[Illustration: "He read impressively"]

MR. OPP

BYALICE HEGAN RICE

Author of "Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch, ""Lovey Mary, " "Sandy, " etc. 

With Illustrationsby LEON GUIPON

NEW YORKTHE CENTURY CO. 1909

Copyright, 1908, 1909, byThe Century Co. 

_Published, April, 1909_

THE DE VINNE PRESS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

 PAGE "He read impressively" _Frontispiece_

 "'Don't leave me'" 45

 "'Why, Mr. Opp, I'm not old enough'" 129

 "It was Mr. Opp saying his prayers" 197

 "'Oh, my God, it has come'" 263

 "'Can't nobody beat me making skirts'" 319

MR. OPP

I

"I hope your passenger hasn't missed his train, " observed the ferrymanto Mr. Jimmy Fallows, who sat on the river bank with the painter of hisrickety little naphtha launch held loosely in his hand. 

"Mr. Opp?" said Jimmy. "I bet he did. If there is one person in theworld that's got a talent for missing things, it's Mr. Opp. I never seenhim that he hadn't just missed gettin' a thousand dollar job, orinventin' a patent, or bein' hurt when he had took out a accidentpolicy. If he did ketch a train, like enough it was goin' the wrongway. "

Jimmy had been waiting since nine in the morning, and it was now wellpast noon. He was a placid gentleman of curvilinear type, short of limband large of girth. His trousers, of that morose hue termed by thecountry people "plum, " reached to his armpits, and his hat, large andfelt and weather-beaten, was only prevented from eclipsing his head bythe stubborn resistance of two small, knob-like ears. 

"Mr. Opp ain't been back to the Cove for a long while, has he?" askedthe ferryman, whose intellectual life depended solely upon the crumbs ofinformation scattered by chance passers-by. 

"Goin' on two years, " said Mr. Fallows. "Reckon he's been so busyformin' trusts and buyin' out railways and promotin' things generallythat he ain't had any time to come back home. It's his step-pa's funeralthat's bringin' him now. The only time city folks seem to want to seetheir kin folks in the country is when they are dead. "

"Ain't that him a-comin' down the bank?" asked the ferryman, shadinghis eyes with his hands. 

Mr. Fallows, with some difficulty, got to his feet. 

"Yes, that's him all right. Hustlin' to beat the band. Wonder if hetakes me for a street car. "

Coming with important stride down the wharf, and whistling as he came, was a small man of about thirty-five. In one hand he carried a largesuit-case, and in the other a new and shining grip. On both werepainted, in letters designed to be seen, "D. Webster Opp, Kentucky. "

In fact, everything about him was evidently designed to be seen. His newsuit of insistent plaid, his magnificent tie sagging with the weight ofa colossal scarf-pin, his brown hat, his new tan shoes, all demandedindividual and instant attention. 

The only insignificant thing about Mr. Opp was himself. His slight, undeveloped body seemed to be in a chronic state of apology for failingproperly to set off the glorious raiment wherewith it was clothed. Hispock-marked face, wide at the temples, sloped to a small, pointed chin, which, in turn, sloped precipitously into a long, thin neck. It was Mr. Opp's eyes, however, that one saw first, for they were singularly vivid, with an expression that made strangers sometimes pause in the street toask him if he had spoken to them. Small, pale, and red of rim, theynevertheless held the look of intense hunger--hunger for the hope or thehappiness of the passing moment. 

As he came bustling down to the water's-edge he held out a friendly handto Jimmy Fallows. 

"How are you, Jimmy?" he said in a voice freighted with importance. "Hope I haven't kept you waiting long. Several matters of business comeup at the last and final moment, and I missed the morning train. "

Jimmy, who was pouring gasolene into a tank in the launch, treated theferryman to a prodigious wink. 

"Oh, not more'n four or five hour, " he said, casting side glances ofmingled scorn and admiration at Mr. Opp's attire. "It is a good thingit was the funeral you was tryin' to get to instid of the death-bed. "

"Oh, that reminds me, " said Mr. Opp, suddenly exchanging his air ofcheerfulness for one of becoming gravity--"what time is the funeralobsequies going to take place?"

"Whenever we git there, " said Jimmy, pushing off the launch and wavinghis hand to the ferryman. "You're one of the chief mourners, and I'm theundertaker; there ain't much danger in us gettin' left. "

Mr. Opp deposited his baggage carefully on the seat, and spread his coatacross the new grip to keep it from getting splashed. 

"How long was Mr. Moore sick?" he asked, fanning himself with his hat. 

"Well, " said Jimmy, "he was in a dangerous and critical condition forabout twenty-one years, accordin' to his own account. I been seein' himdurin' that time on a average of four times a day, and last night whenI seen him in his coffin it was the first time the old gentleman failedto ask me to give him a drink on account of his poor health. "

"Is Ben there?" asked Mr. Opp, studying a time-table, and making a notein his memorandum-book. 

"Your brother Ben? Yes; he come this mornin' just before I left. He wascussin' considerable because you wasn't there, so's they could go on andgit through. He wants to start back to Missouri to-night. "

"Is he out at the house?"

"No; he's at Your Hotel. "

Mr. Opp looked up in surprise, and Jimmy chuckled. 

"That there's the name of my new hotel. Started up sence you went away. Me and old man Tucker been running boardin'-houses side by side allthese years. What did he do last summer but go out and git him a sign asbig as the side of the house, and git Nick Fenny to paint 'Our Hotel' onit; then he put it up right across the sidewalk, from the gate cleanout to the road. I didn't say nothin', but let the boys keep ona-kiddin' me till the next day; then I got me a sign jus' like his, with'Your Hotel' on it, and put it up crost my sidewalk. He'd give a prettyif they was both down now; but he won't take his down while mine is up, and I ain't got no notion of taking it down. "

"Yes, " said Mr. Opp, absently, for his mind was still on the time-table;"I see that there's an accommodation that departs out of Coreyville inthe neighborhood of noon to-morrow. It's a little unconvenient, I'mafraid, but do you think you could get me back in time to take it?"

"Why, what's yer hurry?" asked Jimmy, steering for mid-stream. "Ithought you'd come to visit a spell, with all them bags and things. "

Mr. Opp carelessly tossed back the sleeve of the coat, to display morefully the name on the suit-case. "Them's drummers' samples, " he saidalmost reverently--"the finest line of shoes that have ever been putout by any house in the United States, bar none. "

"Why, I thought you was in the insurance business, " said Jimmy. 

"Oh, no; that was last year, just previous to my reporting on anewspaper. This"--and Mr. Opp tried to spread out his hands, but wasslightly deterred by the size of his cuffs--"this is the chance I beenlooking for all my life. It takes brains and a' educated nerve, and aknowledge of the world. I ought to create considerable capital in thenext few years. And just as soon as I do"--and Mr. Opp leaned earnestlytoward Jimmy, and tapped one finger upon the palm of his otherhand--"just as soon as I do, I intend to buy up all the land lyingbetween Turtle Creek and the river. There's enough oil under that thereground to ca'm the troubled waters of the Pacific Ocean. You rememberold Mr. Beeker? Well, he told me, ten years ago, that he bored a wellfor brine over there, and it got so full of black petroleum he had toabandon it. Now, I'm calculating on forming a stock company, --you andMr. Tucker, I and old man Hager, and one or two others, --and buying upthat ground. Then we'll sink a test well, get up a derrick and a'engine, and have the thing running in no time. The main thing is acompetent manager. You know I'm thinking seriously of taking it myself?It's too big a proposition to run any risks with. "

"Here, say, wait a minute; how long have you had this here shoe job?"Jimmy caught madly at the first fact in sight to keep him from beingswept away by the flood of Mr. Opp's oily possibilities. 

"I taken it last week, " said Mr. Opp; "had to go all the way to Chicagoto get my instructions, and to get fitted out. My territory is aspecially important one; four counties, all round Chicago. "

"I was in Chicago oncet, " said Jimmy, his eyes brightening at thememory. "By golly! if the world is as big in every direction as it is inthat, she's a whopper!"

The wind, freshening as they got under way, loosened the canvasoverhead, and Mr. Opp rose to buckle it into place. As he half knelt inthe bow of the boat, he lifted his face to the cool breeze, and took adeep breath of satisfaction. The prosaic river from Coreyville to theCove was the highway he knew best in the world. Under the summersunshine the yellow waters lost their sullen hue, and reflected patchesof vivid red and white from the cottages and barns that dotted thedistant shore. 

"I don't consider there's any sceneries in the country that'll evenbegin to compare with these here, " Mr. Opp announced, out of the depthsof his wide experience. "Just look at the sunshine pouring forth aroundthe point of the island. It spills through the trees and leaks out overthe water just like quicksilver. Now, that's a good thought! It'sperfectly astounding, you might say surprising, how easy thoughts cometo me. I ought to been a writer; lots of folks have said so. Why, thereain't a day of my life that I don't get a poem in my head. "

"Shucks!" observed Jimmy Fallows. "I'd as lief read figgers on atow-boat as to read poetry. Old man Gusty used to write poetry, but hecouldn't get nobody to print it, so he decided to start a newspaper atthe Cove and chuck it full of his own poems. He bought a whole printin'outfit, and set it up in Pete Aker's old carpenter shop out there at theedge of town, opposite his home. But 'fore he got his paper started heup and died. Yes, sir; and the only one of his poems that he ever didgit in print was the one his wife had cut on his tombstone. "

Mr. Opp was not listening. With his head bared and his lips parted hewas indulging in his principal weakness. For Mr. Opp, it must beconfessed, was given to violent intoxication, not from an extraneoussource, but from too liberal draughts of his own imagination. Inextenuation, the claims of genius might be urged, for a genius heunquestionably was in that he created something out of nothing. Out ofan abnormal childhood, a lonely boyhood, and a failure-haunted manhood, he had managed to achieve an absorbing career. Each successiveenterprise had loomed upon his horizon big with possibilities, andbefore it sank to oblivion, another scheme, portentous, significant, hadfilled its place. Life was a succession of crises, and through them hesaw himself moving, now a shrewd merchant, now a professional man, againan author of note, but oftenest of all a promoter of great enterprises, a financier, and man of affairs. 

While he was thus mentally engaged in drilling oil-wells, composingpoetry, and selling shoes, Jimmy Fallows was contemplating withfascinated wonder an object that floated from his coat pocket. From abrown-paper parcel, imperfectly wrapped, depended a curl of golden hair, and it bobbed about in the breeze in a manner that reduced Mr. Fallowsto a state of abject curiosity. 

So intent was Jimmy upon his investigation that he failed to hold hiscourse, and the launch swung around the end of the island with such asudden jerk that Mr. Opp took an unexpected seat. 

As he did so, his hand touched the paper parcel in his pocket, andrealizing that it was untied, he hastily endeavored, by a series ofsurreptitious manoeuvers, to conceal what it contained. Feeling thequizzical eye of his shipmate full upon him, he assumed an air ofstudied indifference, and stoically ignored the subterranean chucklesand knowing winks in which Mr. Fallows indulged. 

Presently, when the situation had become poignant, Mr. Opp observed thathe supposed the funeral would take place from the church. 

"I reckon so, " said Jimmy, reluctantly answering to the call of theconversational rudder. "I told the boys to have a hack there for you andMr. Ben and Miss Kippy. "

"I don't think my sister will be there, " said Mr. Opp, with dignity;"she seldom or never leaves the house. "

"Reckon Mr. Ben will have to take keer of her now, " said Jimmy; "shesurely will miss her pa. He never done a lick of work since I knowedhim, but he was a nice, quiet old fellow, and he certainly was good topore Miss Kippy. "

"Mr. Moore was a gentleman, " said Mr. Opp, and he sighed. 

"Ain't she got any kin on his side? No folks except you twohalf-brothers?"

"That's all, " said Mr. Opp; "just I and Ben. "

"Gee! that's kind of tough on you all, ain't it?"

But the sympathy was untimely, for Mr. Opp's dignity had been touched ina sensitive place. 

"Our sister will be well provided for, " he said, and the conversationsuffered a relapse. 

Mr. Opp went back to his time-tables and his new note-book, and for therest of the trip Jimmy devoted himself to his wheel, with occasionalocular excursions in the direction of Mr. Opp's coat pocket. 

II

Lying in the crook of the river's elbow, with the nearest railroadeighteen miles away, Cove City, familiarly known as the Cove, restedserenely undisturbed by the progress of the world. Once a day, at anytime between sundown and midnight, it was roused from its drowsiness bythe arrival of the mail-boat, and, shaking itself into temporarywakefulness, sat up and rubbed its eyes. This animation was, however, ofshort duration, for before the packet had whistled for the next landing, the Cove had once more settled back into slumber. 

Main Street began with a shabby, unpainted school-house, and followingdramatic sequence, ended abruptly in the graveyard. Two cross-streets, which had started out with laudable ideas of independence, lost courageat Main Street and sought strength in union; but the experiment was notsuccessful, and a cow-path was the result. The only semblance offrivolity about the town was a few straggling cottages on stilts ofvarying height as they approached the river; for they seemed ever in theact of holding up their skirts preparatory to wading forth into thewater. 

On this particular summer afternoon Cove City was less out of crimp thanusual. The gathering of loafers that generally decorated the empty boxespiled along the sidewalk was missing. The old vehicles and weary-lookingmules which ordinarily formed an irregular fringe along the hitchingrail were conspicuously absent. A subdued excitement was in the air, andat the slightest noise feminine heads appeared at windows, and masculinefigures appeared in doorways, and comments were exchanged in low tonesfrom one side of the street to the other. For the loss of a citizen, even a poor one, disturbs the surface of affairs, and when the eventbrings two relatives from a distance, the ripples of excitement increaseperceptibly. 

Mr. Moore had been a citizen-in-law, as it were, and had never beenconsidered in any other light than poor Mrs. Opp's widower. Mrs. Opp'spoor widower might have been a truer way of stating it, but even a townhas its parental weaknesses. 

For two generations the Opp family had been a source of mystery andromance to the Cove. It stood apart, like the house that held it, poorand shabby, but bearing a baffling atmosphere of gentility, ofsuperiority, and of reserve. 

Old women recalled strange tales of the time when Mrs. Opp had come tothe Cove as a bride, and how she refused to meet any of the townspeople, and lived alone in the old house on the river-bank, watching from hourto hour for the wild young husband who clerked on one of the riversteamers. They told how she grew thin and white with waiting, and how, when her two boys were small, she made them stand beside her for hoursat a time, watching the river and listening for the whistle of his boat. Then the story went that the gay young husband stopped comingaltogether, and still she watched and waited, never allowing the boysout of her sight, refusing to send them to school, or to let them playwith other children. By and by word was brought that her husband hadbeen killed in a quarrel over cards, and little Mrs. Opp, having nothingnow to watch for and to wait for, suddenly became strangely changed. 

Old Aunt Tish, the negro servant, was the only person who ever crossedthe threshold, and she told of a strange life that went on behind theclosely curtained windows, where the sunlight was never allowed toenter, and lamps burned all day long. 

"Yas, 'm, " she used to say in answer to curious questionings; "hit's jeslike play-actin' all de time. The Missis dress herself up, an' 'tendlike she's a queen or a duke or somethin', an' dat little D. He jesacts out all dem fool things she tells him to, an' he ain't never bein'hisself at all, but jes somebody big and mighty and grand-like. "

When the boys were half-grown, a stranger appeared in the Cove, a dapperlittle man of about fifty in a shabby frock-coat and a shabbier highhat, kind of face and gentle of voice, but with the dignity of conscioussuperiority. The day of his arrival he called upon Mrs. Opp; the secondday he took a preacher with him and married her. Whatever old romancehad led to this climax could only be dimly guessed at by the curioustownspeople. 

For two years Mr. Moore fought for the mind of his old sweetheart as hehad long ago fought for her heart. He opened the house to the sunshine, and coaxed the little lady back into the world she had forgotten. Theboys were sent to school, the old games and fancies were forbidden. Gradually the color returned to her cheeks, and the light to her eyes. 

Then little Kippy was born, and happiness such as seldom comes to onewho has tasted the dregs of life came to the frail little woman in thebig four-poster bed. For ten days she held the baby fingers to herheart, and watched the little blossom of a maid unfold. 

But one black night, when the rain beat against the panes, and the moanof the river sounded in her ears, she suddenly sat up in bed: she hadheard the whistle of _his_ boat! Full of dumb terror she crept to thewindow, and with her face pressed against the glass she waited andwatched. The present was swallowed up in the past. She was once morealone, unloved, afraid. Stealthily snatching a cloak, she crept downinto the garden, feeling her way through the sodden grass, and thejimpson weed which the rain had beaten down. 

And ever since, when children pass the house on their way to school, they peep through the broken fence rails, and point out to one another, in awed tones, the tree under which Miss Kippy's mother killed herself. Then they look half-fearfully at the windows in the hope of catching aglimpse of Miss Kippy herself. 

For Kippy had had a long illness in her thirteenth year which left herwith the face and mind of a little child, and kindly, shabby Mr. Moore, having made the supreme effort of his life, from this time on ceased tostruggle against the weakness that for half a lifetime had beset him, and sought oblivion in innocuous but perpetual libations. The one dutywhich he recognized was the care of his invalid daughter. 

As soon as they were old enough, the boys launched their small craft andset forth to seek their fortunes. Ben, with no cargo on board but hisown desires, went west and found a snug and comfortable harbor, while D. Webster, the hope of his mother and the pride of the town, was atthirty-five still putting out to sea, with all sail set, only to findhimself again and again aground on the sandbars of the old familiarCove. 

III

Jimmy Fallows, being the boastful possessor of the fleetest horse intown, was the first to return from the funeral. Extricating himself withsome difficulty from the narrow-seated buggy, he held out his hand toMrs. Fallows. But that imposing lady, evidently offended with her joviallord, refused his proffered aid, and clambered out over the wheel on theother side. 

Mrs. Fallows, whose architectural effects were strictly perpendicular, cast a perpetual shadow of disapproval over the life partner whom it hadpleased Providence to bestow upon her. Jimmy was a born satirist; heknew things are not what they seem, and he wickedly rejoiced thereat. Tohis literal, pious-minded wife he at times seemed the incarnation ofwickedness. 

Sweeping with dignity beneath the arching sign of Your Hotel, she tookher seat upon the porch, and, disposing her sable robes about her, folded her mitted hands, and waited to see the people return from thefuneral. 

Jimmy, with the uncertain expression of one who is ready to apologize, but cannot remember the offense, hovered about uneasily, castingtempting bits of conversational bait into the silence, but failing toattract so much as a nibble of attention. 

"Miss Jemima Fenny was over to the funeral from Birdtown. Miss Jim isone of 'em, ain't she?"

There was no response. 

"Had her brother Nick with her. He's just gettin' over typhoid fever;looks about the size and color of a slate pencil. I bet, in spite ofMiss Jim's fine clothes, they ain't had a square meal for a month. That's because she kept him at school so long when he orter been atwork. He did git a job in a newspaper office over at Coreyville notlong 'fore he was took sick. They tell me he's as slick as a onion aboutnewspaper work. "

Continued silence; but Jimmy boldly cast another fly:

"Last funeral we had was Mrs. Tucker's, wasn't it? Old man Tucker wasthere to-day. Crape band on his hat is climbin' up; it'll be at highmast ag'in soon. "

Dense, nerve-racking silence; but Jimmy made one more effort:

"The Opps are coming back here to-night to talk things over before Bengoes on to Missouri. He counts on ketchin' the night boat. It won't givehim much time, will it?"

But Mrs. Fallows, unrelaxed, stared fixedly before her; she had takenrefuge in that most trying of all rejoinders, silence, and the fallibleJimmy, who waxed strong and prospered upon abuse, drooped and languishedunder this new and cruel form of punishment. 

It was not until a buggy stopped at the door, and the Opp brothersdescended, that the tension was in any way relieved. 

Jimmy greeted them with the joy of an Arctic explorer welcoming a reliefparty. 

"Come right on in here, in the office, " he cried hospitably; "yourtalkin' won't bother me a speck. "

But Ben abruptly expressed his desire for more private quarters, and ledthe way up-stairs. 

The low-ceiled room into which he ushered D. Webster was of such adepressing drab that even the green and red bed-quilt failed to dispersethe gloom. The sole decoration, classic in its severity, was a largeadvertisement for a business college, whereon an elk's head grew out ofa bow of ribbon, the horns branching and rebranching into a forest ofcurves and flourishes. 

The elder Opp took his seat by the window, and drummed with impatientfingers on the sill. He was small, like his brother, but of a compact, sturdy build. His chin, instead of dwindling to a point, was square andstubborn, and his eyes looked straight ahead at the thing he wanted, and neither saw nor cared for what lay outside. He had been trying eversince leaving the cemetery to bring the conversation down to practicalmatters, but D. Webster, seizing the first opportunity of impressinghimself upon his next of kin, had persisted in indulging in airy andtime-destroying flights of fancy. 

The truth is that our Mr. Opp was not happy. In his secret heart he felta bit apologetic before the material success of his elder brother. Henceit was necessary to talk a great deal and to set forth in detail thevery important business enterprises upon which he was about to embark. 

Presently Ben Opp looked at his watch. 

"See here, " he interrupted, "that boat may be along at any time. We'dbetter come to some decision about the estate. "

D. Webster ran his fingers through his hair, which stood in valiantdefense of the small bald spot behind it. 

"Yes, yes, " he said; "business is business. I'll have to be off myselfthe very first thing in the morning. This funeral couldn't have come ata more unfortunate time for me. You see, my special territory--"

But Ben saw the danger of another bolt, and checked him:

"How much do you think the old house is worth?"

D. Webster drew forth his shiny note-book and pencil and made elaboratecalculations. 

"I should say, " he said, as one financier to another, "that including ofthe house and land and contents of same, it would amount to the wholesum total of about two thousand dollars. "

"That is about what I figured, " said Ben; "now, how much money is in thebank?"

D. Webster produced a formidable packet of letters and papers from hisinside pocket and, after some searching, succeeded in finding astatement, which set forth the fact that the Ripper County Bank held intrust one thousand dollars, to be divided between the children of MaryOpp Moore at the death of her husband, Curtis V. Moore. 

"One thousand dollars!" said Ben, looking blankly at his brother, "Why, for heaven's sake, what have Mr. Moore and Kippy been living on allthese years?"

D. Webster moved uneasily in his chair. "Oh, they've managed to getalong first rate, " he said evasively. 

His brother looked at him narrowly. "On the interest of a thousanddollars?" He leaned forward, and his face hardened: "See here, have youbeen putting up cash all this time for that old codger to loaf on? Isthat why you have never gotten ahead?"

D. Webster, with hands in his pockets and his feet stretched in front ofhim, was blinking in furious embarrassment at the large-eyed elkoverhead. 

"To think, " went on Ben, his slow wrath rising, "of your staying here inKentucky all these years and handing out what you made to that oldsponger. I cut loose and made a neat little sum, married, and settleddown. And what have you done? Where have you gotten? Anybody that wouldlet himself be imposed upon like that deserves to fail. Now what do youpropose to do about this money?"

Mr. Opp did not propose to do anything. The affront offered his businesssagacity was of such a nature that it demanded all his attention. Hecomposed various denunciatory answers with which to annihilate hisbrother. He hesitated between two courses, whether he should hurlhimself upon him in righteous indignation and demand physicalsatisfaction, or whether he should rise in a calm and manly attitude andwither him with blighting sarcasm. And while the decision was pending, he still sat with his hands in his pockets, and his feet stretchedforth, and blinked indignantly at the ornate elk. 

"The estate, " continued Ben, contempt still in his face, "amounts atmost to three thousand dollars, after the house is sold. Part of this, of course, will go to the maintenance of Kippy. "

At mention of her name, Mr. Opp's gaze dropped abruptly to his brother'sface. 

"What about Kippy? She's going to live with you, ain't she?" he askedanxiously. 

Ben Opp shook his head emphatically. "She certainly is not. I haven'tthe slightest idea of burdening myself and family with thatfeeble-minded girl. "

"But see here, " said Mr. Opp, his anger vanishing in the face of thisnew complication, "you don't know Kippy; she's just similar to a littlechild, quiet and gentle-like. Never give anybody any trouble in herlife. Just plays with her dolls and sings to herself all day. "

"Exactly, " said Ben; "twenty-five years old and still playing withdolls. I saw her yesterday, dressed up in all sorts of foolish toggery, talking to her hands, and laughing. Aunt Tish humors her, and her fatherhumored her, but I'm not going to. I feel sorry for her all right, butI am not going to take her home with me. "

D. Webster nervously twisted the large seal ring which he wore on hisforefinger. "Then what do you mean, " he said hesitatingly--"what do youwant to do about it?"

"Why, send her to an asylum, of course. That's where she ought to havebeen all these years. "

Mr. Opp, sitting upon the small of his back, with one leg wrappedcasually about the leg of the chair, stared at him for a moment inconsternation, then, gathering himself together, rose and for the firsttime since we have met him seemed completely to fill his checkedready-made suit. 

"Send Kippy to a lunatic asylum!" he said in tones so indignant thatthey made his chin tremble. "You will do nothing whatever of the kind!Why, all she's ever had in the world was her pa and Aunt Tish and herhome; now he's gone, you ain't wanting to take the others away from hertoo, are you?"

"Well, who is going to take care of her?" demanded Ben angrily. 

"I am, " announced D. Webster, striking as fine an attitude as ever hisillustrious predecessor struck; "you take the money that's in the bank, and leave me the house and Kippy. That'll be her share and mine. I cantake care of her; I don't ask favors of nobody. Suppose I do lose myjob; I'll get me another. There's a dozen ways I can make a living. There ain't a man in the State that's got more resources than me. I gotplans laid now that'll revolutionize--"

"Yes, " said Ben, quietly, "you always could do great things. "

D. Webster's egotism, inflated to the utmost, burst at this prick, andhe suddenly collapsed. Dropping limply into the chair by the table, heheld his hand over his mouth to hide his agitation. 

"There's--there's one thing, " he began, swallowing violently, andwinking after each word, "that I--I can't do--and that's to leavea--sister--to die--among strangers. "

And then, to his mortification, his head went unexpectedly down upon hisarms, and a flood of tears bedimmed the radiance of his twenty-five-centfour-in-hand. 

From far down the river came the whistle of the boat, and, in the roombelow, Jimmy Fallows removed a reluctant ear from the stove-pipe hole. 

"Melindy, " he said confidentially, entirely forgetting the late frost, "I never see anybody in the world that stood as good a show of gittin'the fool prize as that there D. Opp. "

IV

The old Opp House stood high on the river-bank and gazed lonesomely outinto the summer night. It was a shabby, down-at-heel, dejected-lookingplace, with one side showing faint lights, above and below, but theother side so nailed up and empty and useless that it gave the place theappearance of being paralyzed down one side and of having scarcelyenough vitality left to sustain life in the other. 

To make matters worse, an old hound howled dismally on the door-step, only stopping occasionally to paw at the iron latch and to whimper forthe master whose unsteady footsteps he had followed for thirteen years. 

In the front room a shaded lamp, turned low, threw a circle of light onthe table and floor, leaving the corners full of vague, uncertainshadows. From the wide, black fireplace a pair of rusty and batteredandirons held out empty arms, and on the high stone shelf above theopening, flanked on each side by a stuffed owl, was a tall, square-facedclock, with the hour-hand missing. The minute-hand still went on itsuseless round, and behind it, on the face of the clock, a tiny schoonerwith all sail set rocked with the swinging of the pendulum. 

