madness of the moment. I shall stick to it through thick and thin. Now,
about the blondes."

"The blondes," repeated the professor dreamily. "Ah, yes, I must make a
small confession of guilt there. I did not come here to escape the
results of that indiscreet remark, but I really made it--about a year
ago. Shall I ever forget? Hardly--the newspapers and my wife won't let
me. I can never again win a new honor, however dignified, without being
referred to in print as the peroxide-blond advocate. The thing has made
me furious. However, I did not come to Baldpate Inn to avoid the results
of a lying newspaper story, though many a time, a year ago, when I
started to leave my house and saw the reporters camped on my door-step,
I longed for the seclusion of some such spot as this. On the night when
Mr. Kendrick and I climbed Baldpate Mountain, I remarked as much to him.
And so it occurred to me that if I found any need of explaining my
presence here, the blond incident would do very well. It was only--a
white lie."

"A blond one," corrected Mr. Magee. "I forgive you, Professor. And I'm
mighty glad the incident really happened, despite the pain it caused
you. For it in a way condones my own offense--and it makes you human,
too."

"If to err is human, it does," agreed Professor Bolton. "To begin with,
I am a member of the faculty of the University of Reuton, situated, as
you no doubt know, in the city of the same name. For a long time I have
taken a quiet interest in our municipal politics. I have been up in
arms--linguistic arms--against this odd character Cargan, who came from
the slums to rule us with a rod of iron. Every one knows he is corrupt,
that he is wealthy through the sale of privilege, that there is actually
a fixed schedule of prices for favors in the way of city ordinances. I
have often denounced him to my friends. Since I have met him--well, it
is remarkable, is it not, the effect of personality on one's opinions? I
expected to face a devil, with the usual appurtenances. Instead I have
found a human, rather likable man. I can well understand now why it is
that the mob follows him like sheep. However, that is neither here nor
there. He is a crook, and must be punished--even though I do like him
immensely."

Mr. Magee smiled over to where the great bulk of Cargan slouched in a
chair.

"He's a bully old scout," he remarked.

"Even so," replied the professor, "his high-handed career of graft in
Reuton must co