for me. That is why I bravely faced your
revolver-shots. Again let me repeat, I bear no malice on that score. You
have ruined a new derby hat, and the honorarium of professor even at a
leading university is not such as to permit of many purchases in that
line. But I forgive you freely. Even at the cannon's mouth I would have
fled from reputation, to paraphrase the poet."

Wisely Professor Bolton blinked about him. Mr. Bland was half asleep in
his chair, but Mr. Magee was quick with sympathy.

"Professor," he said, "you are a much suffering man. I feel for you.
Here, I am sure, you are safe from reporters, and the yellow journals
will soon forget you in their discovery of the next distorted wonder.
Briefly, Mr. Bland and myself will outline the tangle of events that
brought us to the inn--"

"Briefly is right," broke in Bland. "And then it's me for that
mountainous mattress of mine. I can rattle my story off in short order,
and give you the fine points to-morrow. Up to a short time ago--"

But Billy Magee interrupted. An idea, magnificent delicious, mirthful,
had come to him. Why not? He chuckled inwardly, but his face was most
serious.

"I should like to tell my story first, if you please," he said.

The haberdasher grunted. The professor nodded. Mr. Magee looked Bland
squarely in the eye, strangled the laugh inside him, and began:

"Up to a short time ago I was a haberdasher in the city of Reuton. My
name, let me state, is Magee--William Magee. I fitted the gay
shoulder-blades of Reuton with clothing from the back pages of the
magazines, and as for neckties--"

Mr. Bland's sly eyes had opened wide. He rose to a majestic
height--majestic considering the bed quilt.

"See here--" he began.

"Please don't interrupt," requested Mr. Magee sweetly. "I was, as I have
said, a happy carefree haberdasher. And then--she entered my life.
Arabella was her name. Ah, Professor, you lady of the yellow locks,
crisped liken golden wire--even she must never in my presence be
compared with Arabella. She--she had--a--face--Noah Webster couldn't
have found words to describe it. And her heart was true to yours
truly--at least I thought that it was."

Mr. Magee rattled on. The haberdasher, his calling and his tragedy
snatched from him by the humorous Magee, retired with sullen face into
his bed quilt. Carefully Mr. Magee led up to the coming of the man from
Jersey City; in detail he laid bare the duel of haberdashery fought in
th