The loud ticking of the clock, and the lamentations of the houndwithout, were not the only sounds that disturbed the night. Before theempty fireplace, in a high-backed, cane-bottomed chair, slept an oldnegress, with head bowed, moaning and muttering as she slept. She wasbent and ashen with age, and her brown skin sagged in long wrinkles fromher face and hands. On her forehead, reaching from brow to faded turban, was a hideous testimony to some ancient conflict. A large, irregularhole, over which the flesh had grown, pulsed as sentiently andimperatively as a naked, living heart. 

A shutter slammed sharply somewhere in the house above, and somethingstirred fearfully in the shadow of the room. It was a small figure thatcrouched against the wall, listening and watching with the furtiveterror of a newly captured coyote--the slight figure of a woman dressedas a child, with short gingham dress, and heelless slippers, and abright ribbon holding back the limp, flaxen hair from her strange, pinched face. 

Again and again her wide, frightened eyes sought the steps leading tothe room above, and sometimes she would lean forward and whisper inagonized expectancy, "Daddy?" Then when no answer came, she wouldshudder back against the wall, cold and shaking and full of dumbterrors. 

Suddenly the hound's howling changed to a sharp bark, and the oldnegress stirred and stretched herself. 

"What ails dat air dog?" she mumbled, going to the window, and shadingher eyes with her hand. "You'd 'low to hear him tell it he done hearedold master coming up de road. "

That somebody was coming was evident from the continued excitement ofthe hound, and when the gate slammed and a man's voice sounded in thedarkness, Aunt Tish opened the door, throwing a long, dim patch of lightout across the narrow porch and over the big, round stepping-stonesbeyond. 

Into the light came Mr. Opp, staggering under the load of his baggage, his coat over his arm, his collar off, thoroughly spent with the eventsof the day. 

"Lord 'a' mercy!" said Aunt Tish, "if hit ain't Mr. D. ! I done give youup long ago. I certainly is glad you come. Miss Kippy's jes carrying onlike ever'thing. She ain't been to baid for two nights, an' I can't donothin' 't all wif her. "

Mr. Opp deposited his things in a corner, and, tired as he was, assumedan air of authority. It was evident that a man was needed, a person offirmness, of decision. 

"I'll see that she goes to bed at once, " he said resolutely. "Where isshe at?"

"She's behind de door, " said Aunt Tish; "she's be'n so skeered eversence her paw died I can't do nothin' wif her. "

"Kippy, " said Mr. Opp, sternly, "come out here this minute. "

But there was no response. Going to the corner where his coat lay, hetook from the pocket a brown-paper parcel. 

"Say, Kippy, " he said in a greatly mollified tone, "I wish you wouldcome on out here and see me. You remember brother D. , don't you? Youought to see what I brought you all the way from the city. It's got blueeyes. "

At this the small, grotesque figure, distrustful, suspicious, ready totake flight at a word, ventured slowly forth. So slight she was, and sofrail, and so softly she moved, it was almost as if the wind blew hertoward him. Every thought that came into her brain was instantlyreflected in her hypersensitive face, and as she stood before himnervously plucking her fingers, fear and joy struggled for supremacy. Suddenly with a low cry she snatched the doll from him and clasped it toher heart. 

Meanwhile Aunt Tish had spread a cloth on the table and set forth somecold corn dodger, a pitcher of foaming butter-milk, and a plate of coldcorned beef. The milk was in a battered pewter pitcher, but the dishthat held the corn bread was of heavy silver, with intricate chasingsabout the rim. 

Mr. Opp, with his head propped on his hand, ate wearily. He had been upsince four o'clock that morning, and to-morrow he must be up at daybreakif he was to keep his engagements to supply the dealers with thegreatest line of shoes ever put upon the market. Between now and then hemust decide many things: Kippy must be planned for, the house gone over, and arrangements made for the future. Being behind the scenes, as itwere, and having no spectator to impress, he allowed himself to sinkinto an attitude of extreme dejection. And Mr. Opp, shorn of thedignity of his heavily padded coat, and his imposing collar and tie, andwith even his pompadour limp upon his forehead, failed entirely to givea good imitation of himself. 

As he sat thus, with one hand hanging limply over the back of the chair, he felt something touch it softly, dumbly, as a dog might. Looking down, he discovered Miss Kippy sitting on the floor, close behind him, watching him with furtive eyes. In one arm she cradled the new doll, andin the other she held his coat. 

Mr. Opp patted her cheek: "Whatever are you doing with my coat?" heasked. 

Miss Kippy held it behind her, and nodded her head wisely: "Keeping itso you can't go away, " she whispered. "I'll hold it tight all night. To-morrow I'll hide it. "

"But I'm a business man, " said Mr. Opp, unconsciously straightening hisshoulders. "A great deal of responsibility depends on me. I've got to beoff early in the morning; but I'm coming back to see you realoften--every now and then. "

Miss Kippy's whole attitude changed. She caught his hand and clung toit, and the terror came back to her eyes. 

"You mustn't go, " she whispered, her body quivering with excitement. "It'll get me if you do. Daddy kept It away, and you can keep It away;but Aunt Tish can't: she's afraid of It, too! She goes to sleep, andthen It reaches at me through the window. It comes down the chimney, there--where you see the brick's loose. Don't leave me, D. Hush, don'tyou hear It?"

Her voice had risen to hysteria, and she clung to him, cold and shakenby the fear that possessed her. 

Mr. Opp put a quieting arm about her. "Why, see here, Kippy, " he said, "didn't you know It was afraid of me? Look how strong I am! I could killIt with my little finger. "

"Could you?" asked Miss Kippy, fearfully. 

"Yes, indeed, " said Mr. Opp. "Don't you ever be scared of anythingwhatsoever when Brother D. 's round. I'm going to take care of you fromnow on. "

"This me is bad, " announced Miss Kippy; "the other me is good. Her nameis Oxety; she has one blue eye and one brown. "

"Well, Oxety must go to bed now, " said Mr. Opp; "it must be gettingawful late. "

But Miss Kippy shook her head. "You might go 'way, " she said. 

Finding that he could not persuade her, Mr. Opp resorted to strategy:"I'll tell you what let's me and you do. Let's put your slippers on yourhands. "

This proposition met with instant approval. It appealed to Miss Kippy asa brilliant suggestion. She assisted in unbuttoning the single strapsand watched with glee as they were fastened about her wrists. 

[Illustration: "'Don't leave me'"]

"Now, " said Mr. Opp, with assumed enthusiasm, "we'll make the slipperswalk you up-stairs, and after Aunt Tish undresses you, they shall walkyou to bed. Won't that be fun?"

Miss Kippy's fancy was so tickled by this suggestion that she put itinto practice at once, and went gaily forth up the steps on all fours. At the turn she stopped, and looked at him wistfully:

"You'll come up before I go to sleep?" she begged; "Daddy did. "

Half an hour later Aunt Tish came down the narrow stairway: "She donegone to baid now, laughin' an' happy ag'in, " she said; "she never didhave dem spells when her paw was round, an' sometimes dat chile jes asclear in her mind as you an' me is. "

"What is it she's afraid of?" asked Mr. Opp. 

Aunt Tish leaned toward him across the table, and the light of the lampfell full upon her black, bead-like eyes, and her sunken jaws, and onthe great palpitating scar. 

"De ghosties, " she whispered; "dey been worriting dat chile ever' chancedey git. _I_ hear 'em! Dey wait till I take a nap of sleep, den deycomes sneakin' in to pester her. She says dey ain't but one, but I hearsheaps ob 'em, some ob 'em so little dey kin climb onder de crack in dedoor. "

"Look a-here, Aunt Tish, " said Mr. Opp, sternly, "don't you ever talk aword of this foolishness to her again. Not one word, do you hear?"

"Yas, sir; dat's what Mr. Moore allays said, an' I _don't_ talk to her'bout hit, I don't haf to. She done knows I know. I been livin' heahgoin' on forty years, sence 'fore you was borned, an' you can't fool me, chile; no, sir, dat you can't. "

"Well, you must go to bed now, " said Mr. Opp, looking up at the clockand seeing that it was half-past something though he did not know what. 

"I never goes to baid when I stays here, " announced Aunt Tish; "I setsup in de kitchen an' sleeps. I's skeered dat chile run away; she 'lowshe gwine to some day. Her paw ketched her oncet gittin' in a boat downon de river-bank. She ain't gwine, while I's here, no sir-ee! I neverleaves her in de daytime an' her paw never leaves her at night, dat is, when he's livin'. "

After she had gone, Mr. Opp ascended the stairway, and entered the roomabove. A candle sputtered on the table, and in its light he saw thewide, four-poster bed that had been his mother's, and in it the frailfigure of little Miss Kippy. Her hair lay loose upon the pillow, and onher sleeping face, appealing in its helplessness, was a smile of perfectpeace. The new doll lay on the table beside the candle, but claspedtightly in her arms was the coat of many checks. 

For a moment Mr. Opp stood watching her, then he drew his shirt-sleevequickly across his eyes. As he turned to descend, his new shoes creakedpainfully and, after he had carefully removed them, he tiptoed down, passed through the sitting-room and out upon the porch, where he sankdown on the step and dropped his head on his arms. 

The night was very still, save for the croaking of a bullfrog, and theincessant scraping of a cedar-tree against the corner of the roof. Fromacross the river, faint sparks of light shone out from cabin windows, and, below, a moving light now and then told of a passing scow. Once asteamboat slipped weirdly out of the darkness, sparkling with lights, and sending up faint sounds of music; but before the waves from thewheel had ceased to splash on the bank below, she was swallowed up inthe darkness, leaving lonesomeness again. 

Mr. Opp sat staring out into the night, outwardly calm, but inwardlyengaged in a mortal duel. The aggressive Mr. Opp of the gorgeous raimentand the seal ring, the important man of business, the ambitiousfinancier, was in deadly combat with the insignificant Mr. Opp, he ofthe shirt-sleeves and the wilted pompadour, the delicate, sensitive, futile Mr. Opp who was incapable of everything but the laying down ofhis life for the sake of another. 

A dull line of light hovered on the horizon, and gradually the woods onthe opposite shore took shape, then the big river itself, gray andshimmering, with streaks on the water where a snag broke the swiftcurrent. 

"Mr. D. , " he heard Aunt Tish calling up the back stairs, "you better gitout of baid; hit's sun-up. "

He rose stiffly and started back to the kitchen. As he passed throughthe front room, his eyes fell upon his new suit-case full of thetreasured drummers' samples. Stooping down, he traced the large blackletters with his finger and sighed deeply. 

Then he got up resolutely and marched to the kitchen door. 

"Aunt Tish, " he said with authority, "you needn't mind about hurryingbreakfast. I find there's very important business will keep me here inthe Cove for the present. "

V

There were two methods of communication in Cove City, both of which wereequally effective. One was the telephone, which from a single, isolatedcase had developed into an epidemic, and the other, which enjoyed thedignity of precedence and established custom, was to tell Jimmy Fallows. 

Both of these currents of information soon overflowed with the news thatMr. D. Webster Opp had given up a good position in the city, andexpected to establish himself in business in his native town. The natureof this business was agitating the community at large in only a degreeless than it was agitating Mr. Opp himself. 

One afternoon Jimmy Fallows stood with his back to his front gate, suspended by his armpits from the pickets, and conducted business afterhis usual fashion. As a general retires to a hill-top to organize hisforces and issue orders to his subordinates, so Jimmy hung upon hisfront fence and conducted the affairs of the town. He knew what timeeach farmer came in, where the "Helping Hands" were going to sew, wherethe doctor was, and where the services would be held next Sunday. He wascoroner, wharf-master, undertaker, and notary, and the only thing in theheavens above or the earth below concerning which he did not attempt togive information was the arrival of the next steamboat. 

As he stood whittling a stick and cheerfully humming a tune of otherdays, he descried a small, alert figure coming up the road. The pace wasso much brisker than the ordinary slow gait of the Cove that herecognized the person at once as Mr. Opp. Whereupon he lifted his voiceand hailed a boy who was just vanishing down the street in the oppositedirection:

"Nick!" he called. "Aw, Nick Fenny! Tell Mat Lucas that Mr. Opp'suptown. "

Connection being thus made at one end of the line, he turned to effectit at the other. "Howdy, Brother Opp. Kinder dusty on the river, ain'tit?"

"Well, we _are_ experiencing considerable of warm weather at thisjuncture, " said Mr. Opp, affably. 

"Mat Lucas has been hanging round here all day, " said Jimmy. "He wantsyou to buy out a half-interest in his dry-goods store. What do you thinkabout it?"

"Well, " said Mr. Opp, thrusting his thumbs into the armholes of hiswaistcoat, "I am considering of a great variety of different things. Ibeen in the dry-goods business twice, and I can't say but what it ain'ta pretty business. Of course, " he added with a twinge, "my specialty areshoes. "

"Yes, " said Jimmy; "but the folks here all gets their shoes at the drugstore. Mr. Toddlinger's been carrying a line of shoes along with hispills and plasters ever sence he went into business. "

Mr. Opp looked up at the large sign overhead. "If you and Mr. Tuckerwasn't both in the hotel business, I might be thinking of consideringthat. "

This proposition tickled Jimmy immensely. Chuckles of amusement agitatedhis rotund figure. 

"Why don't you buy us both out?" he asked. "We could sell out fornothing and make money. "

"Why, there's three boarders sitting over at Our Hotel now, " said Mr. Opp, who rather fancied himself in the rôle of a genial host. 

"Yes, " said Jimmy. "Old man Tucker's had 'em hanging out on the line allmorning. I don't guess they got strength enough to walk around muchafter the meals he give 'em. "

"Of course, " said Mr. Opp, wholly absorbed in his own affairs, "this isjust temporarily for the time being, as it were. In a year or so, whenmy financial condition is sorter more established in a way, I intend toput through that oil-wells proposition. The fact that I am aiming atarriving to is what would you think the Cove was at present most in needof?"

"Elbow-grease, " said Jimmy, promptly. "The only two things that we ain'tgot that a city has, is elbow-grease and a newspaper. "

For a moment there was a silence, heavy with significance. Mr. Fallows'sgaze penetrated the earth, while Mr. Opp's scanned the heavens; thenthey suddenly looked at each other, and the great idea was born. 

An editor! Mr. Opp's whole being thrilled responsive to the call. Thethought of dwelling above the sordid bartering of commercial life, ofbeing in a position to exercise those mental powers with which he felthimself so generously endowed, almost swept him off his feet. He hadbeen a reporter once; for two golden weeks he had handed inpolice-court reports that fairly scintillated with verbal gems pluckedat random from the dictionary. But the city editor had indicated askindly as possible that his services were no longer required, vaguelysuggesting that it was necessary to reduce the force; and Mr. Opp hadassured him that he understood perfectly, and that he was ready toreturn at any future time. That apprenticeship, brief though it was, served as a foundation upon which Mr. Opp erected a tower of dazzlingpossibilities. 

"What's the matter with you takin' Mr. Gusty's old printin'-shop andstartin' up business for yourself?" asked Jimmy. 

"Do you reckon she'd sell it?" asked Mr. Opp, anxiously. 

"Sell it?" said Jimmy. "Why, she's 'most ready to give it away to keepfrom having to pay Pete Aker's rent for the shop. Say--Mr. Gall--up, " hecalled up the street to a man who was turning the corner, "is Mrs. Gustyat home?"

The man, thus accosted, turned and came toward them. 

"Who is Mr. Gallop?" asked Mr. Opp. 

"He's the new telephone girl, " said Jimmy, with relish; "ain't been herebut a month, and he's doing the largest and most profitable trade intending to other folks's business you ever seen. Soft! Why, he must 'a'been raised on a pillow--He always puts me in mind of a highly educatedpig: it sorter surprises and tickles you to see him walkin' round on hishind legs and talking like other people. Other day one of the boys, justto devil him, ast him to drive his team out home. I liked to 'a' diedwhen I seen him tryin' to turn the corner, pullin' 'Gee' and hollerin''Haw' with every breath. Old mules got their legs in a hard knot tryingto do both at once, and the boys says when Gallop got out in the countryhe felt so bad about it he got down and 'pologized to the mules. How'bout that, Gallop--did you!" he concluded as the subject of theconversation arrived upon the scene. 

The new-comer, a plump, fair young man, who held one hand claspedaffectionately in the other, blushed indignantly, but said nothing. 

"This here is Mr. Opp, " went on Jimmy; "he wants to see Mrs. Gusty. Doyou know whether he will ketch her at home or not?"

Mr. Gallop was by this time paying the tribute of many an admiringglance to every detail of Mr. Opp's costume, and Mr. Opp, realizingthis, assumed an air of cosmopolitan nonchalance, and toyedindifferently with his large watch-fob. 

When Mr. Gallop's admiration and attention had become focused upon Mr. Opp's ring, he suddenly turned on the faucet of his conversation, andallowed such a stream of general information to pour forth that Mr. Oppquite forgot to look imposing. 

"Mrs. Gusty telephoned early this morning to Mrs. Dorsey that she wouldcome over and help her make preserves. Mrs. Dorsey got a big load ofpeaches from her father across the river. He's been down with theasthma, and had to call up the doctor twice in the night. And the doctorcouldn't get the right medicine in town, and had me call up the city. They are going to send it down on the _Big Sandy_, but she's stuck inthe locks, and goodness knows when she'll get here. She's--"

"Excuse me, " interrupted Mr. Opp, politely but firmly, "I've got to seeMrs. Gusty on very important business. Have you any idea whatsoever ofwhen she will return back home?"

"Yes, " said Mr. Gallop, eager to oblige. "She's about home by this time. Miss Lou Diker is making her a dress, and she telephoned she'd be by totry it on 'bout four o'clock. I'll go up there with you, if you want meto. "

"Why don't you drive him!" suggested Jimmy. "You can borrow a pair ofmules acrost the street. "

"Mr. Opp, " said Mr. Gallop, feelingly, as they walked up Main Street, "Iwouldn't treat a' insect like he treats me. "

"Oh, you mustn't mind Jimmy, " said Mr. Opp, kindly; "he always sort ofenjoys a little joke as he goes along. Why, I wouldn't be at allsurprised if he even made a joke on me sometime. How long have you beenin Cove City?"

"Just a month, " said Mr. Gallop. "It must look awful little to you, after all the big cities you been used to. "

Mr. Opp lengthened his stride. "Yes, " he said largely; "quite small, quite little, in fact. No place for a business man; but for aprofessional man, a man that requires leisure to sort of cultivate hisbrain and that means to be a influence in the community, it's a goodplace, a remarkably good place. "

A hint, however vague, dropped into the mind of Mr. Gallop, causedinstant fermentation. From long experience he had become an adept atextracting information from all who crossed his path. A preliminaryinterest, a breath or two of flattery by way of anesthetic, and hisvictim's secret was out before he knew it. 

"Reckon you are going up to talk insurance to Mrs. Gusty, " he venturedtentatively. 

"No; oh, no, " said Mr. Opp. "I formerly was in the insurance business, some time back. Very little prospects in it for a man of my nature. Ihave to have a chance to sorter spread out, you know--to use my ownparticular ideas about working things out. "

"What is your especial line?" asked Mr. Gallop, deferentially. 

"Shoe--" Mr. Opp began involuntarily, then checkedhimself--"journalism, " he said, and the word seemed for the momentcompletely to fill space. 

At Mrs. Gusty's gate Mr. Gallop stopped. 

"I guess I ought to go back now, " he said regretfully; "the telephoneand telegraph office is right there in my room, and I never leave themday or night except just this one hour in the afternoon. It's awfultrying. The farmers begin calling each other up at three o'clock in themorning. Say, I wish you'd step in sometime. I'd just love to have you. But you are so busy and got so many friends, you won't have much timefor me, I guess. "

Mr. Opp thought otherwise. He said that no matter how pressed he was byvarious important duties, he was never too busy to see a friend. And hesaid it with the air of one who confers a favor, and Mr. Gallop receivedit as one who receives a favor, and they shook hands warmly and parted. 

VI

Mr. Opp, absorbed in the great scheme which was taking definite form inhis mind, did not discover until he reached the steps that some one waslying in a hammock on the porch. 

It was a dark-haired girl in a pink dress, with a pink bow in her hairand small bows on the toes of her high-heeled slippers--the very kind ofperson, in fact, that Mr. Opp was most desirous of avoiding. 

Fortunately she was asleep, and Mr. Opp, after listening in vain at thedoor for sounds of Mrs. Gusty within, tiptoed cautiously to the otherend of the porch and took his seat on a straight-backed settee. 

Let it not for a moment be supposed that Mr. Opp was a stranger to thefascinations of femininity. He had been inoculated at a tender age, andit had taken so completely, so tragically, that he had crept back tolife with one illusion sadly shattered, and the conviction firm withinhim that henceforth he was immune. His attitude toward the subjectremained, however, interested, but cautious--such as a good little boymight entertain toward a loaded pistol. 

As he sat very straight and very still on the green settee, he tried tocompose his mind for the coming interview with Mrs. Gusty. Directlyacross the road was Aker's old carpenter-shop, a small, square, one-story edifice, shabby, and holding out scant promise of journalisticpossibilities. Mr. Opp, however, seldom saw things as they were; he sawthem as they were going to be. Before five minutes had elapsed he hadthe shop painted white, with trimmings of red, new panes in the windows, ground glass below and clear above, an imposing sign over the door, andthe roadway blocked with eager subscribers. He would have to have anassistant, of course, some one to attend to the general details; but hewould have charge of everything himself. He would edit a paper, comprehensive in its scope, and liberal in its views. Science, art, religion, society, and politics would all be duly chronicled. Politics!Why, his paper would be an organ--an organ of the Democratic Party!

At the thought of being an organ, Mr. Opp's bosom swelled with suchpride that his settee creaked, and he glanced apprehensively toward theother end of the porch. 

The young lady was still asleep, with her head resting on her bare arm, and one foot hanging limply below her ruffled petticoat. 

Suddenly Mr. Opp leaned forward and viewed her slipper with interest. Hehad recognized the make! It was xxx-aa. He had carried a sample exactlylike it, and had been wont to call enthusiastic attention to the curveof the instep and the set of the heel. He now realized that the effectdepended entirely on the bow, and he seriously considered writing to thefirm and suggesting the improvement. 

In the midst of his reflections the young lady stirred and then sat up. Her hair was tumbled, and her eyes indicated that she had been indulgingin recent tears. Resting her chin on her palms, she gazed gloomily downthe road. 

Mr. Opp, at the other end of the porch, also gazed gloomily down theroad. The fact that he must make his presence known was annihilated bythe yet more urgent fact that he could think of nothing to say. Abumblebee wheeled in narrowing circles above his head and finallylighted upon his coat-sleeve. But Mr. Opp remained immovable. He wassearching his vocabulary for a word which would gently crack the silencewithout shattering it to bits. 

The bumblebee saved the situation. Detecting some rare viand in a crackof the porch midway between the settee and the hammock, and evidentlybeing a bibulous bee, it set up such a buzz of excitement that Mr. Opplooked at it, and the young lady looked at it, and their eyes met. 

"Excuse me, " said Mr. Opp, rather breathlessly; "you was asleep, and Icome to see Mrs. Gusty, and--er--the fact is--I'm Mr. Opp. "

At this announcement the young lady put her hand to her head, and by adexterous movement rearranged the brown halo of her hair, and twistedthe pink bow into its proper, aggressive position. 

"Mother'll--be back soon, "--she spoke without embarrassment, yet withthe hesitation of one who is not in the habit of speaking forherself, --"I--I--didn't know I was going to sleep. "

"No, " said Mr. Opp; then added politely, "neither did I. " Silence againlooming on the horizon, he plunged on: "I think I used to be in thehabit of seeing you when you was--er--younger, didn't I?"

"Up at the store. " She smiled faintly. "You bought me a bag of pop-cornonce with a prize in it. It was a breastpin; I've got it yet. "

Mr. Opp scowled slightly as he tried to extract an imaginary splinterfrom his thumb. "Do you--er--attend school?" he asked, taking refuge ina paternal attitude. 

"I'm finished, " she said listlessly. "I've been going to the YoungLadies' Seminary at Coreyville. "

"Didn't you taken to it?" asked Mr. Opp, wishing fervently that Mrs. Gusty would return. 

"Oh, yes, " said his companion, earnestly. "I love it; I was a special. Itook music and botany and painting. I was in four concerts last year andplayed in the double duets at the commencements. " During the pause thatfollowed, Mr. Opp considered various names for his newspaper. "Motherisn't going to let me go back, " the soft, drawling voice continued; "shesays when a girl is nineteen she ought to settle down. She wants me toget married. "

Mr. Opp laid "The Cove Chronicle" and "The Weekly Bugle" aside forfurther consideration, and inquired politely if there was any specialperson whom Mrs. Gusty desired for a son-in-law. 

"Oh, no, " said the girl, indifferently; "she hasn't thought of anybody. But I don't want to get married--yet. I want to go back to the seminaryand be a music teacher. I hate it here, every bit of it. It's sostupid--and lonesome, and--"

A break in her voice caused Mr. Opp to postpone a decision of the day onwhich his paper was to be published, and to give her his undividedattention. Distress, even in beauty, was not to be withstood, and thefact that she was unusually pretty had been annoying Mr. Opp ever sinceshe had spoken to him. As she turned her head away and wiped her eyes, he rose impulsively and moved toward her:

"Say, look a-here now, you ain't crying, are you?" he asked. 

She shook her head in indignant denial. 

"Well--er--you don't seem exactly happy, as you might say, " suggestedMr. Opp, boldly. 

"I'm not, " she confessed, biting her lip. "I oughtn't to talk to youabout it, but there isn't anybody here that would understand. They thinkI'm stuck up when I talk about books and music and--and other kind ofpeople. They just keep on doing the same stupid things till they get oldand die. Only mother won't even let me do stupid things; she says Ibother her when I try to help around the house. "

"Can't you sew or make mottoes or something?" asked Mr. Opp, very vagueas to feminine accomplishments. 

"What's the use?" asked the girl. "Mother does everything for me. Shealways says she'd rather do it than teach me how. "

"Don't you take to reading?" asked Mr. Opp. 

"Oh, yes, " she said; "I used to read all the time down at school; butthere never is anything to read up here. "

The editor-elect peopled the country with similar cases, and heimmediately saw himself as a public benefactor supplying starvedsubscribers with a bountiful repast of weekly news. 

"Won't you sit down?" asked the girl, interrupting his reflections. "Idon't know what can be keeping mother. "

Mr. Opp looked about for a chair, but there was none. Then he glanced athis companion, and saw that she was holding aside her pink skirt andevidently offering him a seat beside her in the hammock. He advanced astep, retreated, then weakly capitulated. Sitting very rigid, nursinghis hat on his knees, and inserting his forefinger between his neck andhis collar as if to breathe better, he remarked that it was gettingwarmer all the time. 

"This isn't anything to what it will be later, " said the girl; "it keepson getting hotter and dustier all the time. I don't believe there's sucha stupid, poky, little old place anywhere else in the world. You oughtto be mighty glad you don't live here. "

Mr. Opp cleared his throat with some dignity. "I expect to remain herepermanent now. I--well--the truth is, I have decided to operate anewspaper here. "

"No!" cried the girl, incredulously. "Not in the Cove!"

