Magee.

He pointed to the door, through which Mr. Max was leading the captured
Mr. P