dining-room door stamped Quimby, grave of face, dazed at
being roused from sleep, and with him an important little man whose duty
it was to investigate at Upper Asquewan Falls such things as had
happened that night at Baldpate. Even from his slumber he rose with the
air of a judge and the manner of a Sherlock Holmes. For an hour he asked
questions, and in the end he prepared to go in a seemingly satisfied
state of mind.

Quimby's face was very awed when he came down-stairs after a visit to
the room above.

"Poor fellow!" he said to Magee. "I'm sorry--he was so young." For such
as Quimby carry no feud beyond the gates. He went over and took
Kendrick's hand.

"I never had a chance," he said, "to thank you for all you tried to do
for me and my invention."

"And it came to nothing in the end?" Kendrick asked.

"Nothing," Quimby answered. "I--I had to creep back to Baldpate Mountain
finally--broke and discouraged. I have been here ever since. All my blue
prints, all my models--they're locked away forever in a chest up in the
attic."

"Not forever, Quimby," Kendrick replied. "I always did believe in your
invention--I believe in it still. When I get back into the harness--I'm
sure I can do something for you."

Quimby shook his head. He looked to be half asleep.

"It don't seem possible," he said. "No--it's all been buried so
long--all the hope--all the plans--it don't seem possible it could ever
come to life again."

"But it can, and it will," cried Kendrick. "I'm going to lay a stretch
of track in Reuton with your joints. That's all you need--they'll have
to use 'em then. We'll force the Civic into it. We can do it, Quimby--we
surely can."

Quimby rubbed his hand across his eyes.

"You'll lay a stretch of track--" he repeated. "That's great news to me,
Mr. Kendrick. I--I can't thank you now." His voice was husky. "I'll come
back and take care of--him," he said, jerking his head toward the room
up-stairs. "I got to go now--this minute--I got to go and tell my wife.
I got to tell her what you've said."

CHAPTER XIX

EXEUNT OMNES, AS SHAKESPEARE HAS IT

At four in the morning Baldpate Inn, wrapped in the arms pf winter, had
all the rare gaiety and charm of a baseball bleechers on Christmas Eve.
Looking gloomily out the window, Mr. Magee heard behind him the steps on
the stairs and the low cautions of Quimby, and two men he had brought
from the village, who were carrying something down to the dark carr