"In the Cove, " repeated Mr. Opp, firmly. "There's great need here for alive, enterprising newspaper. It's a virgin field, you might say. Therenever was a place that needed a public voice more. My paper is going tobe a voice that hears all sides of a question; it's going to appeal tothe aged and the young and all them that lies between. "

"It will be mighty grand for us!" said his companion, with interest. "When is it going to start?"

Definite plans being decidedly nebulous, Mr. Opp wisely confined himselfto generalities. He touched casually on his remarkable fitness for thework, his wide experience, his worldly knowledge. He hinted that in timehe expected to venture into even deeper literary waters--poetry, and anovel, perhaps. As he talked, he realized that for the second time thatday he was looked upon with approval. Being accepted at his own estimateproved a new and exhilarating sensation. 

It was pleasant on the wide porch, with the honeysuckle shutting out thesun, and the long, yellow blossoms filling the air with fragrance. Itwas pleasant to hear the contented chuckle of the hens and the sleepyhum of the bees, and the sound of his own voice; but most of all it waspleasant, albeit disconcerting, to glance sidewise occasionally and finda pair of credulous brown eyes raised to his in frank admiration. Whatif the swing of the hammock was making him dizzy and one foot had goneto sleep? These were minor considerations unworthy of mention. 

"And just to think, " the girl was saying, "that you may be right acrossthe road! I won't mind staying at home so much if you'll let me comeover and see you make the newspaper. "

"You might like to assist sometime, " said Mr. Opp, magnanimously, at thesame time cautiously removing a fluttering pink ribbon from his knee. "Icould let you try your hand on a wedding or a 'bituary, or somethingalong that line. "

"Oh, really?" she cried, her eyes brightening. "I'd just love to. I canwrite compositions real nice, and you could help me a little. "

"Yes, " agreed Mr. Opp; "I could learn you to do the first draft, and Icould put on the extra touches. "

So engrossed did they become in these plans that they did not hear theclick of the gate, or see the small, aggressive lady who came up thewalk. She moved with the confident air of one who is in the habit ofbeing obeyed. Her skirt gave the appearance of no more daring to hangwrong than her bonnet-strings would have presumed to move from the exactspot where she had tied them under her left ear. Her small, bright eyes, slightly crossed, apparently saw two ways at once, for on her briefjourney from the gate to the porch, she decapitated two witheredgeraniums on the right, and picked up a stray paper and some dead leaveson the left. 

"Guin-never!" she called sharply, not seeing the couple on the porch, "who's been tracking mud in on my clean steps?"

The girl rose hastily and came forward. "Mother, " she said, "here's Mr. Opp. "

Mrs. Gusty glanced up from one to the other, evidently undecided how tomeet the situation. But the hesitancy was not for long; Mr. Opp'swatch-fob, glittering in the sunlight, symbolized such prosperity thatshe hastily extended a cordial hand of welcome. 

"You don't mean to tell me Guin-never has been keeping you out here onthe porch instead of taking you in the parlor? And hasn't she given youa thing to drink? Well, just wait till I get my things off and I'll fixa pitcher of lemonade. "

"Let me do it, Mother, " said Guinevere, eagerly; "I often do it atschool. "

"I'd hate to drink what you make, " said Mrs. Gusty, waving her aside. "You show Mr. Opp in the parlor. No; I'll open the shutters: you'd getyour hands dirty. " She bustled about with that tyrannical capabilitythat reduces every one near it to a state of helpless dependence. 

The parlor was cool and dark, and Mr. Opp felt around for a chair whilethe refractory shutter was being opened. When at last a shaft of lightwas admitted, it fell full upon a sable frame which hung above thehorse-hair sofa, and inclosed a glorified certificate of the births, marriages, and deaths in the house of Gusty. Around these written datawas a border realistically depicting the seven ages of man andculminating in a legend of gold which read

 From the Cradle to the Grave. 

While Mr. Opp was standing before this work of art, apparently deeplyinterested, he was, in reality, peeping through a crack in the shutter. The sunlight was still filtering through the honeysuckle vines, makingdancing, white patches on the porch, the bees were humming about theblossoms, and Miss Guinevere Gusty was still sitting in the hammock, herchin in her palms, gazing down the road. 

When Mrs. Gusty returned, she bore a glass pitcher of lemonade, a plateof crisp gingersnaps, and a tumbler of crushed ice, all of which restedupon a tray which was covered with her strawberry centerpiece, a mark ofdistinction which, unfortunately, was lost upon her guest. 

Mr. Opp, being a man of business, plunged at once into his subject, presenting the matter so eloquently and using so much more persuasionthan was necessary that he overshot the mark. Mrs. Gusty was not withoutbusiness sagacity herself, and when Mr. Opp met a possible objectionbefore it had ever occurred to her, she promptly made use of thesuggestion. 

"Of course, " said Mr. Opp, as a final inducement, "I'd be glad to runin some of Mr. Gusty's poetical pieces from time to time. "

This direct appeal to her sentiment so touched Mrs. Gusty that shesuggested they go over to the shop at once and look it over. 

For a moment after the door of his future sanctum was thrown open Mr. Opp was disconcerted. The small, dark room, cluttered with all manner oftrash, the broken window-panes, the dust, and the cobwebs, presented aprospect that was far from encouraging; but after an examination of thepresses, his courage revived. 

After a great deal of talk on Mr. Opp's part, and some shrewd bargainingon Mrs. Gusty's, the stupendous transaction was brought to a close, tothe eminent satisfaction of both parties. 

 * * * * *

It was late that night before Mr. Opp retired. He sat in the open windowof his bedroom and looked out upon the river. The cool night air and thequiet light of the stars calmed the turmoil in his brain. Gradually thecolossal schemes and the towering ambitions gave way to an emotion towhich the editor-elect was by no means a stranger. It was a littlewhite-faced Fear that lurked always in a corner of his heart, and couldbe kept down only by brave words and aggressive deeds. 

He sat with his trembling knees hunched, and his arms awkwardly claspedabout them, an absurd atom in the great cosmic order; yet the soul thatlooked out of his squinting, wistful eyes held all the potentialities oflife, and embodied the eternal sadness and the eternal inspiration ofhuman endeavor. 

VII

It is no small undertaking to embark in an untried ship, upon unknownwaters, in the teeth of opposing gales. But Mr. Opp sailed the sea oflife as a valiant mariner should, self-reliant, independent, askingadvice of nobody. He steered by the guidance of his own peculiar moralcompass, regardless of the rough waters through which it led him. 

Having invested the major portion of his savings in the present venture, it was necessary to begin operations at once; but events conspired toprevent him. Miss Kippy made many demands upon his time both by day andnight; she had transferred her affection and dependence from her fatherto him, and he found himself sorely encumbered by this newresponsibility. Moreover, the attitude of the town toward the innovationof a newspaper was one of frank skepticism, and it proved a delicate andarduous task to create the proper public sentiment. In addition to thesetroubles, Mr. Opp had a yet graver matter to hinder him: with all hisvalor and energy he was suffering qualms of uncertainty as to the propermethod of starting a weekly journal. 

To be sure, he had achieved a name for the paper--a name so eminentlysatisfactory that he had already had it emblazoned upon a ream of officepaper. "The Opp Eagle" had sprung full-syllabled from his teeming brain, and had been accepted over a hundred competitors. 

But naming the fledgling was an easy matter compared with getting it outof the nest; and it was not until the instalment of his competent staffthat Mr. Opp accomplished the task. 

This important transaction took place one morning as he sat in his newoffice and struggled with his first editorial. The bare room, with thepress in the center, served as news-room, press-room, publicationoffice, and editorial sanctum. Mr. Opp sat at a new deal table, with onepen behind his ear, and another in his hand, and gazed for inspirationat the brown wrapping-paper with which he had neatly covered the walls. His mental gymnastics were interrupted by the appearance at the door ofMiss Jim Fenton and her brother Nick. 

Miss Jim was an anomaly in the community, being by theory a spinster, and by practice a double grass-widow. Capable and self-supporting, sheattracted the ne'er-do-wells as a magnet attracts needles, but havingbeen twice induced to forego her freedom and accept the bonds ofwedlock, she had twice escaped and reverted to her original type andname. Miss Jim was evidently a victim of one of Nature's most economicalmoods; she was spare and angular, with a long, wrinkled face surmountedby a scant fluff of pale, frizzled hair. Her mouth slanted upward atone corner, giving her an expression unjustly attributed to coquetry, when in reality it was due to an innocent and pardonable pride in anall-gold eye-tooth. 

But it was her clothes that brought misunderstanding, misfortune, andeven matrimony upon Miss Jim. They were sent her by the boxful by acousin in the city, and the fact was unmistakable that they were clotheswith a past. The dresses held an atmosphere of evaporated frivolity;flirtations lingered in every frill, and memories of old larks lurked inevery furbelow. The hats had a jaunty list to port, and the coloredslippers still held a dance within their soles. One old bird of paradiseon Miss Jim's favorite bonnet had a chronic wink for the wickedness hehad witnessed. 

It was this wink that attracted Mr. Opp as he looked up from his arduouslabors. For a disconcerting moment he was uncertain whether it belongedto Miss Jim or to the bird. 

"Howdy, Mr. Opp, " said the lady in brisk, businesslike tones. "I wastaking a crayon portrait home to Mrs. Gusty, and I just stopped in tosee if I couldn't persuade you to take my brother to help you on thenewspaper. You remember Nick, don't you?"

Mr. Opp glanced up. A skeleton of a boy, with a shaven head, was peeringeagerly past him into the office, his keen, ferret-like eyes devouringevery detail of the printing-presses. 

"He knows the business, " went on Miss Jim, anxiously pulling at thefingers of her gloves. "He's been in it over a year at Coreyville. Hewants to go back; but I ain't willing till he gets stronger. He ain'tbeen up but two weeks. "

Mr. Opp turned impressively in his revolving chair, the one luxury whichhe had deemed indispensable, and doubtfully surveyed the applicant. Themere suggestion of his leaning upon this broken reed seemed ridiculous;yet the boy's thin, sallow face, and Miss Jim's imploring eyes, causedhim to hesitate. 

"Well, you see, " he said, with thumbs together and his lips pursed, after the manner of the various employers before whom he had stood inthe past, "we are just making a preliminary start, and we haven'tengaged our staff yet. I am a business man and a careful one. I don'tfeel justified in going to no extra expense until 'The Opp Eagle' is, ina way, on its feet. "

"Oh, that's all right, " said the boy; "I'll work a month for nothing. Lots of fellows do that on the big papers. "

Miss Jim plucked warningly at his sleeve, and Mr. Opp, seeing thatNick's enthusiasm had led him beyond his depth, went gallantly to therescue. 

"Not at all, " he said hastily; "that ain't my policy. I think I mightcontrive to pay you a small, reasonable sum down, and increase it inratio as the paper become more prosperous. Don't you think you bettersit down?"

"No, sir; I'm all right, " said the boy, impatiently. "I can do 'mostanything about a paper, setting type, printing, reporting, collecting, 'most anything you put me at. "

Such timely knowledge, in whatever guise it came, seemed Heaven-sent. Mr. Opp gave a sigh of satisfaction. 

"If you feel that you can't do any better than accepting the small sumthat just at present I'll have to offer you, why, I think we can come tosome arrangement. "

"That's mighty nice in you, " said Miss Jim, jerking her head forward inorder to correct an undue backward gravitation of her bonnet. "If everyou want a crayon portrait, made from life or enlarged from aphotograph, I'll make you a special price on it. I'm just taking thishere one home to Mrs. Gusty; she had it done for Guin-never's birthday. "

Miss Jim removed the wrappings and disclosed a portrait of MissGuinevere Gusty, very large as to eyes and very small as to mouth. Shehanded it to Mr. Opp, and called attention to its fine qualities. 

"Just look at the lace on that dress! Mrs. Fallows picked a wholepattern off on her needles from one of my portraits. And did you noticethe eyelashes; you can actually count 'em! She had four buttons on herdress, but I didn't get in but three; but I ain't going to mention it toMrs. Gusty. Don't you think it's pretty?"

Mr. Opp, who had been smiling absently at the portrait, startedguiltily. "Yes, " he said confusedly; "yes, ma'am, I think she is. " Thenhe felt a curious tingling about his ears and realized, to hisconsternation, that he was blushing. 

"She's too droopin' a type for me, " said Miss Jim, removing an ostrichtip from her angle of vision; then she continued in a side whisper:"Say, would you mind making Nick take this bottle of milk at twelveo'clock, and resting a little? He ain't as strong as he lets on, and hehas sort of sinking spells 'long about noon. "

Receiving the bottle thus surreptitiously offered, and assisting thelady to gather up her bundles, Mr. Opp bowed her out, and turned to facethe embarrassing necessity of giving instructions to his new employee. He was relieved to find, however, that the young gentleman in questionpossessed initiative; for Nick had promptly removed his coat, and fallento work, putting things to rights with an energy and ability that causedMr. Opp to offer up a prayer of heartfelt gratitude. 

All the morning they worked silently, Mr. Opp toiling over hiseditorial, with constant references to a small dictionary which heconcealed in the drawer of the table, and Nick giving the presses athorough and much-needed overhauling. 

At the noon-hour they shared their lunch, and Mr. Opp, firm in theauthority invested in him by Miss Jim, demanded that Nick should drinkhis milk, and recline at length upon the office bench for twentyminutes. It was with great difficulty that Nick was persuaded to submitto this transferred coddling; but he evidently realized thatinsubordination at the start of his career would be fatal, and, moreover, his limbs ached and his hands trembled. 

It was in the intimacy of this, their first, staff meal, that theydiscussed the policy of the paper. 

"Of course, " said Mr. Opp, "we have got a vast undertaking in front ofus. For the next few months we won't scarcely have time to draw anatural breath. I am going to put every faculty I own on to making 'TheOpp Eagle' a fine paper. I expect to get here at seven o'clock A. M. , andcontinue to pursue my work as far into the midnight hours as may needbe. Nothing in the way of pleasure or anything else is going to pervertmy attention. Of course you understand that my mind will be taken upwith the larger issues of things, and I'll have to risk a dependence onyou to attend to the smaller details. "

"All right, " said Nick, gratefully; "you won't be sorry you trusted me, Mr. Opp. I'll do my level best. When will we get out the first issue?"

"Well--er--the truth is, " said Mr. Opp, "I haven't, as you might say, accumulated sufficient of material as yet. You see, I have a great manyirons in the fire, and besides opening up this office, I am thepresident of a company that's just bought up twenty acres of groundaround here. The biggest oil proposition--"

"Yes, sir, " interrupted Nick; "but don't you think we could get startedin two weeks, with the ads and the contributors' letters from othercounties, and a story or two I could run in, and your editorial page?"

"I've got two advertisements, " said Mr. Opp; "but I don't intend to restcontent until every man in the Cove has got a card in. Now, about thesecontributors from other counties?"

"I can manage that, " said Nick. "I'll write to some girl or fellow Iknow in the different towns, and ask them to give me a weekly letter. They sign themselves 'Gipsy' or 'Fairy' or 'Big Injun' or somethinglike that, and tell what's doing in their neighborhood. We'll have tofix the letters up some, but they help fill in like everything. "

Mr. Opp's spirits rose at this capable coöperation. 

"You--er--like the name?" he asked. 

"'The Opp Eagle'?" said Nick. "Bully!"

Such unqualified approval went to Mr. Opp's head, and he rashly brokethrough the dignity that should hedge about an editor. 

"I don't mind reading you some of my editorial, " he said urbanely; "it'sthe result of considerable labor. "

He opened the drawer and took out some loosely written pages, though heknew each paragraph by heart. Squaring himself in his revolving-chair, and clearing his throat, he addressed himself ostensibly to thecadaverous youth stretched at length before him, but in imagination toall the southern counties of the grand old Commonwealth of Kentucky. 

His various business experiences had stored such an assorted lot ofinformation in his brain that it was not unlike a country store in thediversity of its contents. His style, like his apparel, was more ornateand pretentious than what lay beneath it. There were many words which heknew by sight, but with which he had no speaking acquaintance. But Mr. Opp had ideals, and this was the first opportunity he had ever had toput them before his fellow-men. 

"The great bird of American Liberty, " he read impressively, "has soaredand flown over the country and lighted at last in your midst. 'The OppEagle' appears for the first time to-day. It is no money scheme in whichwe are indulging; we aim first and foremost to fulfil a much-needed wantin the community. 'The Opp Eagle' will tell the people what you want toknow better and at less expense than any other method. It will aim atbringing the priceless gems of knowledge within the reach of everybody. For what is bread to the body if you do not also clothe the mindspiritually and mentally?

"We will boom this, our native, city. If possible, I hope to get thestreets cleaned up and a railroad, and mayhap in time lamp-posts. Thisregion has ever been known for its great and fine natural resources, butwe have been astounded, you might say astonished, in recent visits tosee its naked and crude immensities, which far exceeds our most sanguineexpectations. So confident are we that a few of our most highlyrespectable citizens have, at the instigation of the Editor of 'The OppEagle, ' bought up the land lying between Turtle Creek and the river, andas soon as a little more capital has been accumulated, intend to open upa oil proposition that will astonish the eyes of the natives!

"In all candor, we truly believe this favored region of ours to have noequal in underground wealth nowhere upon this terrestrial earth, albeitwe are not of globe-trotter stock nor tribe. We will endeavor to inducethe home people to copy after the wise example of a few of our leadingcitizens and buy up oil rights before the kings of Bonanzas from theMetropolitan cities discover our treasure and wrench it from our grasp. 'The Opp Eagle' will, moreover, stand for temperance and reform. We willhurl grape and cannister into the camps of the saloonatics until theyflee the wrath to come. Will also publish a particular statement of allsocial entertainments, including weddings, parties, church socials, andfunerals. In conclusion, would say that we catch this first opportunityto thank you in collective manner herein for the welcome you haveordained 'The Opp Eagle. '"

Mr. Opp came to a close and waited for applause; nor was hedisappointed. 

"Gee! I wish I could write like that!" said Nick, rising on his elbow. "I can do the printing all right, and hustle around for the news; but Inever know how to put on the trimmings. "

Mr. Opp laid a hand upon his shoulder; he was fast developing afondness for the youth. 

"It's a gift, " he said sympathetically, "that I am afraid, my boy, nobody can't learn you. "

"Can I come in?" said a voice from outside, and Mr. Gallop peeped aroundthe open door. 

"Walk in, " cried Mr. Opp, while Nick sprang to his feet. "We are just byway of finishing up the work at hand, and have a few minutes of spareleisure. "

"I just wanted to know if you'd help us get up a town band, " said Mr. Gallop. "I told the boys you'd be too busy, but they made me come. Iasked Mr. Fallows if you was musical; but I wouldn't repeat what hesaid. "

"Oh, Jimmy is just naturally humoristic, " said Mr. Opp. "Go along andtell me what he remarked. "

"Well, " said Mr. Gallop, indignantly, "he said you was a expert on thewind-pipe! Mr. Tucker, I believe it was, thought you used to play theaccordion. "

"No, " said Mr. Opp; "it was the cornet. I was considerable of aperformer at one time. "

"Well, we want you for the leader of our band, " said Mr. Gallop. "We aregoing to have blue uniforms and give regular concerts up on MainStreet. "

Nick Fenny began searching for a pencil. 

"You know, " went on Mr. Gallop, rapidly, "the last show boat that washere had a calliope, and there's another one coming next week. All Ihave to do is to hear a tune twice, then I can play it. Miss Guin-neverGusty is going up to Coreyville next week, and she says she'll get ussome new pieces. She's going to select a plush self-rocker for thecongregation to give the new preacher. They're keeping it awful secret, but I heard 'em mention it over the telephone. The preacher's baby hasbeen mighty sick, and so has his mother, up at the Ridge; but she's gotwell again. Well, I must go along now. Ain't it warm?"

Before Mr. Opp had ceased showing Mr. Gallop out, his attention wasarrested by the strange conduct of his staff. That indefatigable youthwas writing furiously on the new wall-paper, covering the clean brownsurface with large, scrawling characters. 

Mr. Opp's indignation was checked at its source by the radiant facewhich Nick turned upon him. 

"I've got another column!" he cried; "listen here:

"'A new and handsome Show Boat will tie up at the Cove the early part ofnext week. A fine calliope will be on board. '

"'Miss Guinevere Gusty will visit friends in Coreyville soon. '

"'The new preacher will be greatly surprised soon by the gift of a fineplush rocking-chair from the ladies of the congregation. '

"'The infant baby of the new preacher has been sick, but is bettersome. '

"'Jimmy Fallows came near getting an undertaking job at the Ridge lastweek, but the lady got well. '

"And that ain't all, " he continued excitedly; "I'm going out now to getall the particulars about that band, and we'll have a long story aboutit. "

Mr. Opp, left alone in his office, made an unsuccessful effort to resumework. The fluttering of the "Eagle's" wings preparatory to taking flightwas not the only thing that interfered with his power of concentration. He did not at all like the way he felt. Peculiar symptoms had developedin the last week, and the quinine which he had taken daily had failed torelieve him. He could not say that he was sick, --in fact, he had neverbeen in better health, --but there was a strange feeling of restlessness, a vague disturbance of his innermost being, that annoyed and puzzledhim. Even as he tried to solve the problem, an irresistible impulsebrought him to his feet and carried him to the door. Miss GuinevereGusty was coming out of her gate in a soft, white muslin, and a chip hatladen with pink roses. 

"Anything I can do for you up street?" she called across pleasantly toMr. Opp. 

"Why, thank you--no, the fact is--well, you see, I find it necessary forme to go up myself. " Mr. Opp heard himself saying these words with greatsurprise, and when he found himself actually walking out of the office, leaving a large amount of unfinished work, his indignation knew nobounds. 

"The sun is awful hot. Ain't you goin' to wear a hat?" drawled MissGuinevere. 

Mr. Opp put his hand to his head in some embarrassment, and then assuredher that he very often went without it. 

They sauntered slowly down the dusty road. On one side the trees hedgedthem in, but on the other stretched wide fields of tasseled corn overwhich shimmered waves of summer heat. White butterflies flutteredconstantly across their path, and overhead, hidden somewhere in thebranches, the birds kept up a constant song. The August sun, still highin the heavens, shone fiercely down on the open road, on the ragweed bythe wayside, on the black-eyed Susans nodding at the light; but it fellmost mercilessly of all upon the bald spot on the head of theunconscious Mr. Opp, who was moving, as in an hypnotic state, into theland of romance. 

VIII

By all the laws of physics, Mr. Opp during the months that ensued, should have stood perfectly still. For if ever two forces pulled withequal strength in opposite directions, love and ambition did in theheart of our friend the editor. But Mr. Opp did not stand still; on thecontrary, he seemed to be moving in every direction at once. 

In due time "The Opp Eagle" made its initial flight, and received theapprobation of the community. The first page was formal, containing theeditorial, a list of the subscribers, a notice to tax-payers, and threeadvertisements, one of which requested "the lady public to please notethat the hats put out by Miss Duck Brown do not show the wire composingthe frame. "

But the first page of the "Eagle" was like the front door of a house:when once you got on the other side of it, you were in the family, as itwere, formality was dropped, and an easy atmosphere of familiarityprevailed. You read that Uncle Enoch Siller had Sundayed over at theRidge, or that Aunt Gussy Williams was on the puny list, and frequentlythere were friendly references to "Ye Editor" or "Ye Quill Driver, " forafter soaring to dizzy heights in his editorials, Mr. Opp condescendedto come down on the second page and move in and out of the columns, as ahost among his guests. 

It is painful to reflect what would have been the fate of the infatuatedMr. Opp in these days had it not been for the faithful Nick. Nick'sthirst for work was insatiable; he yearned for responsibility, and wasnever so happy as when gathering news. He chased an item as a dog mightchase a rat, first scenting it, then hunting it down, and aftermutilating it a bit, proudly returning it to his master. 

Mr. Opp was enabled, by this competent assistance, to spare many ahalf-hour in consultation with Miss Guinevere Gusty concerning thereportorial work she was going to do on the paper. The fact that nobodydied or got married delayed all actual performance, but in order to beready for the emergency, frequent calls were deemed expedient. 

It became part of the day's program to read her his editorial, orconsult her about some social item, or to report a new subscriber, hisself-esteem meanwhile putting forth all manner of new shoots andbursting into exotic bloom under the warmth of her approval. 

Miss Gusty, on her part, was acquiring a new interest in hersurroundings. In addition to the subtle flattery of being consulted, shewas the recipient of daily offerings of books, and music, and drugstorecandy, and sometimes a handful of flowers, carefully concealed in anewspaper to escape the vigilant eye of Jimmy Fallows. 

On several occasions she returned Mr. Opp's calls, picking her waydaintily across the road, and peeping in at the window to make sure hewas there. 

It was at such times that the staff of "The Opp Eagle" misconducteditself. It objected to a young woman in the press-room; it disapprovedof the said person sitting at the deal table in confidentialconversation with the editor; it saw no humor in her dipping the pencilsinto the ink-well, and scrawling names on the new office stationery; andwhen the point was reached that she moved about the office, askingabsurd questions and handling the type, the staff could no longer endureit, but hastened forth to forget its annoyance in the pursuit ofbusiness. 

Moreover, the conduct of the chief, as Nick was pleased to call Mr. Opp, was becoming more and more peculiar. He would arrive in the morning, hispockets bristling with papers, and his mind with projects. He wouldattack the work of the day with ferocious intensity, then in the midstof it, without warning, he would lapse into an apparent trance, hishands in his pockets, his eyes on the ceiling, and such a smile on hisface as one usually reserves for a camera. 

Nick did not know that it was the song of the siren that was calling Mr. Opp, who, instead of lashing himself to the mast and steering for theopen sea, was letting his little craft drift perilously near the rockycoast. 

No feature of the proceedings was lost upon Mrs. Gusty. She applied thesame method to her daughter that she did to her vines, tying her firmlyto the wall of her own ability, and prescribing the direction and lengthto which she should grow. The situation would need pruning later, butfor the present she studied conditions and bided her time. 

Meanwhile the "Eagle" was circling more widely in its flight. Mr. Opp'spersistent and eloquent articles pertaining to the great oil wealth ofthe region had been reinforced by a favorable report from the laboratoryin the city to which he had sent a specimen from the spring on TurtleCreek. Thus equipped with wings of hope, and a small ballast of fact, the "Eagle" went soaring on its way, and in time attracted the attentionof a party of capitalists who were traveling through the State, investigating oil and mineral possibilities. 

One epoch-making day, the editor was called up over the long-distancetelephone, and, after answering numerous inquiries, was told that theparty expected to spend the following night in the Cove. 

This important event took place the last of November, and threw the towninto great excitement. Mr. Opp received the message early in themorning, and immediately set to work to call a meeting of the TurtleCreek Land Company. 

"This here is one of the most critical moments in the history of CoveCity, " he announced excitedly to Nick. "It's a most fortunate thing thatthey've got me here to make the preliminary arrangements, and to sort ofget the thing solidified, as you might say. I'll call a meeting foreleven o'clock at Your Hotel. You call up old man Hager and thepreacher, and I will undertake to notify Jimmy Fallows and Mr. Tucker. "

"The preacher ain't in town; he's out at Smither's Ridge, marrying acouple. I got the whole notice written out beforehand. "

"Well, tear it up, " said Mr. Opp. "I've engaged a special hand to do allweddings and funerals. "

Nick looked hurt; this was the first time his kingdom had been invaded. He kicked the door sullenly. 

