the seeker for solitude had sneered. "Some win ter place down South," from Bentley. "And a flirtation lurking in every corner!" from Magee. "A country town where you don t know any one." "The easiest place in the world to get acquainted. I must be alone, man! Alone!" "Baldpate Inn," Bentley had cried in his idiom. "Why, Billy— Baldpate Inn at Christmas—it must be old John H. Seclusion himself."
Yes, here he was. And here was the solitude he had come to find. Mr. Magee looked nervously about, and the smile died out of his gray eyes. For the first time misgivings smote him. Might one not have too much of a good thing ? A silence like that of the tomb had descended. He recalled stories of men who went mad from loneliness. What place lonelier than this ? The wind howled along the balcony. It rattled the windows. Out side his door lay a great black cave—in summer gay with men and maids—now like Crusoe s is land before the old man landed.
"Alone, alone, all, all alone," quoted Mr. Ma gee. "If I can't think here it will be because I m not equipped with the apparatus. I will. I'll show