"I can't get the preacher if he's out at Smither's Ridge. "

"Nick, " said Mr. Opp, equally hurt, "is that the way for a subordinatereporter to talk to a' editor? You don't seem to realize that this hereis a very serious and large transaction. There may be hundreds ofdollars involved. It's a' awful weight of responsibility for one man. I'm willing to finance it and conduct the main issues, but I've got tohave the backing of all the other parties. Now it's with you whetherthe preacher gets there or not. "

"Shall I hunt up Mat Lucas, too?" asked Nick as he started forth. 

"No; that's my branch of the work: but--say--Nick, your sister will haveto be there; she owns some shares. "

"All right, " said Nick; "her buggy is hitched up in front of Tucker's. I'll tell her to wait till you come. "

Mr. Opp was not long in following. He walked down the road with animportant stride, his bosom scarcely able to accommodate the feeling ofpride and responsibility that swelled it. He was in a position of trust;his fellow-citizens would look to him, a man of larger experience andbusiness ability, to deal with these moneyed strangers. He would befair, but shrewd. He knew the clever wiles of the capitalists; he wouldmeet them with calm but unyielding dignity. 

It was in this mood that he came upon Miss Jim, who was in the act ofdisentangling a long lace scarf from her buggy whip. Her flushed faceand flashing eyes gave such unmistakable signs of wrath that Mr. Oppglanced apprehensively at the whip in her hand, and then at JimmyFallows, who was hitching her horse. 

"Howdy, Mr. Opp, " she said. "It's a pleasure to meet a gentleman, afterwhat I've seen. "

"I hope, " said Mr. Opp, "that our friend here ain't been indulging inhis customary--"

"It ain't Mr. Fallows, " she broke in sharply; "it's Mr. Tucker. He ain'tgot the feeling of a broomstick. "

"Now, Miss Jim, " began Jimmy Fallows in a teasing tone; but the ladyturned her back upon him and addressed Mr. Opp. 

"You see this portrait, " she said angrily, pulling it out from under theseat. "It took me four weeks, including two Sunday afternoons, to makeit. I begun it the second week after Mrs. Tucker died, when I seen himtakin' on so hard at church. He was cryin' so when they took up thecollection that he never even seen the plate pass him. I went righthome and set to work on this here portrait, thinking he'd be glad andwilling to buy it from me. Wouldn't you, if you was a widower?"

Mr. Opp gazed doubtfully at the picture, which represented Mr. Tuckersitting disconsolately beside a grave, with a black-borderedhandkerchief held lightly between his fingers. A weeping-willow droopedabove him, and on the tombstone at his side were two angels supportingthe initials of the late Mrs. Tucker. 

"Why, Miss Jim, " insisted Fallows, "you're askin' too much of old manTucker to expect him to keep on seein' a tombstone when he's got one eyeon you and one eye on the Widow Gusty. He ain't got any hair on top ofhis head to part, but he's took to partin' it down the back, and I seenhim Sunday trying to read the hymns without his spectacles. He startedup on 'Let a Little Sunshine In' when they was singing 'Come, yeDisconsolate. ' You rub out the face and the initials on that therepicture and keep it for the nex' widower. Ketch him when he's stilldroopin'. You'll get your money back. Your mistake was in waiting toolong. "

"Speaking of waiting, " said Mr. Opp, impatiently, "there's a callmeeting of the Turtle Creek Land Co. For this morning at eleven at YourHotel. Hope it's convenient, Jimmy. "

"Oh, yes, " said Jimmy; "we got more empty chairs at Your Hotel thananything else. What's the meeting for? Struck gold?"

Mr. Opp imparted the great news. 

"Oh, my land!" exclaimed Miss Jim, "will they be here to-day?"

"Not until to-morrow night, " explained Mr. Opp. "This here meeting thismorning is for the stock-holders only. We got to kinder outline ourpolicy and arrange a sort of basis of operation. "

"Well, " said Miss Jim, "I'll take the portrait up to Mrs. Gusty's andask her to take care of it for me. I don't know as I can do the faceover into somebody else's, but I can't afford to lose it. "

It was afternoon before the stock-holders could all be brought together. They assembled in the office of Your Hotel in varying states of mindranging from frank skepticism to intense enthusiasm. 

Mr. Tucker represented the conservative element. He was the rich man ofthe town, with whom economy, at first a necessity, had become a luxury. No greater proof could have been desired of Mr. Opp's persuasive powersthan that Mr. Tucker had invested in a hundred shares of the new stock. He sat on the edge of his chair, wizen, anxious, fidgety, loaded withobjections, and ready to go off half-cocked. Old man Hager sat in hisshadow, objecting when he objected, voting as he voted, and prepared toloosen or tighten his purse-strings as Mr. Tucker suggested. 

Mat Lucas and Miss Jim were independents. They had both had sufficientexperience in business to know their own minds. If there was any moneyto be made in the Cove or about it, they intended to have a part in it. 

Mr. Opp and the preacher constituted the Liberal party. They furnishedthe enthusiasm that floated the scheme. They were able to projectthemselves into the future and prophesy dazzling probabilities. 

Jimmy Fallows, alone of the group, maintained an artistic attitudetoward the situation. He was absolutely detached. He sat with his chairtilted against the door and his thumbs in his armholes, and treated thewhole affair as a huge joke. 

"The matter up for immediate consideration, " Mr. Opp was sayingimpressively, "is whether these here gentlemen should want to buy usout, we would sell, or whether we would remain firm in possession, andlet them lease our ground and share the profits on the oil. "

"Well, I'm kinder in favor of selling out if we get the chance, " urgedMr. Tucker in a high, querulous voice. "To sell on a rising market isalways a pretty good plan. "

"After we run up ag'in' them city fellows, " said Mat Lucas, "I'll besurprised if we git as much out as we put in. "

"Gentlemen, " protested Mr. Opp, "this here ain't the attitude to assumeto the affair. To my profoundest belief there is a fortune in these herelands. The establishment of 'The Opp Eagle' has, as you know, been aconsiderable tax on my finances, but everything else I've got has goneinto this company. It's a great and glorious opportunity, one that Ibeen predicting and prophesying for these many years. Are we going tosell out to this party, and let them reap the prize? No; I trust andhope that such is not the case. In order to have more capital to open upthe mines, I advocate the taking of them in. "

"I bet they been advocating the taking of us in, " chuckled Jimmy. 

"Well, my dear friends, suppose we vote on it, " suggested the preacher. 

"Reach yer hand back there in the press, Mr. Opp, and git thelead-pencil, " said Jimmy, without moving. 

"The motion before the house, " said Mr. Opp, "is whether we will sellout or take 'em in. All in favor say 'Aye. '"

There was a unanimous vote in the affirmative, although each memberinterpreted the motion in his own way. 

"Very well, " said Mr. Opp, briskly; "the motion is carried. Now we gotto arrange about entertaining the party. "

Mr. Tucker, whose brain was an accommodation stopping at each station, was still struggling with the recent motion when this new thought aboutentertainment whizzed past. The instinct of the landlord awoke at thecall, and he promptly switched off the main line and went down the sidetrack. 

"Gallop was here while ago, " Jimmy was saying, with a satisfied glanceat Mr. Tucker; "said they wanted me to take keer of 'em. I'll 'commodateall but the preachers. If there are any preachers, Mr. Tucker kin have'em. I have to draw the line somewheres. I can't stand 'em'Brother-Fallowsing' me. Last time the old woman corralled one andbrought him home, he was as glad to find me to work on as she'd 'a' be'nto git some fruit to preserve. 'Brother, ' he says, reaching out for myhand, 'do you ever think about the awful place you are going to when youdie?' 'You bet, ' says I; 'I got more friends there than anywhere. '" AndJimmy's laugh shook the stove-pipe. 

"How many gentlemen are coming to-morrow?" asked Miss Jim, who wassitting in a corner as far as possible from Mr. Tucker. 

"Ten, " said Jimmy. "Now, you wouldn't think it, but this here hotel hasgot six bedrooms. I've tooken care of as many as twenty at a time, easy, but I'll be hanged if I ever heard of such foolishness as every one ofthese fellers wantin' a room to hisself. "

"I've got three rooms empty, " said Mr. Tucker. 

"Well, that leaves one over, " said Mat Lucas. "I'd take him out home, but we've got company, and are sleeping three in a bed now. "

Mr. Opp hesitated; then his hospitality overcame his discretion. 

"Just consider him my guest, " he said. "I'll be very pleased to provideentertainment for the gentleman in question. "

Not until the business of the day was over, and Mr. Opp was startinghome, did he realize how tired he was. It was not his duties as aneditor, or even as a promoter, that were telling on him; it was hisdomestic affairs that preyed upon his mind. For Mr. Opp not only led astrenuous life by day, but by night as well. Miss Kippy's day began withhis coming home, and ended in the morning when he went away; the rest ofthe time she waited. 

Just now the problem that confronted him was the entertainment of theexpected guest. Never, since he could remember, had a stranger invadedthat little world where Miss Kippy lived her unreal life of dreams. What effect would it have upon her? Would it be kinder to hide her awayas something he was ashamed of, or to let her appear and run the risk ofexposing her deficiency to uncaring eyes? During the months that he hadwatched her, a fierce tenderness had sprung up in his heart. He hadbecome possessed of the hope that she might be rescued from hercondition. Night after night he patiently tried to teach her to read andto write, stopping again and again to humor her whims and indulge herfoolish fancies. More than once he had surprised a new look in her eyes, a sudden gleam of sanity, of frightened understanding; and at such timesshe would cling to him for protection against that strange thing thatwas herself. 

As he trudged along, deep in thought, a white chrysanthemum fell at hisfeet. Looking up, he discovered Miss Guinevere Gusty, in a red cloak andhat, sitting on the bank with a band-box in her lap. 

His troubles were promptly swallowed up in the heart-quake whichensued; but his speech was likewise, and he stood foolishly opening andshutting his mouth, unable to effect a sound. 

"I am waiting for the packet to go down to Coreyville, " announced MissGusty, straightening her plumed hat, and smiling. "Mr. Gallop says it'san hour late; but I don't care, it's such a grand day. "

Mr. Opp removed his eyes long enough to direct an inquiring glance atthe heavens and the earth. "Is it?" he asked, finding his voice. "I beenso occupied with business that I haven't scarcely taken occasion to notethe weather. "

"Why, it's all soft and warm, just like spring, " she continued, holdingout her arms and looking up at the sky. "I've been wishing I had time towalk along the river a piece. "

"I'll take you, " said Mr. Opp, eagerly. "We can hear the whistle of theboat in amply sufficient time to get back. Besides, it is a hour late. "

She hesitated. "You're real sure you can get me back?"

"Perfectly, " he announced. "I might say in all my experience I neverhave yet got a lady left on a boat. "

Miss Guinevere, used to being guided, handed him her band-box, andfollowed him up the steep bank. 

The path wound in and out among the trees, now losing itself in thewoods, now coming out upon the open river. The whole world was a riot ofcrimson and gold, and it was warm with that soft echo of summer thatbrings some of its sweetness, and all of its sadness, but none of itsmirth. 

Mr. Opp walked beside his divinity oblivious to all else. The sunlightfell unnoticed except when it lay upon her face; the only breeze thatblew from heaven was the one that sent a stray curl floating across hercheek. As Mr. Opp walked, he talked, putting forth every effort toplease. His burning desire to be worthy of her led him into all mannerof verbal extravagances, and the mere fact that she was taller than hecaused him to indulge in more lofty and figurative language. He capturedfugitive quotations, evolved strange metaphors, coined words, and pouredall in a glittering heap of eloquence before her shrine. 

As he talked, his companion moved heedlessly along beside him, stoppingnow and then to gather a spray of goldenrod, or to gaze absently at theriver through some open space in the trees. For Miss Guinevere Gustylived in a world of her own--a world of vague possibilities, ofhalf-defined longings, and intangible dreams. Love was still an abstractsentiment, something radiant and breathless that might envelop her atany moment and bear her away to Elysium. 

As she stooped to free her skirt from a detaining thorn, she pointeddown the bank. 

"There's some pretty sweet-gum leaves; I wish they weren't so far down. "

"Where?" demanded Mr. Opp, rashly eager to prove his gallantry. 

"'Way down over the edge; but you mustn't go, it's too steep. "

"Not for me, " said Mr. Opp, plunging boldly through the underbrush. 

The tree grew at a sharp angle over the water, and the branches were sofar up that it was necessary to climb out a short distance in order toreach them. Mr. Opp's soul was undoubtedly that of a knight-errant, buthis body, alas! was not. When he found himself astride the slender, swaying trunk, with the bank dropping sharply to the river flowingdizzily beneath him, he went suddenly and unexpectedly blind. Betweenadmiration for himself for ever having gotten there, and despair of evergetting back, lay the present necessity of loosening his hold longenough to break off a branch of the crimson leaves. He tried opening oneeye, but the effect was so terrifying that he promptly closed it. Hepictured himself, a few moments before, strolling gracefully along theroad conversing brilliantly upon divers subjects; then he bitterlyconsidered the present moment and the effect he must be producing uponthe young lady in the red cloak on the path above. He saw himselfclinging abjectly to the swaying tree-trunk, only waiting for hisstrength or the tree to give away, before he should be plunged into thewaters below. 

"That's a pretty spray, " called the soft voice from above; "that oneabove, to the left. "

Mr. Opp, rallying all his courage, reached blindly out in the directionindicated, and as he did so, he realized that annihilation was imminent. Demonstrating a swift geometrical figure in the air, he felt himselfhurling through space, coming to an abrupt and awful pause when hestruck the earth. Perceiving with a thrill of surprise that he was stillalive, he cautiously opened his eyes. To his further amazement he foundthat he had landed on his feet, unhurt, and that in his left hand heheld a long branch of sweet-gum leaves. 

"Why, you skinned the cat, didn't you?" called an admiring voice fromabove. "I was just wondering how you was ever going to get down. "

Mr. Opp crawled up the slippery bank, his knees trembling so that hecould scarcely stand. 

"Yes, " he said, as he handed her the leaves; "those kind of athleticacts seem to just come natural to some people. "

"You must be awful strong, " continued Guinevere, looking at him withapproval. 

Mr. Opp sank beside her on the bank and gave himself up to the fullenjoyment of the moment. Both hands were badly bruised, and he had a dimmisgiving that his coat was ripped up the back; but he was happy, withthe wild, reckless happiness of one to whom Fate has been unexpectedlykind. Moreover, the goal toward which all his thought had been rushingfor the past hour was in sight. He could already catch glimpses of thevision beautiful. He could hear himself storming the citadel with magicwords of eloquence. Meanwhile he nursed the band-box and smiled dumblyinto space. 

From far below, the pungent odor of burning leaves floated up, and theair was full of a blue haze that became luminous as the sun transfusedit. It enveloped the world in mystery, and threw a glamour over thedying day. 

"It's so pretty it hurts, " said the girl, clasping her hands about herknees. "I love to watch it all, but it makes the shivers go overme--makes me feel sort of lonesome. Don't it you?"

Mr. Opp shook his head emphatically. It was the one time in years thatdown in the depths of his soul he had not felt lonesome. For as Indiansummer had come back to earth, so youth had come back to Mr. Opp. Theflower of his being was waking to bloom, and the spring tides were atflood. 

A belated robin overhead, unable longer to contain his rapture, burstinto song; but Mr. Opp, equally full of his subject, was unable to uttera syllable. The sparkling eloquence and the fine phrases had evaporated, and only the bare truth was left. 

Guinevere, having become aware of the very ardent looks that were beingcast upon her, said she thought the boat must be about due. 

"Oh, no, " said Mr. Opp; "that is, I was about to say--why--er--say, MissGuin-never, do you think you could ever come to keer about me?"

Guinevere, thus brought to bay, took refuge in subterfuge. "Why--Mr. Opp--I'm not old enough for you. "

"Yes, you are, " he burst forth fervently. "You are everything for me:old enough, and beautiful enough, and smart enough, and sweet enough. Inever beheld a human creature that could even begin to think aboutcomparing with you. "

Guinevere, in the agitation of the moment, nervously plucked all theleaves from the branch that had been acquired with such effort. It waswith difficulty that she finally managed to lift her eyes. 

"You've been mighty good to me, " she faltered, "and--and made me lotshappier; but I--I don't care in the way you mean. "

"Is there anybody else?" demanded Mr. Opp, ready to hurl himself todestruction if she answered in the affirmative. 

"Oh, no, " she answered him; "there never has been anybody. "

[Illustration: "'Why, Mr. Opp, I'm not old enough'"]

"Then I'll take my chance, " said Mr. Opp, expanding his narrow chest. "Whatever I've got out of the world I've had to fight for. I don't mindsaying to you that I was sorter started out with a handicap. You know mysister--she's a--well, a' invalid, you might say, and while her pa wasliving, my fortunes wasn't what you might call as favorable as they areat present. I never thought there would be any use in my consideringgetting married till I met you, then I didn't seem able somehow toconsider nothing else. If you'll just let me, I'll wait. I'll learn youto care. I won't bother you, but just wait patient as long as you say. "And this from Mr. Opp, whose sands of life were already half-run! "All Iask for, " he went on wistfully, "is a little sign now and then. Youmight give me a little look or something just to keep the time fromseeming too long. "

It was almost a question, and as he leaned toward her, with the sunlightin his eyes, something of the beauty of the day touched him, too, justas it touched the weed at his feet, making them both for onetranscendent moment part of the glory of the world. 

Guinevere Gusty, already in love with love, and reaching blindly out forsomething deeper and finer in her own life, was suddenly engulfed in awave of sympathy. She involuntarily put out her hand and touched hisfingers. 

The sun went down behind the distant shore, and the light faded on theriver. Mr. Opp was almost afraid to breathe; he sat with his eyes on thefar horizon, and that small, slender hand in his, and for the moment theworld was fixed in its orbit, and Time itself stood still. 

Suddenly out of the silence came the long, low whistle of the boat. Theyscrambled to their feet and hurried down the path, Mr. Opp having sometrouble in keeping up with the nimbler pace of the girl. 

"I'll be calculatin' every minute until the arrival of the boatto-morrow night, " he was gasping as they came within sight of the wharf. "I'll be envyin' every--"

"Where's my band-box?" demanded Guinevere. "Why, Mr. Opp, if you haven'tgone and left it up in the woods!"

Five minutes later, just as the bell was tapping for the boat to start, a flying figure appeared on the wharf. He was hatless and breathless, his coat was ripped from collar to hem, and a large band-box flappedmadly against his legs as he ran. He came down the home-stretch at arecord-breaking pace, stepped on board as the gang-plank was lifted, deposited his band-box on the deck, then with a running jump cleared therapidly widening space between the boat and the shore, and dropped uponthe wharf. 

He continued waving his handkerchief even after the boat had roundedthe curve, then, having edited a paper, promoted a large enterprise, effected a proposal, and performed two remarkable athletic stunts all inthe course of a day, Mr. Opp turned his footsteps toward home. 

IX

The next day dawned wet and chilly. A fine mist hung in the trees, andthe leaves and grasses sagged under their burden of moisture. All thecrimson and gold had changed to brown and gray, and the birds andcrickets had evidently packed away their chirps and retired for theseason. 

By the light of a flickering candle, Mr. D. Webster Opp partook of afrugal breakfast. The luxurious habits of the Moore household had madebreakfast a movable feast depending upon the time of Aunt Tish'sarrival, and in establishing the new régime Mr. Opp had found itnecessary to prepare his own breakfast in order to make sure of gettingto the office before noon. 

As he sipped his warmed-over coffee, with his elbows on the redtable-cloth, and his heels hooked on the rung of the chair, he recitedto himself in an undertone from a very large and imposing book which waspropped in front of him, the leaves held back on one side by acandlestick and on the other by a salt-cellar. It was a book which Mr. Opp was buying on subscription, and it was called "An Encyclopedia ofWonder, Beauty, and Wisdom. " It contained pellets of information on allsubjects, and Mr. Opp made it a practice to take several beforebreakfast, and to repeat the dose at each meal as circumstancespermitted. "An editor, " he told Nick, "has got to keep himselfinstructed on all subjects. He has got to read wide and continuous. "

As a rule he followed no special line in his pursuit of knowledge, butwith true catholicity of taste, took the items as they came, turningfrom a strenuous round with "Abbeys and Abbots, " to enter with fervorinto the wilds of "Abyssinia. " The straw which served as bookmarkpointed to-day to "Ants, " and ordinarily Mr. Opp would have attackedthe subject with all the enthusiasm of an entomologist. But even thebest regulated minds will at times play truant, and Mr. Opp's had takena flying leap and skipped six hundred and thirty-two pages, landingrecklessly in the middle of "Young Lochinvar. " For the encyclopedia, inits laudable endeavor not only to cover all intellectual requirements, but also to add the crowning grace of culture, had appended a collectionof poems under the title "Favorites, Old and New. "

Mr. Opp, thus a-wing on the winds of poesy, had sipped his tepid coffeeand nibbled his burnt toast in fine abstraction until he came upon aselection which his soul recognized. He had found words to the musicthat was ringing in his heart. It was then that he propped the book openbefore him, and determined not to close it until he had made the lineshis own. 

Later, as he trudged along the road to town, he repeated the verses tohimself, patiently referring again and again to the note-book in whichhe had copied the first words of each line. 

At the office door he regretfully dismounted from Pegasus, andresolutely turned his attention to the business of the day. His desirewas to complete the week's work by noon, spend the afternoon at home innecessary preparation for the coming guest, and have the following day, which was Saturday, free to devote to the interest of the oil company. 

In order to accomplish this, expedition was necessary, and Mr. Opp, being more bountifully endowed by nature with energy than with any otherquality, fell to work with a will. His zeal, however, interfered withhis progress, and he found himself in the embarrassing condition of amachine which is geared too high. 

He was, moreover, a bit bruised and stiff from the unusual performancesof the previous day, and any sudden motion caused him to wince. But thepain brought recollection, and recollection was instant balm. 

It was hardly to be expected that things would deviate from their usualcustom of becoming involved at a critical time, so Mr. Opp was notsurprised when Nick was late and had to be spoken to, a task which theeditor always achieved with great difficulty. Then the printing-presshad an acute attack of indigestion, and no sooner was that relieved thanthe appalling discovery was made that there were no more good "S's" inthe type drawer. 

"Use dollar-marks for the next issue, " directed Mr. Opp, "and I'll wireimmediate to the city. "

"We're kinder short on 'I's' too, " said Nick. "You take so many in yourarticles. "

Mr. Opp looked injured. "I very seldom or never begin on an 'I, '" hesaid indignantly. 

"You get 'em in somehow, " said Nick. "Why, the editor over at Coreyvilleeven said 'Our Wife. '"

"Yes, " said Mr. Opp, "I will, too, --that is--er--"

The telephone-bell covered his retreat. 

"Hello!" he answered in a deep, incisive voice to counteract the effectof his recent embarrassment, "Office of 'The Opp Eagle. ' Mr. Toddlinger?Yes, sir. You say you want your subscription stopped! Well, now, wait aminute--see here, I can explain that--" but the other party hadevidently rung off. 

Mr. Opp turned with exasperation upon Nick:

"Do you know what you went and did last week?" He rose and, going to thefile, consulted the top paper. "There it is, " he said, "just identicalwith what he asserted. "

Nick followed the accusing finger and read:

"Mr. And Mrs. Toddlinger moved this week into their new horse and lot. "

Before explanations could be entered into, there was a knock at thedoor. When it was answered, a very small black boy was discoveredstanding on the step. He wore a red shirt and a pair of ragged trousers, between which strained relations existed, and on his head was the brimof a hat from which the crown had long since departed. Hanging on atwine string about his neck was a large onion. 

He opened negotiations at once. 

"Old Miss says fer you-all to stop dat frowin' papers an' sech liketrash outen de winder; dey blows over in our-all's yard. "

He delivered the message in the same belligerent spirit with which ithad evidently been conveyed to him, and rolled his eyes at Mr. Opp as ifthe offense had been personal. 

Mr. Opp drew him in, and closed the door. "Did--er--did Mrs. Gusty sendyou over to say that?" he asked anxiously. 

"Yas, sir; she done havin' a mad spell. What's dat dere machine fer?"

"It's a printing-press. Do you think Mrs. Gusty is mad at me?"

"_Yas, sir_, " emphatically; "she's mad at ever'body. She 'lows she gwinelick me ef I don't tek keer. She done got de kitchen so full o'switches hit looks jes lak outdoors. "

"I don't think she would really whip you, " said Mr. Opp, already feelingthe family responsibility. 

"Naw, sir; she jes 'low she gwine to. What's in dem dere littledrawers?"

"Type, " said Mr. Opp. "You go back and tell Mrs. Gusty that Mr. Opp sayshe's very sorry to have caused her any inconvenience, and he'll sendover immediate and pick up them papers. "

"You's kinder skeered of her, too, ain't you?" grinned the ambassador, holding up one bare, black foot to the stove. "My mammy she sasses back, but I runs. "

"Well, you'd better run now, " said Mr. Opp, who resented such insight;"but, see here, what's that onion for?"

"To 'sorb disease, " said the youth, with the air of one who ispromulgating some advanced theory in therapeutics; "hit ketches it 'stidof you. My pappy weared a' onion fer put-near a whole year, an' hit'sorbed all de diseases whut was hangin' round, an' nary a one neverteched him. An' one day my pappy he got hongry, an' he et dat dereonion, an' whut you reckon? He up an' died!"

"Well, you go 'long now, " said Mr. Opp, "and tell Mrs. Gusty justexactly verbatim what I told you. What did you say was your name?"

"Val, " said the boy. 

Mr. Opp managed to slip a nickel into the dirty little hand withoutNick's seeing him. Nick was rather firm about these things, anddisapproved heartily of Mr. Opp's indiscriminate charities. 

"Gimme nudder one an' I'll tell you de rest ob it, " whispered Val on thedoor-step. 

Mr. Opp complied. 

"Valentine Day Johnson, " he announced with pride; then pocketing hisprize, he vanished around the corner of the house, forgetting his officeof plenipotentiary in his sudden accession of wealth. 

Once more peace settled on the office, and Mr. Opp was engrossed in anarticle on "The Greatest Petroleum Proposition South of the Mason andDixon Line, " when an ominous, wheezing cough announced the arrival ofMr. Tucker. This was an unexpected catastrophe, for Mr. Tucker's day forspending the morning at the office was Saturday, when he came in to payfor his paper. It seemed rather an unkind trick of Fate's that he shouldhave been permitted to arrive a day too soon. 

The old gentleman drew up a chair to the stove, then deliberatelyremoved his overcoat and gloves. 

It was when he took off his overshoes, however, that Mr. Opp and Nickexchanged looks of despair. They had a signal code which they habituallyemployed when storms swept the office, but in a calm like this they werepowerless. 

"Mighty sorry to hear about that uprisin' in Guatemala, " said Mr. Tucker, who took a vivid interest in foreign affairs, but remained quiteneutral about questions at home. 

Mr. Opp moved about the office restlessly, knowing from experience thatto sit down in the presence of Mr. Tucker was fatal. The only chance ofescape lay in motion. He sharpened his pencils, straightened his desk, and tied up two bundles of papers while Mr. Tucker's address on theprobable future of the Central American republics continued. Then Mr. Opp was driven to extreme measures. He sent himself a telegram. Thisruse was occasionally resorted to, to free the office from unwelcomevisitors without offending them, and served incidentally to produce aneffect which was not unpleasant to the editor. 

Scribbling a message on a telegraph-blank procured for the purpose fromMr. Gallop, Mr. Opp handed it secretly to Nick, who in turn vanished outof the back door only to reappear at the front. Then the editor, withmuch ostentation, opened the envelop, and, after reading the contents, declared that he had business that would require immediate action. WouldMr. Tucker excuse him? If so, Nick would hold his coat. 

"But, " protested Mr. Tucker, resisting the effort to force him into hisovercoat, "I want to talk over this oil business. We don't want to takeany risks with those fellows. As I was a-saying to Mr. Hager--"

"Yes, " said Mr. Opp, taking his own hat from a nail, and apparently ingreat haste, "I know, of course. You are exactly right about it. We'lljust talk it over as we go up-street, " and linking his arm through Mr. Tucker's, he steered him up the muddy channel of Main Street, and safelyinto the harbor of Our Hotel, where he anchored him breathless, butsatisfied. 

Having thus disposed, to the best of his ability, of his business forthe week, Mr. Opp turned his attention to his yet more arduous domesticaffairs. The menu for the guest's dinner had weighed rather heavily uponhim all day, for he had never before entertained in his own home. Hisheart had been set on turkey; but as that was out of the question, hecompromised on a goose, adhering tenaciously to the cranberry sauce. 

It was easier to decide on the goose than it was to procure it, and sometime was consumed in the search. Mr. Opp brought all his mental powersto bear on the subject, and attacked the problem with a zeal thatmerited success. 

When he reached home at noon with his arm full of bundles, Aunt Tish methim with lamentations. 

"Dey ain't but one clean table-cloth, an' hit's got a hole in hit, an' Ican't find no sheets to put on de company baid, an' dere ain't threecups an' saucers in de house what belongs to theyselves. I shorely doanknow what you thinkin' 'bout, Mr. D. , to go an' ast company fer. We-allnever does hab company. An' Miss Kippy she be'n habin' a sort er spell, too, cryin' to herself, an' won't tell me whut's de matter. "

Mr. Opp shook the raindrops from his hat-brim, and laid the goosetenderly on the table; then he stepped inside the dining-room door, andstood watching the childish figure that sat on the floor before thefire. She was putting artificial flowers on her head, and every timethey fell off, she dropped her head on her knees and sobbed softly toherself. Again and again she made the experiment, and again and againthe faded roses came tumbling into her lap. 

"I'll fix 'em, " said Mr. Opp, coming up behind her; "don't you cry aboutit, Kippy; I can make them stay, easy. " He searched around in theclothes-press until he found a paper box, which he tied securely uponMiss Kippy's head. 

"Now try it, " he cried; "put the flowers on your head; they'll stay. "

Timidly, as if afraid of another disappointment, she tried, and when theflowers were caught in the box, she gave a sigh of satisfaction anddelight. 

"Well, sence I j'ined de church!" exclaimed Aunt Tish, who had beenwatching proceedings from the doorway; then she added, as Mr. Opp cameinto the hall: "Hit beats my time de way you handles dat pore chile. Sometimes she got jes good sense as you an' me has. She ast me t'otherday if she wasn't crazy. I 'lowed no indeedy, dat crazy folks was lockup in a lunatic asylum. An' she says 'Where?' 'Up at Coreyville, ' I say. She went on playin' jes as nice and happy. De chile's all right ef shedon't git a fool notion; den dey ain't nobody kin make out what shewants inceptin' you. She been cryin' over dem flowers ever sencebreakfast. "

"Why didn't you come after me?" demanded Mr. Opp. 

"Jes to tie a box on her haid?" asked Aunt Tish. "Lor', I thought youwas busy makin' dem newspapers. "

"So I am, " said Mr. Opp, "but whenever Miss Kippy gets to crying, I wantyou to come direct after me, do you hear? There ain't anything moreimportant than in keeping her from getting worried. Now, let's have alook at that there table-cloth. "

All afternoon Mr. Opp encountered difficulties that would havedisheartened a less courageous host. With the limited means at hand itseemed impossible to entertain in a manner befitting the dignity of theeditor of "The Opp Eagle. " But Mr. Opp, though sorely perplexed, was notdepressed, for beneath the disturbed surface of his thoughts there ranan undercurrent of pure joy. It caused him to make strange, unnaturalsounds in his throat which he meant for song; it made him stop every nowand then in his work to glance tenderly and reminiscently at the palm ofhis right hand, once even going so far as to touch it softly with hislips. For since the last sun had set there had been no waking moment buthad held for him the image of a golden world inhabited solely by a pairof luminous eyes, one small hand, and, it must be added, a band-box. 

Through the busy afternoon Mr. Opp referred constantly to his watch, andin spite of the manifold duties to be performed, longed impatiently forevening to arrive. At five o'clock he had moved the furniture from onebedroom to another, demonstrated beyond a possibility of doubt that afire could not be made in the parlor grate without the chimney smoking, mended two chairs, hung a pair of curtains, and made three errands totown. So much accomplished, he turned his attention to the mostdifficult task of all. 

"Kippy, " he said, going to the window where she was gleefully tracingthe course of the raindrops as they chased down the pane. "Stop aminute, Kippy. Listen; I want to talk to you. "

Miss Kippy turned obediently, but her lips continued the dumbconversation she was having with the rain. 

"How would you like, " said Mr. Opp, approaching the subject cautiously, "to play like you was a grown-up lady--just for to-night, you know?"

Miss Kippy looked at him suspiciously, and her lips stopped moving. Heretofore she had resisted all efforts to change her manner of dress. 

"There's a gentleman a-coming, " continued Mr. Opp, persuasively; "he'sgoing to remain over till to-morrow, and Aunt Tish is cooking thatlarge goose for him, and I've been fixing up the spare room. We are allendeavoring to give him a nice time. Don't you want to dress up forhim?"

"Will it make him glad?" asked Miss Kippy. 

Mr. Opp expiated on the enjoyment it would give the unknown guest to seeKippy in the blue merino dress which Aunt Tish had gotten out of Mrs. Opp's old trunk up-stairs. 

"And you'll let Aunt Tish arrange your hair up like a lady?" went on Mr. Opp, pushing the point. 

"Yes, " said Miss Kippy, after a moment, "Oxety will. She will make himglad. "

"Good!" said Mr. Opp. "And if you will sit nice and quiet and never saya word all through supper, I'll get you a book with pictures in it, representing flowers and things. "

"Roses?" asked Miss Kippy, drawing a quick breath of delight; and whenMr. Opp nodded, she closed her eyes and smiled as if heaven were withinsight. For Miss Kippy was like a harp across which some rough hand hadswept, snapping all the strings but two, the high one of ecstasy and thelow one of despair. 

At six o'clock Mr. Opp went up to make his toilet. The rain, which hadbeen merely rehearsing all day, was now giving a regular performance, and it played upon the windows, and went trilling through the gutters onthe roof, while the old cedar-tree scraped an accompaniment on thecorner of the porch below. But, nothing daunted, Mr. Opp donned hisbravest attire. Cyclones and tornadoes could not have deterred him frommaking the most elaborate toilet at his command. To be sure, he turnedup the hem of his trousers and tied a piece of oilcloth securely abouteach leg, and he also spread a handkerchief tenderly over his pinknecktie; but these could be easily removed after he heard the boatwhistle. 

He dressed by the light of a sputtering candle before a small mirror theveracity of which was more than questionable. It presented him tohimself as a person with a broad, flat face, the nose of which appeareddirectly between his eyes, and the mouth on a line with the top of hisears. But he made allowances for these idiosyncrasies on the part of themirror; in fact, he made such liberal allowances that he was quitesatisfied with the reflection. 

"I'll procure the hack to bring the company back in, " he said to AuntTish rather nervously as he passed through the kitchen. "You assist MissKippy to get arranged, and I'll carry up the coal and set the tableafter I return back home. I can do it while the company is up in hisroom. "

All the way into town, as he splashed along the muddy road, he wasalternately dreading the arrival of one passenger, and anticipatingjoyfully, the arrival of another. For as the time approached theimpending presence of the company began to take ominous form, and Mr. Opp grew apprehensive. 

At the landing he found everything dark and quiet. Evidently the packetwas unusually late, and the committee appointed to meet it and conductthe guests to their various destinations was waiting somewhere uptown, probably at Your Hotel. Mr. Opp paused irresolute: his soul yearned forsolitude, but the rain-soaked dock offered no shelter except the slightprotection afforded by a pile of empty boxes. Selecting the driest andlargest of these, he turned it on end, and by an adroit adjustment ofhis legs, succeeded in getting inside. 

Below, the river rolled heavily past in the twilight, sending up tinyjuts of water to meet the pelting rain. A cold, penetrating mist clungto the ground, and the wind carried complaining tales from earth toheaven. Everything breathed discomfort, but Mr. Opp knew it not. 

His soul was sailing sunlit seas of bliss, fully embarked at last uponthe most magic and immortal of all illusions. Sitting cramped and numbin his narrow quarters, he peered eagerly into the darkness, watchingfor the first lights of the _Sunny South_ to twinkle through the gloom. And as he watched he chanted in a sing-song ecstasy:

 "She is coming, my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthy bed; My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead; Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red. "

X

When Miss Guinevere Gusty tripped up the gang-plank of the _Sunny South_late that afternoon, vainly trying to protect herself from the drivingrain, she was met half-way by the gallant old captain. 

Tradition had it that the captain had once cast a favorable eye upon hermother; but Mrs. Gusty, being cross-eyed, had looked elsewhere. 

"We are a pudding without plums, " he announced gaily, as he held theumbrella at an angle calculated to cause a waterspout in the crown ofher hat--"not a lady on board. All we needed was a beautiful youngperson like you to liven us up. You haven't forgotten those pretty tunesyou played for me last trip, have you?"

Guinevere laughed, and shook her head. "That was just for you and thegirls, " she said. 

"Well, it'll be for me and the boys this time. I've got a nice lot ofgentlemen on board, going down to your place, by the way, to buy up allyour oil-lands. Now I know you are going to play for us if I ask youto. "

"My goodness! are they on this boat?" asked Guinevere, in a flutter. "Iam so glad; I just love to watch city people. "

"Yes, " said the captain; "that was Mr. Mathews talking to me as you cameaboard--the one with the white beard. Everything that man touches turnsto money. That glum-looking young fellow over there is his secretary. Hinton is his name; curious sort of chap. "

Guinevere followed his glance with eager interest. "The solemn one withthe cap pulled over his eyes?" she asked. 

The captain nodded. "All the rest are inside playing cards and having agood time; but he's been moping around like that ever since they got onboard. I've got to go below now, but when I come back, you'll play somefor me, won't you?"

Guinevere protested violently, but something within her whispered thatif the captain was very insistent she would render the selection whichhad won her a gold medal at the last commencement. 

Slipping into the saloon, she dropped quietly into one of the verycorpulent chairs which steamboats particularly affect, and, unobserved, proceeded to give herself up to the full enjoyment of the occasion. Thejourney from Coreyville to the Cove, in the presence of thedistinguished strangers, had assumed the nature of an adventure. Givingher imagination free rein, Miss Gusty, without apology, transported thecommonplace group of business men at the card-table into the wildestrealms of romance. The fact that their language, appearance, and mannerspoke of the city, was for her a sufficient peg upon which to hanginnumerable conjectures. So deep was she in her speculations that shedid not hear the captain come up behind her. 

"Where have you been hiding?" he asked in stentorian tones. "I wasafraid you'd gotten out on deck and the wind had blown you overboard. Don't you think it's about time for that little tune? We are fortyminutes late now, and we'll lose another half-hour taking on freight atSmither's Landing. I've been banking on hearing that little dance-pieceyou played for me before. "

"I can't play--before them, " said Guinevere, nervously. 

The captain laughed. "Yes, you can; they'll like it. Mr. Mathews saidsomething mighty pretty about you when you came on board. "

"He didn't--honest?" said Guinevere, blushing. "Oh, truly, Captain, Ican't play!" But even as she spoke she unbuttoned her gloves. Heraccomplishment was clamoring for an exhibition, and though her spiritfailed her, she twirled the piano-stool and took her seat. 

The group of men at the table, heretofore indifferent to proceedings, looked up when a thundering chord broke the stillness. A demure younggirl, with gentle, brown eyes, was making a furious and apparentlyunwarranted attack upon the piano. Her one desire evidently was to getinside of the instrument. With insinuating persistence she essayed anentrance through the treble, and, being unable to effect it, fell uponthe bass, and exhausted a couple of rounds of ammunition there. Theassault on both flanks being unsuccessful, she resorted to strategy, crossing her hands and assailing each wing of the enemy from anunexpected quarter. When this move failed, she evidently becameincensed, and throwing aside diplomacy, rallied all her forces, chargingher artillery up to the highest note, then thundering down to thelowest, beating down the keys as fast as they dared to rise. In themidst of the carnage, when the clamor was at its height and victoryseemed imminent, she suddenly paused, with one hand in air and her headgently inclined, and, tapping out two silvery bugle-notes of truce, raised the siege. 

The appalling silence that ensued might have hung above a battle-fieldof slain and wounded. The captain bit his mustache. 

"That wasn't exactly the one I meant, " he said. "I want that littledance-tune with the jingle to it. "

Miss Gusty, disappointed and surprised at the effect which hermasterpiece had failed to produce, was insisting with flushed cheeksthat she could play no more, when the gentleman who was called Mr. Mathews rose from the table and came toward her. His hair and pointedbeard were white, but his eyes were still young, and he looked at herwhile he spoke to the captain. 

"I beg your pardon, Captain, " he was saying in smooth, even tones, "can't you persuade the young lady to sing something for us?"

"I never took vocal, " said Guinevere, looking at him frankly. "I'mmaking a specialty of instrumental. "

The gentleman looked sidewise at his companions and stroked his beardgravely. "But you _do_ sing?" he persisted. 

"Just popular music, " said Guinevere. "I was going to take 'The HolyCity' and 'The Rosary' last year, but the vocal teacher got sick. "

In response to a very urgent invitation, she took her seat again, andthis time sang a sentimental ditty concerning the affairs of one "MerryLittle Milly in the Month of May. "

This selection met with prompt favor, and the men left their cards, andgathered about the piano, demanding an encore. 

Miss Guinevere's voice was very small, and her accompaniment very loud, but, in her effort to please, she unconsciously became dramatic in herexpression, and frowned and smiled and lifted her brows in sympathy withthe emotions of the damsel in the song. And Miss Guinevere's eyes beingexpressive and her lips very red, the result proved most satisfactoryto the audience. 

One stout young man in particular expressed himself in such unrestrainedterms of enthusiasm, that Guinevere, after singing several songs, becamevisibly embarrassed. Upon the plea of being too warm she made herescape, half-promising to return and sing again later on. 

Flushed with the compliments and the excitement, and a little uncertainabout the propriety of it all, she hurried through the swing-door and, turning suddenly on the deck, stumbled over something in the darkness. 

It proved to be a pair of long legs that were stretched out in front ofa silent figure, who shot a hand out to restore Miss Gusty to an uprightposition. But the deck was slippery from the rain, and before he couldcatch her, she went down on her knees. 

"Did it hurt you?" a voice asked anxiously. 

"It don't matter about me, " answered Guinevere, "just so it didn't spoilmy new dress. I'm afraid there's an awful tear in it. "

"I hope not, " said the voice. "I'd hate to be guilty of dress slaughtereven in the second degree. Sure you are not hurt? Sit down a minute;here's a chair right behind you, out of the wind. "

Guinevere groped about for the chair. "Mother can mend it, " she went on, voicing her anxiety, "if it isn't too bad. "

"And if it is?" asked the voice. 

"I'll have to wear it, anyhow. It's brand splinter new, the first one Iever had made by a sure-enough dressmaker. "

"My abominable legs!" muttered the voice. 

Guinevere laughed, and all at once became curious concerning the personwho belonged to the legs. 

He had dropped back into his former position, with feet outstretched, hands in pockets, and cap pulled over his eyes, and he did not seeminclined to continue the conversation. 

She drew in deep breaths of the cool air, and watched the big side-wheelchurn the black water into foam, and throw off sprays of white into thedarkness. She liked to be out there in the sheltered corner, watchingthe rain dash past, and to hear the wind whistling up the river. She wasglad to be in the dark, too, away from all those gentlemen, so readywith their compliments. But the sudden change from the heated saloon tothe cold deck chilled her, and she sneezed. 

Her companion stirred. "If you are going to stay out here, you ought toput something around you, " he said irritably. 

"I'm not very cold. Besides, I don't want to go in. I don't want them tomake me sing any more. Mother'll be awfully provoked if I take cold, though. Do you think it's too damp?"

"There's my overcoat, " said the man, indifferently; "you can put thataround you if you want to. "

She struggled into the large sleeves, and he made no effort to help her. 

"You don't like music, do you?" she asked naďvely as she settled back inher chair. 

"Well, yes, " he said slowly. "I should say the thing I dislike least inthe world is music. "

"Then why didn't you come in to hear me play?" asked Guinevere, emboldened by the darkness. 

"Oh, I could hear it outside, " he assured her; "besides, I have a pairof defective lamps in my head. The electric lights hurt my eyes. "

He struck a match as he spoke to relight his pipe, and by its flare shecaught her first glimpse of his face, a long, slender, sensitive face, brooding and unhappy. 

"I guess you are Mr. Hinton, " she said as if to herself. 

He turned with the lighted match in his hand. "How did you know that?"

"The captain told me. He pointed out you and Mr. Mathews, but he didn'ttell me any of the rest. "

"A branch of your education that can afford to remain neglected, " saidMr. Hinton as he puffed at his pipe. 

The door of the saloon swung open, and the chubby gentleman appeared inthe light, shading his eyes, and calling out that they were all waitingfor the little canary-bird. 

"I don't want to go, " whispered Guinevere, shrinking back into theshadow. 

The chubby gentleman peered up and down the deck, then, assailed by agust of wind, beat a hasty retreat. 

"I don't like him, " announced Guinevere, drawing a breath of relief. "Itisn't just because he's fat and ugly; it's the silly way he looks atyou. "

"What a pity you can't tell him so!" said her companion, dryly. "Suchblasphemy might do him good. He is the scion of a distinguished familymade wealthy by the glorious sale of pork. "

"Are all the gentlemen millionaires?" asked Guinevere in awe. 

"Present company excepted, " qualified Hinton. 

"It'll seem awful small to them down in the Cove. Why, we haven't gotroom enough at the two hotels to put them all up. "

"Oh, you live there, do you?"

"Yes; I've just been up at Coreyville spending the night. I used to hateit down at the Cove, it was so little and stupid; but I like it betternow. "

There was a long silence, during which each pursued a widely differentline of thought. 

"We have got a newspaper at the Cove now, " announced Guinevere. "It's anawful nice paper, called 'The Opp Eagle. '"

"Opp?" repeated Hinton. "Oh, yes, that was the man I telephoned to. Whatsort of chap is he, anyhow?"

"He's awfully smart, " said Guinevere, her cheeks tingling. "Not so muchbook learning, but a fine brain. The preacher says he's got a naturalgift of language. You ought to see some of his editorials. "

"Hiding his light under a bushel, isn't he?"

"That's just it, " said Guinevere, glad to expatiate on the subject. "IfMr. Opp could get in a bigger place and get more chances, he'd have alot more show. But he won't leave Miss Kippy. She's his sister, youknow; there is only the two of them, and she's kind of crazy, and has tohave somebody take care of her. Mother thinks it's just awful he don'tsend her to an asylum, but I know how he feels. "

"Is he a young man?" asked Mr. Hinton. 

"Well--no, not exactly; he's just seventeen years and two months olderthan I am. "

"Oh, " said Hinton, comprehensively. 

There was another long pause, during which Guinevere turned things overin her mind, and Mr. Hinton knocked the ashes from his pipe. 

"I think girls seem a good deal older than they are, don't you?" sheasked presently. 

"Some girls, " Hinton agreed. 

"How old would you take me for?"

"In the dark?"

"Yes. "

"About twelve. "

"Oh, that's not fair, " said Guinevere. "I'm eighteen, and lots of peopletake me for twenty. "

"That is when they can see you, " said Hinton. 

Guinevere decided that she did not like him. She leaned back in hercorner and tried not to talk. But this course had its disadvantage, forwhen she was silent he seemed to forget she was there. 

Once he took a turn up and down the deck, and when he came back, hestood for a long time leaning over the rail and gazing into the water. As he turned to sit down she heard him mutter to himself:

 ". .. That no life lives forever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea. "

Guinevere repeated the words softly to herself, and wondered what theymeant. She was still thinking about them when a dim red light in thedistance told her they were approaching the Cove. She slipped off theheavy overcoat and began to put on her gloves. 

"Hello! we are getting in, are we?" asked Hinton, shaking himself intoan upright position. "Is that Cove City where the big red light boresinto the water like a corkscrew?"

They moved to the bow of the boat and watched as it changed its courseand made for the opposite shore. 

"Did you mean, " said Guinevere, absently, "that you wanted it all to endlike that? For us to just go out into nothing, like the river gets lostin the ocean?"

Hinton glanced at her in surprise, and discovered that there was anunusually thoughtful face under the sweeping brim of the red hat. Thefact that she was pretty was less evident to him than the fact that shewas wistful. His mood was sensitive to minor chords. 

"I guess you _are_ eighteen, " he said, and he smiled, and Guineveresmiled back, and the chubby gentleman, coming suddenly out upon them, went in again and slammed the door. 

The lights on the landing twinkled brighter and brighter, and presentlyfigures could be seen moving here and there. The steamer, grumbling withevery chug of the wheel, was brought around, and the roustabouts crowdedalong the rail, ready to make her fast. 

Guinevere and Hinton stood on the upper deck under his umbrella andwaited. 

Directly below them on the dock a small, fantastic figure made franticefforts to attract their attention. He stood uncovered, regardless ofthe rain, madly waving his hat. 

"Is that anybody you know?" asked Hinton. 

Guinevere, who was watching the lights on the water, started guiltily. 

"Where?" she asked. 

"Down to the right--that comical little codger in the checked suit. "

Guinevere looked, then turned upon Hinton eyes that were big withindignation. "Why, of course, " she said; "that's Mr. Opp. "

XI

As Willard Hinton stood on the porch of Your Hotel and waited for hishost for the night to call for him, he was in that state of blackdejection that comes to a young man when Ambition has proposed toFortune, and been emphatically rejected. For six years he had workedpersistently and ceaselessly toward a given goal, doing clerical work byday and creative work by night, going from shorthand into longhand, andfrom numerical figures into figures of speech. For the way that Hinton'ssoul was traveling was the Inky Way, and at its end lay Authorship. 

Hinton had taken himself and his work seriously, and served anapprenticeship of hard study and conscientious preparation. So zealouswas he, in fact, that he had arrived at the second stage of his greatenterprise with a teeming brain, a practised hand, and a pair ofaffected eyes over which the oculists shook their heads and offeredlittle encouragement. 

For four months he had implicitly obeyed orders, attending only to hisregular work, eating and sleeping with exemplary regularity, andspending all of his spare time in the open air. But the ravages made inthe long nights dedicated to the Muses were not to be so easilyrepaired, and his eyes, instead of improving, were growing rapidlyworse. The question of holding his position had slipped from a matter ofmonths into weeks. 

As he stood on the porch, he could hear the bustle of entertainmentgoing on within the limited quarters of Your Hotel. Jimmy Fallows was inhis element. As bartender, head waiter, and jovial landlord he wasplaying a triple bill to a crowded house. Occasionally he opened thedoor and urged Hinton to come inside. 

"Mr. Opp'll be here 'fore long, " he would say. "He's expecting you, buthe had to stop by to take his girl home. You better step in and get ajulep. "

But Hinton, wrapped in the gloom of his own thoughts, preferred toremain where he was. Already he seemed to belong to the dark, to be athing apart from his fellow-men. He shrank from companionship andsympathy as he shrank from the light. He longed to crawl away like asick animal into some lonely corner and die. Whichever way he turned, the great specter of darkness loomed before him. At first he had fought, then he had philosophically stood still, now he was retreating. Againand again he told himself that he would meet it like a man, and againand again he shrank back, ready to seek escape anywhere, anyhow. 

"O God, if I weren't so damnably young!" he cried to himself, beatinghis clenched hand against his brow. "More than half my life yet tolive, and in the dark!"

The rattle of wheels and the stopping of a light in front of the hotelmade him pull himself together. 

The small gentleman in the checked suit whom he had seen on the wharfstrode in without seeing him. He paused before he opened the door andsmoothed his scanty locks and rearranged his pink necktie. Then he drewin his chin, threw out his chest, and with a carefully prepared smile ofwelcome entered. 

The buzz within increased, and it was some minutes before the dooropened again and Jimmy Fallows was heard saying:

"He's round here some place. Mr. Hinton! Oh, here you are! Let me makeyou acquainted with Mr. Opp; he's going to take you out to his house forthe night. "

No sooner had Hinton's hand been released from Mr. Opp's cordial graspthan he felt that gentleman's arm thrust through his, and was aware ofbeing rapidly conducted down the steps and out to the vehicle. 

"On no possible account, " Mr. Opp was saying, with Hinton's grip in onehand and two umbrellas in the other, "would I have allowed myself to belate, except that it was what you might consider absolutely necessary. Now, you get right in; just take all that robe. No, the grip can goright here between my feet. We trust that you will not regard theweather in any ways synonymous with the state of our feelings ofwelcome. "

Mr. Hinton remarked rather shortly that the weather never mattered tohim one way or another. 

"That's precisely like myself, " Mr. Opp went on. "I come of very sturdy, enduring stock. For a man of my size I doubt if you'd find a finerconstitution in the country. You wouldn't particularly think it to lookat me, now would you?"

Hinton looked at the small, stooping figure, and at the peaked, sallowface, and said rather sarcastically that he would not. 

"Strong as an ox, " declared Mr. Opp. 

Just here the horse stumbled, and they were jerked violently forward. 

Mr. Opp apologized. "Just at present we are having a little difficultywith our country roads. We have taken the matter up in 'The Opp Eagle'last week. All these things take time to regulate, but we are gettingthere. This oil boom is going to revolutionize things. It's my firm andabiding conviction that we are on the eve of a great change. It wouldn'tsurprise me in the least if this town grew to be one of the principalestcities on the Ohio River. "

"To be a worthy eyrie for your 'Eagle'?" suggested Hinton. 

"'The Opp Eagle, '" corrected Mr. Opp. "I don't know as you know that Iam the sole proprietor, as well as being the editor in addition. "

"No, " said Hinton, "I did not know. How does it happen that a man withsuch responsibilities can take time to dabble in oil-wells?"

"You don't know me, " said Mr. Opp, with a paternal smile at his ownability. "Promoting and organizing comes as natural to me as breathingthe atmosphere. I am engineering this scheme with one hand, the TownImprovement League with another, and 'The Opp Eagle' with another. Then, in a minor kind of way, I am a active Odd Fellow, first cornetist in theUnique Orchestra, and a director in the bank. And beside, " Mr. Oppconcluded with some coyness, "there is the natural personal socialdiversions that most young men indulge in. "

By this time they had reached the gray old house on the river-bank, andMr. Opp hitched the horse and held the lantern, while Hinton steppedfrom one stony island to another in the sea of mud. 

"Just enter right into the dining-room, " said Mr. Opp, throwing open thedoor. "Unfortunately we are having a temporary difficulty with theparlor heating apparatus. If you'll just pass right on up-stairs, I'llshow you the guest-chamber. Be careful of your head, please!"

With pomp and dignity Mr. Hinton was conducted to his apartment, andurged to make known any possible want that might occur to him. 

"I'll be obliged to leave you for a spell, " said Mr. Opp, "in order toattend to the proper putting up of the horse. If you'll just considereverything you see as yours, and make yourself entirely at home, I'llcome up for you in about twenty minutes. "

Left alone, Hinton went to the bureau to pin a paper around the lamp, and as he did so he encountered a smiling face in the mirror. The facewas undoubtedly his, but the smile seemed almost to belong to astranger, so long had it been since he had seen it. 

He made a hasty toilet, and sat down with his back to the light to awaithis summons to dinner. The large room, poorly and scantily furnished, gave unmistakable evidence of having been arranged especially for hiscoming. There was no covering on the floor, there were no pictures onthe wall; but the wall-paper was of a sufficiently decorative characterto warrant the absence of other adornment. It may be said to have been abotanical paper, for roses and lilies and sunflowers and daisies grew inriotous profusion. The man who hung the paper evidently was of ascientific turn, for in matching the strips he had gained some resultsin cross-grafting that approached the miraculous. 

After sufficient time had elapsed to have stabled half a dozen horses, Hinton, whose appetite was becoming ravenous, went into the hall andstarted down the steps. When half-way down he heard a crash of china, and saw his host, in his shirt-sleeves, staggering under a large trayovercrowded with dishes. 

Beating a hasty retreat, he went quietly up the steps again, but notbefore he heard a querulous voice remonstrate:

"Now, Mr. D. , if you ain't done busted two plates and a tea-cup!"

Retiring to his room until the trouble should be adjusted, Hinton oncemore contemplated the floral paper. As he sat there, the door creakedslightly, and looking up, he thought he saw some one peeping at himthrough the crack. Later he distinctly heard the rustle of garments, astealthy step, and the closing of the door across the hall. 

At last Mr. Opp came somewhat noisily up the steps and, flinging widethe door, invited him to descend. In the dining-room below the scene wasnothing short of festal. All the candlesticks were filled with lightedcandles, an American flag was draped across the top of the clock, andthe little schooner that rocked behind the pendulum seemed fired withthe determination to get somewhere to-night if it never did again. Eventhe owls on each end of the mantel wore a benignant look, and seemed tobeam a welcome on the honored guest. 

But it was the dining-table that held the center of the stage, and thatheld everything else as well. The dinner, through its sequence of soup, meat, salad, and desert, was displayed in lavish hospitality. Coveetiquette evidently demanded that no square inch of the table-clothshould remain unoccupied. 

Seated at the table, with hands demurely folded, was the most grotesquefigure that Hinton had ever seen. Clad in a queer, old-fashioned garmentof faded blue cloth, with very full skirt and flowing sleeves, with herhair gathered into a tight knot at the back of her head, and a necklaceof nutshells about her neck, a strange little lady sat and watched himwith parted lips and wide, excited eyes. 

"If you'll just sit here opposite my sister, " said Mr. Opp, notattempting an introduction, "I'll as usual take my customary place atthe head of the board. "

It was all done with great éclat, but from the first there wereunmistakable signs of nervousness on the part of the host. He left thetable twice before the soup was removed, once to get the napkins whichhad been overlooked, and once to persuade his sister not to put thebaked potatoes in her lap. 

When the critical moment for the trial of strength between him and thegoose arrived, he was not in good condition. It was his first wrestlingmatch with a goose, and his technical knowledge of the art consisted inthe meager fact that the strategic point was to become master of theopponent's legs. The fowl had, moreover, by nature of its being, theadvantage of extreme slipperiness, an expedient recognized and made useof by the gladiators of old. 

Mr. Opp, limited as to space, and aware of a critical audience, rose tothe occasion, and with jaw set and the light of conquest in his eyeentered the fray. He pushed forward, and pulled back, he throttled, hewent through facial and bodily contortions. The match was conducted in"the catch hold, first down to lose style, " and the honors seemedequally divided. At last, by the adroit administration of a left-legstroke, Mr. Opp succeeded in throwing his adversary, but unfortunatelyhe threw it too far. 

The victory, though brilliant, was not without its casualties. Thegoose, in its post-mortem flight, took its revenge, and the overturnedcranberries sent a crimson stain across the white cloth, giving asanguinary aspect to the scene. 

When order was restored and Mr. Opp had once more taken his seat, thelittle lady in the blue dress, who had remained quiet during the recentconflict, suddenly raised her voice in joyous song. 

"Now, Kippy, " warned Mr. Opp, putting a restraining hand on her arm, andlooking at her appealingly. The little lady shrank back in her chair andher eyes filled as she clasped his hand tightly in both of hers. 

"As I was remarking, " Mr. Opp went steadily on, trying to behave as ifit were quite natural for him to eat with his left hand, "the realvalue of the underground product in this country has been but fairlymade apparent, and now that you capitalists are coming in to take ahold, there's no way of forming a idea of the ultimate result. "

Hinton, upon whom no phase of the situation had been lost, camevaliantly to Mr. Opp's rescue. He roused himself to follow his host'slead in the conversation; he was apparently oblivious to the manyirregularities of the dinner. In fact, it was one of the rare occasionsupon which Hinton took the trouble to exert himself. Something in thedreary old room, with its brave attempt at cheer, in the half-wittedlittle lady who was making such superhuman efforts to be good, and aboveall in the bombastic, egotistical, ignorant editor who was trying tokeep up appearances against such heavy odds, touched the best anddeepest that was in Hinton, and lifted him out of himself. Gradually hebegan to take the lead in the conversation. With great tact he relievedMr. Opp of the necessity of entertaining, and gave him a chance to eathis dinner. He told stories so simple that even Miss Kippy loosened herhold on her brother's hand to listen. 

When the sunset of the dinner in the form of a pumpkin pie haddisappeared, the gentlemen retired to the fire. 

"Don't you smoke?" asked Hinton, holding a match to his pipe. 

"Why, yes, " said Mr. Opp, "I have smoked occasional. It's amazing how itassists you in creating newspaper articles. One of the greatesteditorials I ever turned out was when I had a cigar in my mouth. "

"Then why don't you smoke?"

Mr. Opp glanced over his shoulders at Aunt Tish, who, with Miss Kippy'sdoubtful assistance, was clearing the table. 

"I don't mind telling you, " he said confidentially, "that up to thepresent time I've experienced a good many business reverses andconsiderable family responsibility. I hope now in a year or two to beable to indulge them little extra items. The lack of money, " he addedsomewhat proudly, "is no disgrace; but I can't deny it's what you mightcall limiting. "

Hinton smiled. "I think I've got a cigar somewhere about me. Here it is. Will you try it?"

Mr. Opp didn't care if he did, and from the manner in which he lightedit, and from the way in which he stood, with one elbow on the highmantel-shelf and his feet gracefully crossed, while he blew curlingwreaths toward the ceiling, it was not difficult to reckon the extent ofhis self-denial. 

"Do you indulge much in the pleasure of reading?" he asked, looking atHinton through the cloud of smoke. 

"I did, " said Hinton, drawing a deep breath. 

"It's a great pastime, " said Mr. Opp. "I wonder if you are familiar withthis here volume. " He took from the shelf "The Encyclopedia of Wonder, Beauty, and Wisdom. "

"Hardly a thumb-nail edition, " said Hinton, receiving it with bothhands. 

"Say, it's a remarkable work, " said Mr. Opp, earnestly; "you ought toget yourself one. Facts in the first part, and the prettiest poetry youever read in the back: a dollar down and fifty cents a month until paidfor. Here, let me show you; read that one. "

"I can't see it, " said Hinton. 

"I'll get the lamp. "

"Never mind, Opp; it isn't that. You read it to me. "

Mr. Opp complied with great pleasure, and having once started, he foundit difficult to stop. From "Lord Ullin's Daughter" he passed to"Curfew, " hence to "Barbara Frietchie" and "Young Lochinvar, " and as heread Hinton sat with closed eyes and traveled into the past. 

He saw a country school-house, and himself a youngster of eightcompeting for a prize. He was standing on a platform, and the childrenwere below him, and behind him was a row of visitors. He was paralyzedwith fear, but bursting with ambition. With one supreme effort he beganhis speech:

 Oh, the young Lochinvar has came out of the west!

He got no further; a shout from the big boys and a word from theteacher, and he burst into tears and fled for refuge to his mother. Howthe lines brought it all back! He could feel her arms about him now, andher cheek against his, and hear again her words of comfort. In all theyears since she had been taken from him he had never wanted her soinsistently as during those few moments that Mr. Opp's high voice wasdoing its worst for the long-suffering Lochinvar. 

"Mr. D. , " said a complaining voice from the doorway, "Miss Kippy won'tlemme tek her dress off to go to baid. She 'low she gwine sleep in hit. "

Mr. Opp abruptly descended from his elocutionary flight, and asked to beexcused for a few moments. 

"Just a little domestic friction, " he assured Hinton; "you can glanceover the rest of the poems, and I'll be back soon. "

Hinton, left alone, paced restlessly up and down the room. The temporarydiversion was over, and he was once more face to face with his problem. He went to the table, and, taking a note from his pocket, bent over thelamp to read it. The lines blurred and ran together, but a word here andthere recalled the contents. It was from Mr. Mathews, who preferredwriting disagreeable things to saying them. Mr. Mathews, the note said, had been greatly annoyed recently by repeated errors in the reports ofhis secretary; he was neither as rapid nor as accurate as formerly, andan improvement would have to be made, or a change would be deemedadvisable. 

"Delicate tact!" sneered Hinton, crushing the paper in his hand. "Courtesy sometimes begets a request, and the shark shrinks fromconferring favors. And I've got to stick it out, to go on acceptingcondescending disapproval until a 'change is deemed advisable. '"

He dropped his head on his arms, and so deep was he in his bitterthoughts that he did not hear Mr. Opp come into the room. That gentlemanstood for a moment in great embarrassment; then he stepped noiselesslyout, and heralded his second coming by rattling the door-knob. 

The wind had risen to a gale, and it shrieked about the old house andtugged at the shutters and rattled the panes incessantly. 

"You take the big chair, " urged Mr. Opp, who had just put on a fresh logand sent the flames dancing up the chimney; "and here's a pitcher ofhard cider whenever you feel the need of a little refreshment. You ain'ta married man I would judge, Mr. Hinton. "

"Thank the Lord, no!" exclaimed Hinton. 

"Well, " said Mr. Opp, pursing his lips and smiling, "you know that'sjust where I think us young men are making a mistake. "

"Matrimony, " said Hinton, "is about the only catastrophe that hasn'tbefallen me during my short and rocky career. "

"See here, " said Mr. Opp, "I used to feel that way, too. "

"Before you met her?" suggested Hinton. 

Mr. Opp looked pleased but embarrassed. "I can't deny there is a younglady, " he said; "but she is quite young as yet. In fact, I don't mindtelling you she's just about half my age. "

Hinton, instead of putting two and two together, added eighteen toeighteen. "And you are about thirty-six?" he asked. 

"Exactly, " said Mr. Opp, surprised. "I am most generally considered along sight younger. "

From matrimony the conversation drifted to oil-wells, then tojournalism, and finally to a philosophical discussion of life itself. Mr. Opp got beyond his depth again and again, and at times he became soabsorbed that he gave a very poor imitation of himself, and showedsigns of humility that were rarely if ever visible. 

Hinton meantime was taking soundings, and sometimes his plummet stoppedwhere it started, and sometimes it dropped to an unexpected depth. 

"Well, " he said at last, rising, "we must go to bed. You'll go onclimbing a ladder in the air, and I'll go on burrowing like a mole inthe ground, and what is the good of it all? What chance have either ofus for coming out anywhere? You can fool yourself; I can't: that's thedifference. "

Mr. Opp's unusual mental exertions had apparently affected his entirebody, his legs were tightly wrapped about each other, his arms werelocked, and his features were drawn into an amazing pucker of protest. 

"That ain't it, " he said emphatically, struggling valiantly to expresshis conviction: "this here life business ain't run on any such smallscale as that. According to my notion, or understanding, it's--well--what you might call, in military figures, a fight. " Hepaused a moment and tied himself if possible even into a tighter knot, then proceeded slowly, groping his way: "Of course there's some thatjust remains around in camp, afraid to fight and afraid to desert, justsort of indulging in conversation, you might say, about the rest of thearmy. Then there is the cowards and deserters. But a decent sort of aindividual, or rather soldier, carries his orders around with him, andthe chief and principal thing he's got to do is to follow them. What thefight is concerning, or in what manner the general is a-aiming to bringit all correct in the end, ain't, according to my conclusion, a particleof our business. "

Having arrived at this point of the discussion in a somewhat heated andindignant state, Mr. Opp suddenly remembered his duties as host. With alordly wave of the hand he dismissed the subject, and conducted Hintonin state to his bed-chamber, where he insisted upon lighting the fireand arranging the bed. 

[Illustration: "It was Mr. Opp saying his prayers"]

Hinton sat for a long time before undressing, listening to the wind inthe chimney, to the scrape, scrape of the cedar on the roof, and to theyet more dismal sounds that were echoing in his heart. Everything aboutthe old house spoke of degeneration, decay; yet in the midst of it liveda man who asked no odds of life, who took what came, and who lived witha zest, an abandon, a courage that were baffling. Self-deception, egotism, cheap optimism--could they bring a man to this state of mind?Hinton wondered bitterly what Opp would do in his position; suppose hissight was threatened, how far would his foolish self-delusion serve himthen?

But he could not imagine Mr. Opp, lame, halt, or blind, giving up thefight. There was that in the man--egotism, courage, whatever itwas--that would never recognize defeat, that quality that wins out of alife of losing the final victory. 

Before he retired, Hinton found there was no drinking water in his room, and, remembering a pitcher full in the dining-room, he took the candleand softly opened his door. The sudden cold draft from the hall made thecandle flare, but as it steadied, Hinton saw that an old cot had beenplaced across the door opposite his, as if on guard, and that beside itknelt an ungainly figure in white, with his head clasped in his hands. It was Mr. Opp saying his prayers. 

XII

The visit of the capitalists marked the beginning of a long andprofitable spell of insomnia for the Cove. The little town had gotten agnat in its eye when Mr. Opp arrived, and now that it had becomeinvolved in a speculation that threatened to develop into a boom, itfound sleep and tranquillity a thing of the past. 

The party of investigators had found such remarkable conditions thatthey were eager to buy up the ground at once; but they met withunexpected opposition. 

At a meeting which will go down to posterity in the annals of Cove City, the Turtle Creek Land Company, piloted by the intrepid Mr. Opp, had heldits course against persuasion, threats, and bribes. There was but oneplank in the company's platform, and that was a determination not tosell. To this plank they clung through the storm of opposition, throughthe trying calm of indifference that followed, until a truce wasdeclared. 

Finally an agreement was reached by which the Turtle Creek Land Companywas to lease its ground to the capitalists, receive a given per cent. Ofthe oil produced, and maintain the right to buy stock up to a large andimpossible amount at any time during the ensuing year. 

Close upon this contract came men and machinery to open up a test well. For weeks hauling was done up the creek bottom, there being no roadleading to the oil spring where the first drilling was to be done. 

The town watched the operations with alternate scorn and interest. Itwas facetious when water and quicksands were encountered, and inclinedto be sarcastic when work was suspended on account of the weather. Butone day, after the pipe had been driven to a considerable depth and therock below had been drilled for six inches, the drill suddenly fell intoa crevice, and upon investigation the hole was found to be nearly fullof petroleum. 

The Cove promptly went into a state of acute hysteria. Speculationspread like the measles, breaking out in all manner of queer andunexpected places. Everybody who could command a dollar promptlyconverted it into oil stock. Miss Jim Fenton borrowed money from hercousin in the city, and plunged recklessly; the Missionary Band raffledoff three quilts and bought a share with the proceeds; Mr. Tuckerforeclosed two mortgages on life-long friends in order to raise moremoney; while the amount of stock purchased by Mr. D. Webster Opp waslimited only by his credit at the bank. 

The one note of warning that was sounded came from Mrs. Fallows, who saton the porch of Your Hotel, and, like the Greek Chorus, foretold thedisasters that would befall, and prophesied nothing but evil for theentire enterprise. Even the urbane Jimmy became ruffled by her insistentiteration, and declared that she "put him in mind of a darned oldwhip-o'-will. "

But Mrs. Fallows's piping note was lost in the gale of enthusiasm. Farmers coming into town on Saturday became infected and carried thefever into the country. The entire community suspended business todiscuss the exciting situation. 

These were champagne days for Mr. Opp. Life seemed one long, sparkling, tingling draft and he was drinking it to Guinevere. If her eyes droopedand she met his smile with a sigh, he saw it not, for the elixir hadgone to his head. 

Compelled to find some outlet for his energy, he took advantage of theCove's unwonted animation and plunged into municipal reform. "The OppEagle" demanded streets, it demanded lamp-posts, it demanded temperance. The right of pigs to take their daily siesta in the middle of MainStreet was questioned and fiercely denied. Dry-goods boxes, which foryears had been the only visible means of support for divers youths ofindolent nature, were held up to such scathing ridicule that the ownerswere forced to remove them. 

The policies suggested by Mr. Opp, the editor, were promptly acted uponby Mr. Opp, the citizen. So indignant did he become when he read his owneditorials that nothing short of immediate action was to be considered. He arranged a reform party and appointed himself leader. Mat Lucas, hemade Superintendent of Streets; Mr. Gallop, chairman of the Committee onCity Lights. In fact, he formed enough committees to manage aPresidential campaign. 

The attitude of the town toward him was that of a large lump of dough toa small cake of yeast. It was willing to be raised, but doubtful of themotive power. 

"I'd feel surer, " said Jimmy Fallows, "if his intellect was thestandard size. It appears so big to him he can't get his languageready-made; he has to have it made to order. "

But since the successful management of the oil-wells, Mr. Opp's opinionwas more and more considered. In the course of a short time the officeof "The Opp Eagle" became the hub about which the township revolved. 

One afternoon in March the editor was sitting before his deal table, apparently in the most violent throes of editorial composition. 

Nick, who was impatiently waiting for copy, had not dared to speak foran hour, for fear of slipping a cog in the intricate machinery ofcreation. The constant struggle to supply "The Opp Eagle" withsufficient material to enable it to fly every Thursday was telling uponthe staff; he was becoming irritable. 

"Well?" he said impatiently, as Mr. Opp finished the tenth page andgathered the large sheets into his hand. 

"Yes, yes, to be sure, " said Mr. Opp, guiltily; "I am at your disposal. Just finishing a little private correspondence of a personal naturethat couldn't wait over. "

"Ain't that copy?" demanded Nick, fixing him with an indignant eye. 

"Well, no, " said Mr. Opp, uneasily. "The fact is, I haven't been able toaccomplish any regular editorial this week. Unusual pressure of outsidebusiness and--er--"

"How long is she going to stay down in Coreyville?" Nick asked, with acontemptuous curl of his lip. 

Mr. Opp paused in the act of addressing the envelop, and gave Nick alook that was designed to scorch. 

"May I inquire to who you refer?" he asked with dignity. 

Nick's eyes dropped, and he shuffled his feet. "I just wanted to put itin the paper. We got to fill up with something. "

"Well, " said Mr. Opp, slightly conciliated, "you can mention that shehas gone back to attend the spring term at the Young Ladies' Seminary. "

"Gone back to school again?" exclaimed Nick, unable to control hiscuriosity. "What for?"

"To attend the spring term, " repeated Mr. Opp, guardedly. Then he addedin a burst of confidence: "Nick, has it ever occurred to you that Mrs. Gusty was what you might term a peculiar woman?"

But Nick was not interested in the psychological idiosyncrasies of theGusty family. "The Opp Eagle" was crying for food, and Nick would havesacrificed himself and his chief to fill the vacancy. 

"See here, Mr. Opp, do you know what day it is? It's Monday, and we'vegot two columns to fill. New subscriptions are coming in all the time. We've got to live up to our reputation. "

"Extremely well put, " agreed Mr. Opp; "the reputation of the paper mustbe guarded above all things. I like to consider that after my mortalremains has returned to dust, my name will be perpetuated in this paper. That no monument in marble will be necessary, so long as 'The OppEagle' continues to circulate from home to home, and to promulgatethose--"

"Can't you write some of it down?" suggested Nick; "it would fill up acouple of paragraphs. Part of it you used before, but we might change itaround some. "

"Never, " said Mr. Opp. "On no consideration would I repeat myself inprint. I'll just run through my box here, and see what new material Ihave. Here's something; take it down as I dictate. 

"'Pastor Joe Tyler is holding divine service every second Sunday in CoveCity. He has had thirty conversions, and on Saturday was presented witha $20. 00 suit of clothing from and by this community, and a barrel offlour, which fully attests what a general church awakening willaccomplish in the direction of good. No one should think of endeavoringto rear their children or redeem society without the application of thegospel twice per month. '"

"Now, if you can keep that up, " said Nick, hopefully, "we'll get throughin no time. "

But Mr. Opp had gone back to his letter, and was trying to decidewhether it would take one stamp or two. When he felt Nick's reproachfuleye upon him, he put the envelop resolutely in his pocket. 

"You've already said that work would be resumed at the oil-wells asearly as the inclemency of the weather would permit, haven't you?"

"We've had it in every issue since last fall, " said Nick. 

"Well, now, let's see, " said Mr. Opp, diving once more into his reservebox. "Here, take this down: 'Mr. Jet Connor had his house burnt lastmonth, it being the second fire he has had in ten years. Misfortunesnever come single. '"

"All right, " encouraged Nick. "Now can't you work up that idea about thepaper offering a prize?"

Mr. Opp seized his brow firmly between his palms and made an heroiceffort to concentrate his mind upon the business at hand. 

"Just wait a minute till I get it arranged. Now write this: '"The OppEagle" has organized a club called the B. B. B. Club, meaning the BusyBottle-Breakers Club. A handsome prize of a valued nature will beawarded the boy or girl which breaks the largest number of whisky andbeer bottles before the first of May. ' The boats to Coreyville rundifferent on Sunday, don't they, Nick?"

Nick, who had unquestioningly taken the dictation until he reached hisown name, glanced up quickly, then threw down his pen and sighed. 

"I'm going up to Mr. Gallop's, " he said in desperation; "he's got hismind on things here in town. I'll see what he can do for me. "

Mr. Opp remorsefully allowed him to depart, and gazed somewhat guiltilyat the unaccomplished work before him. But instead of making reparationfor recent delinquency, he proceeded to make even further inroads intothe time that belonged to "The Opp Eagle. "

Moving stealthily to the door, he locked it, then pulled down the shadeuntil only a strip of light fell across his table. These precautionshaving been observed, he took from his pocket a number of letters, and, separating a large typewritten one from several small blue ones, arranged the latter in a row before him according to their dates, andproceeded, with evident satisfaction, to read them through twice. Thenglancing around to make quite sure that no one had crawled through thekey-hole, he unlocked a drawer, and took out a key which in turnunlocked a box from which he carefully took a small object, andcontemplated it with undisguised admiration. 

It was an amethyst ring, and in the center of the stone was set a pearl. He held it in the narrow strip of light, and read the inscriptionengraved within: "Guinevere forever. "

For Miss Guinevere Gusty, ever plastic to a stronger will, hadsuccumbed to the potent combination of absence and ardor, and given herhalf-hearted consent for Mr. Opp to speak to her mother. Upon thatlady's unqualified approval everything would depend. 

Mr. Opp had received the letter a week ago, and he had immediatelywritten to the city for a jeweler's circular, made his selection, andreceived the ring. He had written eight voluminous and eloquent epistlesto Guinevere, but he had not yet found the propitious moment in which tocall upon Mrs. Gusty. Every time he started, imperative business calledhim elsewhere. 

As he sat turning the stone in the sunlight and admiring every detail, the conviction oppressed him that he could no longer find any excuse fordelay. But even as he made the decision to face the ordeal, his eyeinvoluntarily swept the desk for even a momentary reprieve. The largetypewritten letter arrested his attention; he took it up and reread it. 

 Dear Opp: Do you know any nice, comfortable place in your neighborhood for a man to go blind in? I'll be in the hospital for another month, and after that I am to spend the summer out of doors, in joyful anticipation of an operation which I am assured beforehand will probably be unsuccessful. Under the peculiar circumstances I am not particular about the scenery, human or natural; the whole affair resolves itself into a matter of flies and feather-beds. If you know of any place where I can be reasonably comfortable, I wish you'd drop me a line. The ideal place for me would be a neat pine box underground, with a dainty bunch of daisies overhead. 

 Yours gratefully, Willard Hinton. 

 P. S. I sent you a box of my books last week. Chuck out what you don't want. The candy was for your sister. 

Mr. Opp, with the letter still in his hand, suddenly saw a way out ofhis difficulty: he would make Hinton's request an excuse for a call uponMrs. Gusty. No surer road to her good graces could he travel than byseeking her advice. 

Replacing the ring in the drawer and the letters in his pocket, hebuttoned up his coat, and with a stern look of determination went out ofthe office. At the Gusty gate he encountered Val, who was on all foursby the fence, searching for something. 

"What's the matter, Val?" asked Mr. Opp. "Lost something?"

Val raised a pair of mournful eyes. "Yas, sir; you bet I is. Done lost apenny Mr. Jimmy Fallows gimme for puttin' my fisty in my mouf. "

"Putting your fist in your mouth!" repeated Mr. Opp, surprised. "Can youperform that act?"

Val promptly demonstrated; but just as he was midway, a peremptory voicecalled from a rear window:

"Val! You Val! You better answer me this minute!"

Val cowered lower behind the fence, and violently motioned Mr. Opp to goon. 

"Is--er--is Mrs. Gusty feeling well to-day?" asked Mr. Opp, stilllingering at the gate. 

"Jes tolerable, " said Val, lying flat on his back and speaking inguarded tones. "Whenever she gits to beatin' de carpets, an' spankin' debeds, and shakin' de curtains, I keeps outen de way. "

"Do you think--er--that--er--I better go in?" asked Mr. Opp, sorely inneed of moral support. 

"Yas, sir; she's 'spectin' yer. "

This surprising announcement nerved Mr. Opp to open the gate. 

It is said that the best-drilled soldiers dodge when they first face thefiring-line, and if Mr. Opp's knees smote together and his body becamebathed in profuse perspiration, it should not be attributed to lack ofmanly courage. 

In response to his knock, Mrs. Gusty herself opened the door. The signsthat she had been interrupted in the midst of her toilet were sounmistakable that Mr. Opp promptly averted his eyes. A shawl had beenhastily drawn about her shoulders, on one cheek a streak of chalkawaited distribution, and a single bristling curl-paper, rising fiercelyfrom the top of her forehead, gave her the appearance of a startledunicorn. 

"You'll have to excuse me, Mr. Opp, " she said firmly, putting the doorbetween them. "I can't come out, and you can't come in. Did you wantanything?"

"Well, yes, " said Mr. Opp, looking helplessly at the blank door. "Yousee, there is a matter I have been considering discussing with you for anumber of weeks. It's a--"

"If it's waited this long, I should think it could wait till to-morrow, "announced the lady with decision. 

Mr. Opp felt that his courage could never again stand the strain of thelast few moments. He must speak now or never. 

"It's immediate, " he managed to gasp out. "If you could arrange to giveme five or ten minutes, I won't occupy more than that. "

Mrs. Gusty considered. "I am looking for company myself at fiveo'clock. That wouldn't give you much time. "

"Ample, " urged Mr. Opp; "it's just a little necessary transaction, as itwere. "

Mrs. Gusty reluctantly consented. 

"You go on in the parlor, then, " she said. "I'll be in as quick as Ican. You won't more than have time to get started, though. "

Mr. Opp passed into the parlor and hung his hat on the corner of alarge, unframed canvas that stood on the floor with its face to thewall. The room had evidently been prepared for a visitor, for a fire wasnewly kindled and a vase of flowers adorned the table. But Mr. Opp wasnot making observations. He alternately warmed his cold hands at thefire, and fanned his flushed face with his handkerchief. He was toonervous to sit still, yet his knees trembled when he moved about. It wasonly when he touched the little packet of letters in his breast pocketthat his courage revived. 

At last Mrs. Gusty came in with a rustle of garments suggestive ofSunday. Even in his confusion Mr. Opp was aware that there was somethingunusual in her appearance. Her hair, ordinarily drawn taut to a primknot at the rear, had burst forth into curls and puffs of an amazingcomplexity. Moreover, her change of coiffure had apparently affected herspirits, for she, too, was flurried and self-conscious and glancedcontinually at the clock on the mantel. 

"I'll endeavor not to intrude long on your time, " began Mr. Opp, politely, when they were seated side by side on the horse-hair sofa. "You--er--can't be in total ignorance of the subject that--er--I mean tobring forward. " He moistened his lips, and glanced at her for succor, but she was adamant. "I want to speak with you, " he plunged ondesperately--"that is, I thought I had better talk with you about Mr. Hinton. "

"Who?" blazed forth Mrs. Gusty in indignant surprise. 

"Mr. Hinton, " said Mr. Opp, breathlessly, "a young friendlyacquaintance of mine. Wants to get board for the summer, you know; wouldlike a nice, quiet place and all that, Mrs. Gusty. I thought I'd consultyou about it, Mrs. Gusty, if you don't mind. "

She calmly fixed one eye upon him and one upon the clock while he wentinto particulars concerning Mr. Hinton. When he paused for breath, shefolded her arms and said:

"Mr. Opp, if you want to say what you come to say, you haven't got butfour minutes to do it in. "

"Oh, yes, " said Mr. Opp, gratefully, but helplessly; "I was just comingto that point. It's a matter--that--er--well you might say it is in away pertaining--to--"

"Guin-never!" snapped Mrs. Gusty, unable longer to stand his hesitation. "I'd have been a deaf-mute and a fool to boot not to have known it longago. Not that I've been consulted in the matter. " She lifted a stiffenedchin, and turned her gaze upward. 

"You have, " declared Mr. Opp, earnestly; "that is, you will be. Everything is pending on you. There has been no steps whatever taken byMiss Guin-never or I--rather I might say by her. I can't say but what Ihave made some slight preliminary arrangements. " He paused, then went onanxiously: "I trust there ain't any personal objections to the case. "

Mrs. Gusty made folds in her black-silk skirt and creased them down withher thumb-nail. "No, " she said shortly; "far as I can see, Guin-neverwould be doing mighty well to get you. You'd be a long sight safer thana good-looking young fellow. Of course a man being so much older than agirl is apt to leave her a widow. But, for my part, I believe in secondmarriages. "

Mr. Opp felt as if he had received a hot and cold douche at the sametime; but the result was a glow. 

"Then you don't oppose it, Mrs. Gusty, " he cried eagerly. "You'll writeher you are willing?"

"Not yet, " said Mrs. Gusty; "there's a condition. "

"There ain't any condition in the world I won't meet to get her, " heexclaimed recklessly, his fervor bursting its bounds. "You don't knowhow I feel about that young lady. Why, I'd live on bread and water allthe rest of my life if it would make her happy. There hasn't been a hoursince I met her that she hasn't held my soul--as you might say--in thepa'm of her hand. "

"People don't often get it so bad at our age, " remarked Mrs. Gusty, sarcastically, and Mr. Opp winced. 

"The condition, " went on Mrs. Gusty, "that I spoke about, was yoursister. Of course I never would consent to Guin-never living under thesame roof with a crazy person. "

The hope which was carrying Mr. Opp to the dizziest heights dropped toearth at this unexpected shaft, and for a moment he was too stunned tospeak. 

"Kippy?" he began at last, and his voice softened at the name. "Why, you don't understand about her. She's just similar to a little child. Itold Miss Guin-never all about her; she never made any objections. You--you--wouldn't ask me to make any promises along that line?" Abjectentreaty shone from Mr. Opp's eyes; it was a plea for a change ofsentence. She had asked of him the only sacrifice in the world at whichhe would have faltered. "Don't--don't put it like that!" he pleaded, laying his hand on her arm in his earnestness. "I'm all she's got in theworld; I've kind of become familiar with her ways, you know, and canmanage her. She'll love Miss Guin-never if I tell her to. She shan't bea bit of care or trouble; I and Aunt Tish will continue on doingeverything for her. You won't refuse your consent on that account, willyou? You'll promise to say yes, now won't you, Mrs. Gusty?"

A slight and ominous cough in the doorway caused them both to start. Mr. Tucker, in widower's weeds, but with a jonquil jauntily thrust throughhis buttonhole, stood with his hand still on the knob, evidentlytransfixed by the scene he had witnessed. 

For a moment the company was enveloped in a fog of such denseembarrassment that all conversation was suspended. Mrs. Gusty was thefirst to emerge. 

"Howdy, Mr. Tucker, " she said, rustling forward in welcome. "I didn'tthink you'd get here before five. Mr. Opp just dropped in to consult meabout--about boarding a friend of his. Won't you draw up to the fire?"

Mr. Tucker edged forward with a suspicious eye turned upon Mr. Opp, whowas nervously searching about for his hat. 

"There it is, by the door, " said Mrs. Gusty, eager to speed hisdeparture; and as they both reached for it, the picture upon which ithung toppled forward and fell, face upward, on the floor. It was theportrait of Mr. Tucker mourning under the willow-tree which Miss Jim hadleft with Mrs. Gusty for safe-keeping. 

Mr. Opp went home across the fields that evening instead of through thetown. He was not quite up to any of his rôles--editor, promoter, orreformer. In fact, he felt a desperate need of a brief respite from allhistrionic duties. A reaction had set in from the excitement of the pastweek, and the complication involved in Mrs. Gusty's condition puzzledand distressed him. Of course, he assured himself repeatedly, there wasa way out of the difficulty; but he was not able to find it just yet. Hehad observed that Mrs. Gusty's opinions became fixed convictions underthe slightest opposition, whereas Guinevere's firmest decision trembledat a breath of disapproval. He sighed deeply as he meditated upon thevagaries of the feminine mind. 

Overhead the bare trees lifted a network of twigs against a dull sky, acold wind stirred the sedge grass, and fluttered the dry leaves that hadlain all winter in the fence corners. Everything looked old and worn andgray, even Mr. Opp, as he leaned against a gaunt, white sycamore, hishead bent, and his brows drawn, wrestling with his problem. 

Suddenly he lifted his head and listened, then he smiled. In the treeabove him a soft but animated conversation was in progress. A few daringbirds had braved the cold and the wind, and had ventured back to theirold trysting-place to wait for the coming of the spring. No hint ofgreen had tinged the earth, but a few, tiny, pink maple-buds had giventhe secret away, and the birds were cuddled snugly together, planning, in an ecstasy of subdued enthusiasm, for the joyous days to come. 

Mr. Opp listened and understood. They were all whispering about onething, and he wanted to whisper about it, too. It was the simple themeof love without variations--love, minus problems, minus complications, minus consequences. He took out his little packet of letters and readthem through; then, unmindful of the chill, he stretched himself underthe tree and listened to the birds until the twilight silenced them. 

When he reached home at last, Miss Kippy met him at the door with ahappy cry of welcome. 

"D. , " she said, with her arm through his, and her cheek rubbing hissleeve, "I've been good. I've let my hair stay up all day, and Aunt Tishis making me a long dress like a lady. " She looked at him shyly andsmiled, then she pulled his head down and whispered, "If I'm very good, when I grow up, can I marry Mr. Hinton?"

Miss Kippy, too, had been listening to the bird-song. 

XIII

It was May when Willard Hinton arrived at the Cove and took up his abodeat Mrs. Gusty's. For the first week he kept to his bed, but at the endof that time he was able to crawl down to the porch and, under theprotection of dark glasses and a heavy shade, sit for hours at a time inthe sunshine. The loss of his accustomed environment, the ennui thatensues from absolute idleness, the consciousness that the light wasgrowing dimmer day by day, combined to plunge him into abysmal gloom. 

He shrank from speaking to any one, he scowled at a suggestion ofsympathy, he treated Mr. Opp's friendly overtures with open discourtesy. Conceiving himself on the rack of torture, he set his teeth anddetermined to submit in silence, but without witnesses. 

One endless day dragged in the wake of another, and between them lay theblack strips of night that were heavy with the suggestion of anotherdarkness pending. When sleep refused to come, he would go out into thewoods and walk for hours, moody, wretched, and sick to his innermostsoul with loneliness. 

The one thing in the whole dreary round of existence that roused in hima spark of interest was his hostess. She bestowed upon him the sameimpersonal attention that she gave her fowls. She fed him and cared forhim and doctored him as she saw fit, and after these duties wereperformed, she left him to himself, pursuing her own vigorous routine inher own vigorous way. 

Hinton soon discovered that Mrs. Gusty was temperamental. Her intenselyenergetic nature demanded an emotional as well as a physical outlet. Sometime during the course of each day she indulged in emotionalfireworks, bombs of anger, rockets of indignation, or set pieces ofsulks and pouts. 

These periodic spells of anger acted upon her like wine: they warmed hervitals and exhilarated her; they made her talk fluently and eloquently. As a toper will accept any beverage that intoxicates, so Mrs. Gustyaccepted any cause that would rouse her. At stated intervals herfeelings demanded a stimulant, and obeying the call of nature, she wentforth and got angry. 

Hinton came to consider these outbursts as the one diversion in asuccession of monotonous hours. He tabulated the causes, and made betswith himself as to the strength and duration of each. 

Meanwhile the sun and the wind and the silence were working theirmiracle. Hinton was introduced to nature by a warlike old rooster whoseHellenic cast of countenance had suggested the name of Menelaus. Afierce combat with a brother-fowl had inevitably recalled the greatfight with Paris, and upon investigation Hinton found that the speckledhen was Helen of Troy! This was but the beginning of a series ofdiscoveries, and the result was an animated and piquant version of Greekhistory, which boldly set aside tradition, and suggested manypossibilities heretofore undreamed of. 

Early one morning as Hinton was wandering listlessly about the yard heheard the gate click, and, looking up, saw Mr. Opp hurrying up the walkwith a large bunch of lilacs in one hand and a cornet in the other. 

"Good morning, " said that gentleman, cheerily. "Mighty glad to see youout enjoying the beauties of nature. I haven't got but a moment in whichto stop; appointment at eight-fifteen. We are arranging for a concertsoon up in Main Street, going to practise this afternoon. I'll be gladto call by for you if you feel able to enjoy some remarkable fineselections. "

Hinton accepted the proffered bouquet, but made a wry face at theinvitation. 

"None of your concerts for me, " he said brusquely. "It would interferetoo seriously with my own musical job of getting in tune with theinfinite. "

"Mornin', Mr. Opp, " said Mrs. Gusty from the dining-room window. "Thereain't many editors has time to stand around and talk this time of day. "

"Just paused a moment in passing, " said Mr. Opp. "Wanted to see if Icouldn't induce our young friend here to give us a' article for 'The OppEagle. ' Any nature, you know; we are always metropolitan in our taste. Thought maybe he'd tell us some of his first impressions of our city. "

Hinton smiled and shook his head. "You'd better not stir up myimpressions about anything these days; I am apt to splash mud. "

"We can stand it, " said Mr. Opp, affably. "If Cove City needs criticismand rebuke, 'The Opp Eagle' is the vehicle to administer it. You dictatea few remarks to my reporter, and I'll feature it on the front editorialcolumn. "

Hinton's eyes twinkled wickedly behind his blue glasses. "I'll give youan article, " he said, "but no name is to be signed. "

Mr. Opp, regretting the stipulation, but pleased with the promise, wasturning to depart when Mrs. Gusty appeared once more at the window. 

"What's the matter with the oil-wells?" she demanded, as she dusted offthe sill. "Why don't they open up? You can't use bad weather for anexcuse any longer. "

"It wasn't the weather, " said Mr. Opp, with the confident and superiormanner of one who is conversant with the entire situation. "This heredelay has been arranged with a purpose. I and Mr. Mathews has a planthat will eventually yield every stock-holder in the Cove six to one forwhat he put into it. "

"Intend selling out to a syndicate?" asked Hinton. 

Mr. Opp looked at him in surprise. 

"Well, yes; I don't mind telling you two, but it mustn't go any farther. The oil prospects in this region are of such a great magnitude that wecan't command sufficient capital to do 'em justice. I and Mr. Mathewsare at present negotiating with several large concerns with a view toselling out the entire business at a large profit. You can't have anyconception of the tac' and patience it takes to manage one of theselarge deals. "

"Who was that man Clark that was down here last week?" asked Mrs. Gusty, impressed, in spite of herself, at being taken into the confidence ofsuch a man of affairs. 

Mr. Opp's face clouded. "Now that was a very unfortunate thing aboutClark. He was sent down by the Union Syndicate of New York city to makea report on the region, and he didn't get the correct ideas in the caseat all. If they hadn't sent such a poor man, the whole affair might havebeen settled by now. "

"Wasn't his report favorable?" asked Hinton. 

"He hasn't made it yet, " said Mr. Opp; "but he let drop sundry casualremarks to me that showed he wasn't a man of fine judgment at all. Iwent over the ground with him, and pointed out some of the places wherewe calculated on drilling; but he was so busy making measurements andtaking notes that he didn't half hear what I was saying. "

"He stayed at Our Hotel, " said Mrs. Gusty. "Mr. Tucker said he had asmean a face as ever he looked into. "

"Who said so?" asked Hinton. 

She tossed her head and flipped her duster at him, but it was evidentthat she was not displeased. 

"By the way, Mr. Opp, " she said, "I'm thinking about letting Guin-nevercome home week after next. Guess you ain't sorry to hear that. "

On the contrary, Mr. Opp was overcome with joy. Letters were becomingless and less satisfying, and the problem suggested by Mrs. Gusty wasstill waiting solution. 

"If you'll just mention the date, " he said, trying to keep hiscountenance from expressing an undue amount of rapture, "I'll make abusiness trip down to Coreyville on purpose to accompany her back home. "

But Mrs. Gusty declined to be explicit. She deemed it unwise to allow amere man to know as much as she did upon any given subject. 

Hinton's editorial appeared in the next issue of "The Opp Eagle. " It wasa clever and cutting satire on the impressions of a foreigner visitingAmerica for the first time. Hinton interviewed himself concerning hisimpressions of the Cove. He approached the subject with greatseriousness, handling village trifles as if they were municipalcannon-balls. He juggled with sense and nonsense, with form andsubstance. The result shot far over the heads of the countrysubscribers, and hit the bull's-eye of a big city daily. 

Mr. Opp's excitement was intense when he found that an editorial from"The Opp Eagle" had been copied in a New York paper. The fact that itwas not his own never for a moment dimmed the glory of the compliment. 

"We are getting notorious, " he said exultingly to Hinton. "There arefew, if any, papers that in less than a year has extended its influenceas far as the Atlantic Ocean. Now I am considering if it wouldn't be awise and judicious thing to get you on the staff permanent--while youare here, that is. Of course you understand I am invested up prettyclose; but I'd be willing to let you have a little of my oil stock inpayment for services. "

Hinton laughingly shook his head. "Whenever you run short of material, you can call on me. The honor of seeing my humble efforts borne aloft onthe wings of 'The Opp Eagle' will be sufficient reward. "

Having once conceived it as a favor that was in his power to bestow, Mr. Opp lost no opportunity for inviting contributions from the aspiringauthor. 

As Hinton's strength returned, Mr. Opp adopted him as a protégé, atfirst patronizing him, then consulting him, and finally franklyappealing to him. For during the long afternoon walks which they gotinto the habit of taking together, Mr. Opp, in spite of bluster and bragand evasion, found that he was constantly being embarrassed by aquestion, a reference, a statement from his young friend. It was thefirst time he had ever experienced any difficulty in keeping his headabove the waves of his own ignorance. 

"You see, " he said one day by way of explanation, "my genius was neverproperly tutored in early youth. It's what some might regard as aremarkable brain that could cope with all the different varieties ofenterprises that I have engaged in, with no instruction or guidance butjust the natural elements that God give it in the beginning. "

But in spite of Mr. Opp's lenient attitude toward his intellectualshort-comings, it was evident that upon the serene horizon of hisegotism small clouds of humility were threatening to gather. 

Hinton, restlessly seeking for something to fill the vacuum of his days, found Mr. Opp and his paper a growing source of diversion. "The OppEagle, " at first an object of ridicule, gradually became a point ofinterest in his limited range of vision. Under his suggestions it wasenlarged and improved, and induced to publish news not strictly local. 

Mr. Opp, meanwhile, was buzzing as persistently and ineffectually as afly on a window-pane. The night before Guinevere's return, he foundthat, in order to accomplish all that he was committed to, it would benecessary to spend the night at the office. 

The concert for which the Unique Orchestra had been making night hideousfor two weeks had just come to a successful close, and the editor foundhimself at a late hour tramping out the lonely road that led to theoffice with the prospect of a couple of hours' work to do before hecould seek a well-earned rest upon the office bench. 

He was flushed with his double triumph as director and cornet soloist, and still thrilled by the mighty notes he had breathed into his belovedinstrument. 

The violin sobs, the flute complains, the drum insists, but the cornetbrags, and Mr. Opp found it the instrument through which he could bestexpress himself. 

It was midnight, and the moon, one moment shining brightly and the nextlost behind a flying cloud, sent all sorts of queer shadows scurryingamong the trees. Mr. Opp thought once that he saw the figure of a manappear and disappear in the road before him, but he was so engrossed injoyful anticipation of the morrow that he gave the incident noattention. As he was passing the Gusty house, he was rudely plunged fromsentiment into suspicion by the sight of a figure stealthily movingalong the wall beneath the front windows. 

Mr. Opp crouched behind the fence to watch him, but the moon took thatinopportune moment to sink into a bank of clouds, and the yard was leftin darkness. No sound broke the stillness save the far-off bark of a dogor an occasional croak from a bullfrog. Mr. Opp waited and listened in astate of intense suspense. Presently he heard the unmistakable sound ofa window being cautiously raised, and then just as cautiously lowered. Summoning all his courage, he skirted the yard and hid in the bushesnear the house. Nothing was to be seen or heard. He watched for a lightat any of the windows, but none came. 

The rash desire to capture the burglar single-handed, and thusdistinguish himself in the eyes of Guinevere's mother, caused Mr. Opp tostiffen his knees and assume a fierce and determined expression. But hewas armed only with his cornet, which, though often deadly as aninstrument of attack, has never been recognized as a weapon of defense. There seemed no alternative but to waken Hinton and effect asimultaneous attack from within and without. 

After throwing a few unsuccessful pebbles at Hinton's window, Mr. Oppremembered a ladder he had seen at the back of the barnyard. Shaking asif with the ague, but breathing dauntless courage, he departed in greatexcitement to procure it. 

Unfortunately another party was in possession. A dozen guinea-fowls wereroosting on the rungs, and when he gave them to understand they were tovacate they raised an outcry that would have quelled the ardor of a lessvaliant knight. 

But the romantic nature of the adventure had fired Mr. Opp'simagination. He already saw himself lightly dusting his hands afterthrottling the intruder, and smiling away Mrs. Gusty's solicitude forhis safety. Meanwhile he staggered back to the house with his burden, dodging fearfully at every shadow, and painfully aware that his heartwas beating a tattoo on his ear-drums. 

Placing the ladder as quietly as possible under Hinton's window, hecautiously began the ascent. The sudden outburst of the guineas had sethis nerves a-quiver, and what with his breathless condition, and apredisposition to giddiness, he found some difficulty in reaching thesill. When at last he succeeded, he saw, by the light of the nowrefulgent moon, the figure of Hinton lying across the foot of the bed, dressed, but asleep. The opening not being sufficiently large to admithim, he thrust in his head and whispered hoarsely through his chatteringteeth:

"Hinton! I say, Hinton, there's a burglar in the house!"

Hinton started up, and stared dully at the excited apparition. 

"Hush!" whispered Mr. Opp, dramatically, lifting a warning hand. "I'vebeen tracking the scoundrel for half an hour. He's in the house now. We'll surround him. We'll bind him hand and foot. You get the front dooropen, and I'll meet you on the outside. It's all planned; just do as Isay. "

Hinton, who was springing for the door, paused with his hand on theknob. "What's that?"

It was Mrs. Gusty's commanding tones from a front window: "He's round atthe side of the house. He's been after my guineas! I saw him a minuteago going across the yard with a ladder. Shoot him if you can. Shoot himin the leg, so he can't get away. Quick! Quick!"

Mr. Opp had only time to turn from the window when he felt the ladderseized from below and jerked violently forward. With a terrific crash hecame down with it, and found himself locked in a close struggle with thesupposed burglar. To his excited imagination his adversary seemed aTitan, with sinews of steel and breath of fire. The combatants rolledupon the ground and fought for possession of each other's throats. Theconflict, while fierce, was brief. As Hinton and Mrs. Gusty rushedaround the corner of the house, the fighters shouted in unison, "I'vegot him!" and Mr. Opp, opening one swollen eye, gazed down into themild but bloody features of little Mr. Tucker!

With the instinct that always prompted him to apologize when any onebumped into him, he withdrew his hands immediately from Mr. Tucker'sthroat and began vehement explanations. But Mr. Tucker still clung tohis collar, sputtering wrathful ejaculations. Mrs. Gusty, wrapped in abed-quilt, and with her unicorn horn at its most ferocious angle, heldthe lamp on high while Hinton rushed between the belligerents. 

Excited and incoherent explanations followed, and it was not until Mr. Opp, who was leaning limply against a tree, regained his breath that themystery was cleared up. 

"If you will just listen here at me a moment, " he implored, holding ahandkerchief to his bruised face. "We are one and all laboring under agrave error. It's my belief that there ain't any burglar whatsoever hereat present. Mr. Hinton forgot his key and had to climb in the window. Imistaken him for the burglar, and Mrs. Gusty, here, from what sherelates, mistaken me for him, and not knowing Mr. Hinton had come in, telephoned our friend Mr. Tucker, and me and Mr. Tucker might be said, in a general way, to have mistaken each other for him. "

"A pretty mess to get us all into!" exclaimed Mrs. Gusty. "A man madehis fortune once 'tending to his own business. "

"But, Mrs. Gusty--" began Mr. Opp, indignantly. 

Hinton interrupted. "You would better put something on that eye ofyours. It will probably resemble a Whistler 'Nocturne' by morning. Whatare you looking for?"

The object lost proved to be Mr. Opp's cherished cornet, and the partybecame united in a common cause and joined in the search. Some timeelapsed before the horn was found under the fallen ladder, havingsustained internal injuries which subsequently proved fatal. 

When dawn crept into the dingy office of "The Opp Eagle, " the editor waswatching for it. He was waiting to welcome the day that would bring backGuinevere. As Hope with blindfold eyes bends over her harp and listensto the faint music of her one unbroken string, so Mr. Opp, with bandagedhead, bent over his damaged horn and plaintively evoked the only notethat was left therein. 

XIV

Those who have pursued the coy goddess of happiness through the mazes ofthe labyrinth of life, know well how she invites her victim on frompoint to point, only to evade capture at the end. Mr. Opp rose with eachsummer dawn, radiant, confident, and expectant, and each night he sat inhis window with his knees hunched, and his brows drawn, and wrestledwith that old white-faced fear. 

Two marauders were harassing the editor these days, dogging hisfootsteps, and snapping at him from ambush. One was the wolf that howlsat the door, and the other was the monster whose eyes are green. 

Since the halcyon days that had wafted Miss Guinevere Gusty back to theshore of the Cove, Mr. Opp had not passed a serene hour out of herpresence. His disposition, though impervious to the repeated shafts ofunkind fortune, was not proof against the corrosive effect of jealousy. 

If he could have regarded Willard Hinton in the light of a hated rival, and met him in fair and open fight, the situation would have beensimplified. But Hinton was the friend of his bosom, the man who, he haddeclared to the town, "possessed the grandest intelligence he had everencountered in a human mind. " He admired him, he respected him, and, indirect contradiction to the emotion that was consuming him, he trustedhim. 

Concerning Miss Guinevere Gusty's state of mind, Mr. Opp permittedhimself only one opinion. He fiercely denied that she was absent-mindedand listless when alone with him; he refused to believe his own eyeswhen he saw a light in her face when she looked at Hinton that wasnever there for him. He preferred to exaggerate to himself hersweetness, her gentleness, her loyalty, demanding nothing, andcontinuing to give all. 

His entire future happiness, he assured himself, hung upon the onequestion of little Miss Kippy. For four months the problem had been amatter for daily, prayerful consideration, but he was still in the dark. 

When he was with Guinevere the solution seemed easy. In explaining awaythe difficulties to her, he explained them away to himself, also. It wasonly a matter of time, he declared, before the oil-well would yield richprofit. When that time arrived, he would maintain two establishments, the old one for Miss Kippy, and a new and elegant one for themselves. Mr. Opp used the hole in the ground as a telescope through which heviewed the stars of the future. 

But when he was alone with Kippy, struggling with her whims, while hetried to puzzle out the oldest and most universal of conundrums, --thatof making ends meet, --the future seemed entirely blotted out by thegreat blank wall of the present. 

The matter was in a way complicated by the change that had come overMiss Kippy herself. Two ideas alternately depressed and elated her. Thefirst was a fixed antipathy to the photograph of Miss Guinevere Gustywhich Mr. Opp had incased in a large hand-painted frame and installedupon his dresser. At first she sat before it and cried, and later shehid it and refused for days to tell where it was. The sight of it madeher so unhappy that Mr. Opp was obliged to keep it under lock and key. The other idea produced a different effect. It had to do with Hinton. Ever since his visit she had talked of little else. She pretended thathe came to see her every day, and she spread her doll dishes, andrepeated scraps of his conversation, and acted over the events of thedinner at which he had been present. The short gingham dresses no longerpleased her; she wanted long ones, with flowing sleeves like the bluemerino. She tied her hair up in all manner of fantastic shapes, andstood before the glass smiling and talking to herself for hours. Butthere were times when her mind paused for a moment at the normal, andthen she would ask frightened, bewildered questions, and only Mr. Oppcould soothe and reassure her. 

"D. , " she said one night suddenly, "how old am I?"

Mr. Opp, whose entire mental and physical powers were concentrated uponan effort to put a new band on his old hat, was taken off his guard. "Twenty-six, " he answered absently. 

A little cry brought him to her side. 

"No, " she whispered, shivering away from him, yet clinging to hissleeve, "that's a lady that's grown up! Ladies don't play with dolls. But I want to be grown up, too. D. , why am I different? I want to be alady; show me how to be a lady!"

Mr. Opp gathered her into his arms, along with his hat, a pair ofscissors, and a spool of thread. 

"Don't, Kippy!" he begged. "Now, don't cry like that! You are getting onelegant. Hasn't brother D. Learned you to read a lot of pieces in yourfirst reader? And ain't we going to begin on handwriting next? Wouldn'tyou like to have a slate, and a sponge to rub out with?"

In an instant her mood veered. 

"And a basket?" she cried eagerly. "The children carry a basket, too. Isee them when I peep through the shutters. Can I have a basket, too?"

The network of complexities that was closing in upon Mr. Opp apparentlyaffected his body more than his spirits. He seemed to shrivel anddwindle as the pressure increased; but the fire in his eyes shonebrighter than before. 

"None of his folks live long over forty, " said Mrs. Fallows, lugubriously; "they sorter burn themselves out. "

Hinton, meanwhile, utterly unaware of being the partial cause of theseismic disturbance in the editorial bosom, pursued the monotonousroutine of his days. It had taken him only a short time to adapt himselfto the changes that the return of the daughter of the house had broughtabout. He had anticipated her arrival with the dread a nervous invalidalways feels toward anything that may jolt him out of his habitual rut. He held a shuddering remembrance of her musical accomplishments, andforesaw with dread the noisy crowd of young people she might bring aboutthe house. 

But Guinevere had slipped into her place, an absent-minded, dreamy, detached damsel, asserting nothing, claiming nothing, bending like aflower in the high winds of her mother's wrath. 

Hinton watched the dominating influence nip every bud of individualitythat the girl ventured to put forth, and he determined to interfere. During the long months he had spent with Mrs. Gusty he had discovered away to manage her. The weak spot in her armor was pride of intellect;she acknowledged no man her superior. By the use of figurativelanguage, and references to esoteric matters, he was always able tobaffle and silence her. His joy in handling her in one of her temperswas similar to that of controlling a cat-boat in squally weather. Bothexperiences redounded to his masculine supremacy. 

One hot August day, he and Mrs. Gusty had just had an unusually sharpround, but he had succeeded, by alternate compliment and sarcasm, inreducing her to a very frustrated and baffled condition. 

It was Sunday, the day the Cove elected for a spiritual wash-day. In themorning the morals of the community were scrubbed and rinsed in themeeting-house, and in the afternoon they were hung out on the line todry. The heads of the families sat in their front yards and dutifullytended the children, while their wives flitted from house to house, visiting the sick and the afflicted, and administering warnings to thedelinquent. It was a day in which Mrs. Gusty's soul reveled, and shedemanded that Guinevere's soul should revel likewise. 

It was with the determination that Guinevere should occasionally beallowed the privilege of following her own inclinations that Hintonhurled himself into the breach. 

"I'll go, Mother, " said Guinevere; "but it's so hot. We went to seeeverybody last Sunday. I thought I'd rather stay home and read, if youdidn't mind. "

Mrs. Gusty tossed her head in disgust, and turned to Hinton. 

"Now, ain't that a Gusty for you! I never saw one that didn't want toset down to the job of living. Always moping around with their nose in abook. I never was a reader, never remember wasting a' hour on a book inmy life, and yet I never saw the time that I wasn't able to hold my ownwith any Gusty living. "

"In short, " said Hinton, sympathetically, "to quote a noted novelist, you have never considered it necessary to add the incident of learningto the accident of brains. "

Mrs. Gusty tied her bonnet-strings in a firmer knot as she looked at himuncertainly, then, not deigning to cast another glance in the directionof her daughter, who was disappearing up the stairs, swept out of thehouse. 

Hinton looked at his watch; it was not yet two o'clock. The afternoonthreatened to be a foretaste of eternity. He went out on the porch andlay in the hammock, with his hands clasped across his eyes. He could nolonger see to read or to write. The doctor said the darkness might closein now at any time, after that the experiment of an operation would bemade, and there was one chance in a hundred for the partial restorationof the sight. 

Having beaten and bruised himself against the bars of Fate, he now layexhausted and passive in the power of his jailer. He had tried to runhis own life in his own way, and the matter had been taken out of hishands. He must lie still now and wait for orders from headquarters. Thewords of Mr. Opp, spoken in the low-ceiled, weird old dining-room, camevividly back to him: "What the fight is concerning, or in what mannerthe general is a-aiming to bring it all correct in the end, ain't, according to my conclusion, a particle of our business. "

And Hinton, after a year of rebellion and struggle and despair, had atlast acknowledged a superior officer and declared himself ready to takewhatever orders came. 

As he lay in the hammock he turned his head at every noise within thehouse, and listened. He had become amazingly dependent upon a soft, drawling voice which day after day read to him for hours at a time. Atfirst he had met Guinevere's offers of help with moody irritability. 

"Pray, don't bother about me, " he had said. "I am quite able to lookafter myself; besides, I like to be alone. "

But her unobtrusive sympathy and childish frankness soon conquered hispride. She read to him from books she did not understand, played gameswith him, and showed him new walks in the woods. And incidentally, sherevealed to him her struggling, starving, wistful soul that no one elsehad ever discovered. 

She never talked to him of her love affair, but she dwelt vaguely on thevirtues of duty and loyalty and self-sacrifice. The facts in the casewere supplied by Mrs. Gusty. 

Hinton looked at his watch again, and groaned when he found it was onlya quarter past two. Feeling his way cautiously along the porch and downthe steps, he moved idly about the yard. He could not distinguishMenelaus from Paris now, and Helen of Troy was no longer to berecognized. 

At long intervals a vehicle rattled past, leaving a cloud of dustbehind. The air shimmered with the heat, and the low, insistent buzzingof bees beat on his ears mercilessly. He wondered impatiently whyGuinevere did not come down, then checked himself as he remembered theconstant demands he made upon her time. 

At three o'clock he could stand it no longer. He felt a queer, dullsensation about his head, and he constantly drew his hand across hiseyes to dispel the impression of a mist before them. 

"Oh, Miss Guinevere!" he called up to her window. "Would you mind comingdown just for a little while!"

Guinevere's head appeared so promptly that it was evident it had beenlying on the window-sill. 

"Is it time for your medicine?" she asked guiltily. "Mother said itdidn't come till four. "

"Oh, no, " said Hinton, with forced cheerfulness; "it isn't that. Youremember the old song, don't you, 'When a man's afraid, a beautiful maidis a cheering sight to see'?"

She disappeared from the window, and in a moment joined him behind thescreen of honeysuckles on the porch. The hammock hung, inviting ease, but neither of them took it. She sat primly on the straight-backed, green settee, and he sat on the step at her feet with his hat pulledover his eyes. 

"What an infernal nuisance I have been to you!" he said ruefully; "butno more than I have been to myself. The only difference was that I hadto stand it, and you stood it out of the goodness of that kind littleheart of yours. Well, it's nearly over now; I'm expecting to go to thecity any day. I guess you'll not be sorry to get rid of me, will you, Miss Guinevere?"

Instead of answering, she drew a quick breath and turned her head away. When she did speak, it was after a long pause. 

"I like the way you say my name. Nobody says it like that down here. "

"Guinevere?" he repeated. 

She nodded. "When you say it like that, I feel like I was anotherperson. It makes me think of flowers, and poetry, and the wind in thetrees, and all those things I've been reading you out of your books. Guin-never and Guinevere _don't_ seem the same at all, do they?"

"They aren't the same, " he said, "and you aren't the same girl I met onthe boat last March. I guess we've both grown a bit since then. You knowI was rather keen on dying about that time, --'in love with easefuldeath, '--well, now I am not keen about anything, but I am willing toplay the game out. "

They sat in silence for a while, then he said slowly, without raisinghis eyes: "I am not much good at telling what I feel, but before I goaway I want you to know how much you've helped me. You have been the onelight that was left to show me the way down into the darkness. "

A soft touch on his shoulder made him lift his head. Guinevere wasbending toward him, all restraint banished from her face by thecompassion and love that suffused it. 

[Illustration: "'Oh, my God, it has come'"]

Instinctively he swayed toward her, all the need of her crying outsuddenly within him, then he pulled himself sharply together, and, resolutely thrusting his hands in his pockets, rose and took a turn upand down the porch. 

"Do you mind reading to me a little?" he asked at length. "There areforty devils in my head to-day, all hammering on the back of myeyeballs. I'll get my Tennyson; you like him better than you do theothers. Wait; I'm going. "

But she was up the steps before him, eager to serve, and determined tospare him every effort. 

Through the long afternoon Guinevere read, stumbling over the strangewords and faltering through the difficult passages, but vibrant to thebeauty and the pathos of it all. On and on she read, and the sun wentdown, and the fragrance of dying locust bloom came faintly from thehill, and overhead in the tree-tops the evening breeze murmured itsworld-old plaint of loneliness and longing. 

Suddenly Guinevere's voice faltered, then steadied, then faltered again, then without warning she flung her arms across the back of the bench, and, dropping her head upon them, burst into passionate sobs. 

Hinton, who had been sitting for a long time with his hands pressed overhis eyes, sprang up to go to her. 

"Guinevere, " he said, "what's the matter? Don't cry, dear!" Then, as hestumbled, a look of terror crossed his face and he caught at the railingfor support. "Where are you?" he asked sharply. "Speak to me! Give meyour hand! I can't see--I can't--oh, my God, it has come!"

XV

The warning note sounded by Mrs. Fallows at the beginning of the oilboom was echoed by many before the summer was over. The coldest thing inthe world is an exhausted enthusiasm, and when weeks slipped intomonths, and notes fell due, and the bank became cautious about lendingmoney, a spirit of distrust got abroad, and a financial frost settledupon the community. 

Notwithstanding these conditions, "The Opp Eagle" persistently screamedprosperity. It attributed the local depression to the financialdisturbance that had agitated the country at large, and assured thereaders that the Cove was on the eve of the greatest period in itshistory. 

"The ascending, soaring bubble of inflated prices cannot last muchlonger, " one editorial said; "the financial flurry in the Wall Streetsof the North were pretty well over before we become aware of it, in amajor sense. 'The Opp Eagle' has in the past, present, and future wagednoble warfare against the calamity jays. Panic or no panic, Cove Cityrefuses to remain in the backgrounds. There has been a large order forjob-work in this office within the past ten days, also several new andimportant subscribers, all of which does not make much of a showing forhard times, at least not from our point of looking at it. "

But in the same issue, in an inconspicuous corner, were a couple oflines to the effect that "the editor would be glad to take a load ofwood on subscription. "

The truth was that it required all of Mr. Opp's diplomacy to rise to theoccasion. The effort to meet his own obligations was becoming dailymore embarrassing, and he was reduced to economies entirely beneath thedignity of the editor of "The Opp Eagle. " But while he cheerfullyrestricted his diet to two meals a day, and wore shirt-fronts in lieu ofthe genuine article, he was, according to Nick's ideas, rashlyextravagant in other ways. 

"What did you go and buy Widow Green's oil-shares back for?" Nickdemanded upon one of these occasions. 

"Well, you see, " explained Mr. Opp, "it was purely a businessproposition. Any day, now, things may open up in a way that willsurprise you. I have good reason to believe that those shares are boundto go up; and besides, " he added lamely in an undertone, "I happen toknow that that there lady was in immediate need of a little readymoney. "

"So are we, " protested Nick; "we need every cent we can get for thepaper. If we don't get ahead some by the first of the year, we are goingunder, sure as you live. "

Mr. Opp laid a hand upon his shoulder and smiled tolerantly. "Financiers get used to these fluctuations in money circles. Don't youworry, Nick; you leave that to the larger brains in the concern. "

But in spite of his superior attitude of confidence, Nick's wordsrankled in his mind, and the first of the year became a time which hepreferred not to consider. 

One day in September the mail-packet brought two letters of greatimportance to Mr. Opp. One was from Willard Hinton, the first since hisoperation, and the other was from Mr. Mathews, stating that he wouldarrive at the Cove that day to lay an important matter of businessbefore the stock-holders of the Turtle Creek Land Company. 

Mr. Opp rushed across the road, a letter in each hand, to share the newswith Guinevere. 

"It's as good as settled, " he cried, bursting in upon her, where she satat the side door wrestling with a bit of needlework. "Mr. Mathews willbe here to-day. He is either going to open up work or sell out to asyndicate. I'm going to use all my influence for the latter; it's thesurest and safest plan. Miss Guin-never, "--his voice softened, --"this isall I been waiting for to make my last and final arrangement with yourmother. It was just yesterday she was asking me what I'd decided to do, and I don't mind telling you, now it's all over, I never went to bed alllast night--just sat up trying to figure it out. But this will settleit. I'll be in a position to have a little home of my own and take careof Kippy, too. I don't know as I ever was so happy in all my life puttogether before. " He laughed nervously, but his eyes anxiously studiedher averted face. 

"Then there's more news, " he plunged on, when she did not speak--"aletter from Mr. Hinton. I thought maybe you'd like to hear what he hadto say. "

Guinevere's scissors dropped with a sharp ring on the stepping-stonebelow, and as they both stooped to get them, their fingers touched. Mr. Opp ardently seized her hand in both of his, but unfortunately heseized her needle as well. 

"Oh, I am so sorry!" she said. "Wait, let me do it, " and with acompassion which he considered nothing short of divine she extricatedthe needle, and comforted the wounded member. Mr. Opp would have gladlysuffered the fate of a St. Sebastian to have elicited such sympathy. 

"Is--is Mr. Hinton better?" she asked, still bending over his hand. 

"Hinton?" asked Mr. Opp. "Oh, I forgot; yes. I'll read you what he says. He got his nurse to write this for him. 

 Dear Opp: The die is cast; I am a has-been. I did not expect anything, so I am not disappointed. The operation was what they called successful. The surgeon, I am told, did a very brilliant stunt; something like taking my eyes out, playing marbles with them, and getting them sewed back again all in three minutes and a half. The result to the patient is of course purely a minor consideration, but it may interest you to know that I can tell a biped from a quadruped, and may in time, by the aid of powerful glasses, be able to distinguish faces. 

 With these useful and varied accomplishments I have decided to return to the Cove. My modest ambition now is to get out of the way, and the safest plan is to keep out of the current. 

 You will probably be a Benedick by the time I return. My heartiest congratulations to you and Miss Guinevere. Words cannot thank either of you for what you have done for me. All I can say is that I have tried to be worthy of your friendship. 

 What's left of me is

 Yours, Willard Hinton. "

Mr. Opp avoided looking at her as he folded the sheets and put them backin the envelop. The goal was bright before his eyes, but quicksandsdragged at his feet. 

"And he _will_ find us married, won't he, Miss Guin-never? You'll beready just as soon as I and your mother come to a understanding, won'tyou? Why, it seems more like eleven years than eleven months since youand me saw that sunset on the river! There hasn't been a day since, youmight say, that hasn't been occupied with you. All I ask for in theworld is just the chance for the rest of my life of trying to make youhappy. You believe that, don't you, Miss Guin-never?"

"Yes, " she said miserably, gazing out at the little arbor Hinton hadmade for her beneath the trees. 

"Well, I'll stop by this evening after the meeting, if it ain't toolate, " said Mr. Opp. "You'll--you'll be--glad if everything culminatessatisfactory, won't you?"

"I'm glad of everything good that comes to you, " said Guinevere soearnestly that Mr. Opp, who had lived on a diet of crumbs all his life, looked at her gratefully, and went back to the office assuring himselfthat all would be well. 

The visit of Mr. Mathews, while eagerly anticipated, could not havefallen on a less auspicious day. Aunt Tish, the arbiter of the Opphousehold, had been planning for weeks to make a visit to Coreyville, and the occasion of an opportune funeral furnished an immediate excuse. 

"No, _sir_, Mr. D. , I can't put hit off till to-morrow, " she declared inanswer to Mr. Opp's request that she stay with Miss Kippy until afterthe stock-holders' meeting. "I's 'bleeged to go on dat night boat. Defuneral teks place at ten o'clock in de mawnin', an' I's gwine be dar efI has to swim de ribber. "

"Was he a particular friend, the one that died?" asked Mr. Opp. 

"Friend? Bunk Bivens? Dat onery, good-fer-nothin' ole half-strainer?Naw, sir; he ain't no friend ob mine. "

"Well, what makes you so pressing and particular about attending hisfuneral?" asked Mr. Opp. 

"'Ca'se I 'spise him so. I been hating dat nigger fer pretty nigh fortyyear, an' I ain't gwine lose dis chanst ob seein' him buried. "

"But, Aunt Tish, " persisted Mr. Opp, impatiently, "I've got a veryimportant and critical meeting this afternoon. The business underconsideration may be wound up in the matter of a few minutes, and then, again, it may prolong itself into several consecutive hours. You'll haveto stay with Kippy till I get home. "

The old woman looked at him strangely. "See dis heah hole in my haid, honey? 'Member how you and Ben uster ast Aunt Tish what mek hit? Datnigger Bunk Bivens mek hit. He was a roustabout on de ribber, an' himan' yer paw fell out, an' one night when you was a baby he follow yerpaw up here, an' me an' him had hit out. "

"But where was my father?" asked Mr. Opp. 

"Dey was 'sputin' right heah in dis heah kitchen where we's standin' at, an' dat mean, bow-laigged nigger didn't have no better manners den to'spute wif a gentleman dat was full. An' pore Miss she run in so skeeredan' white an' she say, 'Aunt Tish, don't let him hurt him; he don't knowwhat he's sayin', ' she baig, an' I tell her to keep yer paw outen deway an' I tek keer ob Bunk. "

"And did he fight you?" asked Mr. Opp, indignantly. 

"Naw, sir; I fit him. We put nigh tore up de floor ob de kitchen. Den hebust my haid open wif de poker, an' looks lak I been losing my knowledgeever sence. From dat day I 'low I's gwine to git even if it took me tillI died, an' now dat spiteful old devil done died fust. But I's gwine seehim buried. I want to see 'em nail him up in a box and th'ow dirt onhim. "

Aunt Tish ended the recital in a sing-song chant, worked up to a stateof hysteria by the recital of her ancient wrong. 

Mr. Opp sighed both for the past and the present. He saw the futility ofarguing the case. 

"Well, you'll stay until the boat whistles?" he asked. "Sometimes it istwo hours late. "

"Yas, sir; but when dat whistle toots I's gwine. Ef you is heah, allright; ef you ain't, all right: I's _gwine_!"

As Mr. Opp passed through the hall he saw Miss Kippy slip ahead of himand conceal herself behind the door. She carried something hidden in herapron. 

"Have you learned your reading lesson to say to brother D. To-night?" heasked, ignoring her behavior. "You are getting so smart, learning toread handwriting just as good as I can!"

But Miss Kippy only peeped at him through the crack in the door andrefused to be friendly. For several days she had been furtive anddepressed, and had not spoken to either Aunt Tish or himself. 

On the way to his office Mr. Opp was surprised to see Mr. Gallop leaningout of the window of his little room beckoning frantically. It wasevident that Mr. Gallop had a secret to divulge, and Mr. Gallop with asecret was as excited as a small bird with a large worm. 

"Just come in a minute and sit down, " he fluttered; "you'll have toexcuse the looks of things. Having just this one room for telegraphoffice and bedroom and everything crowds me up awful. I've been tryingto fix my lunch for half an hour, but the telephone just keeps me busy. Then, besides, Mr. Mathews was here; he came down on the launch attwelve o'clock. Now, of course I know it ain't right to repeat anythingI hear over the long-distance wire, but being such a good friend ofyours, and you being such a friend of mine--why, Mr. Opp there ain'tanybody in the world I owe more to than I do to you, not only the moneyyou've lent me from time to time, but your standing up for me wheneverybody was down on me--and--"

"Yes; but you was remarking about Mr. Mathews?" Mr. Opp interrupted. 

"Yes; and I was saying I never make a practice of repeating what I hear, but he was talking right here in the room, and I was mixing up a littlesalad dressing I promised Mrs. Fallows for the social, --it's to be overat Your Hotel this evening--there's the telephone!"

Mr. Opp sat on the edge of the sofa, the rest of it being occupied withgaily embroidered sofa pillows, specimens, the town declared, of Mr. Gallop's own handiwork. In fact, the only unoccupied space in the roomwas on the ceiling, for between his duties as operator and housekeeperMr. Gallop still found time to cultivate the arts, and the result of hisefforts was manifest in every nook and corner. 

"It was Mrs. Gusty getting after Mr. Toddlinger for sending vanillaextract instead of lemon, " explained Mr. Gallop, who had stopped to hearthe discussion. 

"Well, as I was saying, Mr. Mathews called up somebody in the cityalmost as soon as he got here--Now you've got to promise me you won'ttell a living soul about this. "

Mr. Opp promised. 

"He said to telegraph New York party that terms were agreed on, and tomail check at once to Clark, and tell him to keep his mouth shut. Thenthe other end said something, and Mr. Mathews said: 'We can't afford towait. You telegraph at once; I'll manipulate the crowd down here. ' Theytalked a lot more, then he said awful low, but I heard him: 'Well, damnit! they've got to. There's too much at stake. '"

The editor sat with his hat in his hand, and blinked at the operator:"Manipulate, " he said in a puzzled tone, "did he use that particularword?"

Mr. Gallop nodded. 

"He may have been referring to something else, " said Mr. Opp, waivingaside any disagreeable suspicion. "Mr. Mathews is a business gentleman. He's involved in a great many ventures, something like myself. Youwouldn't think from what you heard that--er--that he was contemplatingnot acting exactly--fair with us, would you?"

Mr. Gallop, having delivered himself of his information, did not feelcalled upon to express a personal opinion. 

"If you ever say I told you a word of this, I'll swear I didn't, " hesaid. "It was just because you were such a good friend, and--there'sthat 'phone again!"

During the early hours of the afternoon, Mr. Opp was oppressed with avague uneasiness. He made several attempts to see Mr. Mathews, but thatgentleman was closeted with his stenographer until five o'clock, thehour named for the meeting. 

All feeling of distrust was banished, however, when Mr. Mathews made hisway through the crowd of stock-holders that filled the office of YourHotel, and took his stand by the desk. He was so bland and confident, sosatisfied with himself and the world and the situation, that, as JimmyFallows remarked, "You kinder looked for him to purr when he wasn'ttalking. "

He set forth at great length the undoubted oil wealth of the region, hecomplimented them on their sagacity and foresight in buying up theTurtle Creek ground, he praised the Cove in general and thatdistinguished citizen, the editor of "The Opp Eagle, " in particular. The enterprise upon which they had embarked, he said, had grown to suchproportions that large capital was required to carry it on. Owing to therecent depression in the money market, the Kentucky company did not feelable properly to back the concern, so it had been agreed that if a goodoffer was made to buy it, it should be accepted. It was with such anoffer, Mr. Mathews said, that he had come to them to-day. 

A stir of excitement met this announcement, and Miss Jim Fenton wavedher lace scarf in her enthusiasm. 

"Some time ago, " went on Mr. Mathews, graciously acknowledging theapplause, "the Union Syndicate of New York sent an expert, Mr. Clark, down here to report on the oil conditions in this region. " Mr. Opp'seyes became fixed on Mr. Mathews's face, and his lips parted. "Thereport was so entirely satisfactory, " continued Mr. Mathews, "that thefollowing offer has been made. "

Mr. Opp rose immediately. "Excuse me, sir, there is--er--rather, theremust be some little mistake just at this juncture. "

All eyes were turned upon him, and a murmur of dissent arose at aninterruption at such a critical point. 

Mr. Mathews gave him permission to proceed. 

"You see--I--Mr. Clark, that is, "--Mr. Opp's fingers were workingnervously on the back of the chair before him, --"him and myself wentover the ground together, and--I--well, I must say I don't consider hima competent judge. "

Mr. Mathews smiled. "I am afraid, Mr. Opp, that your opinion isoverruled. Mr. Clark is a recognized authority, although, " he addedsignificantly, "of course the most expert make mistakes at times. "

"That ain't the point, " persisted Mr. Opp; "it's the conflictingdifference in what he said to me, and what he's reported to them. Hetold me that he didn't consider our prospects was worth a picayune, andif the wells were drilled, they probably wouldn't run a year. I didn'tbelieve him then; but you say now that he is a expert and that heknows. "

Mr. Mathews's tolerance seemed limitless. He waited patiently for Mr. Opp to finish, then he said smoothly:

"Yes, yes; I understand your point perfectly, Mr. Opp. Mr. Clark'sremarks were injudicious, but he was looking at all sides of thequestion. He saw me after he saw you, you know, and I was able to directhis attention to the more favorable aspects of the case. His report wasentirely favorable, and I guess that is all that concerns us, isn't it?"He embraced the room with his smile. 

During the next quarter of an hour Mr. Opp sat with his arms folded andhis eyes bent on the floor and bit his lips furiously. Something waswrong. Again and again he fought his way back to this conclusion throughthe enveloping mazes of Mr. Mathews's plausibility. Why had they waitedso long after drilling that first well? Why, after making elaborateplans and buying machinery, had they suddenly decided to sell? Why hadMr. Clark given such contradictory opinions? What did Mr. Mathews meanby that message from Mr. Gallop's office? Mr. Opp's private affairs, trembling in the balance, were entirely lost sight of in hisdetermination for fair play. 

Covering his eyes with his hand, and trying not to hear the flood ofargument which Mr. Mathews was bringing to bear upon his alreadyconvinced audience, Mr. Opp attempted to recall all that Mr. Gallop hadtold him. 

"He said 'manipulate, '" repeated Mr. Opp to himself. "I remember that, and he said 'telegraph New York party that terms were agreed on. ' Thenhe said 'mail check to Clark; tell him to keep his mouth shut. ' What's_he_ paying Clark for? Why--"

"The motion before the house, " Mr. Tucker's piping voice broke in uponhis agitated reasoning, "is whether the stock-holders of the TurtleCreek Land Company is willing to sell out at a rate of seven to one tothe Union Syndicate. "

In the buzz of delight that ensued, Mr. Opp found himself standing on achair and demanding attention. 

"Listen here, " he cried, pounding on the wall with his hand, "I've gotimportant information that's got to be told: that man Clark is a rascal. He's--he's deceiving his company. He's been paid to make a good reportof our ground. I can't prove it, but I know it. We're taking part in afraud; we're--we're being manipulated. "

Mr. Opp almost shrieked the last word in his agony of earnestness; butbefore the crowd could fully apprehend his meaning, Mr. Mathews rose andsaid somewhat sharply:

"What the representative of the Union Syndicate is, or is not, doesn'tconcern us in the least. I come to you with a gilt-edged proposition;all I ask you is to sit tight, and take my advice, and I guarantee youan immediate return of seven dollars to every one you put into thisconcern. Mr. Chairman, will you put it to the vote?"

But Mr. Opp again stopped proceedings. "As a director in this company Iwon't stand for what's going on. I'll telegraph the syndicate. I'lladvertise the whole matter!"

Mat Lucas pulled at his sleeve, and the preacher put a restraining armabout his shoulder. The amazing rumor had become current that the Cove'sstanchest advocate for temperance had been indulging in drink, and therewas nothing in the editor's flushed face and excited manner tocontradict the impression. 

"If by any chance, " Mr. Mathews went on in a steady voice, "there shouldbe a stock-holder who is unwilling to take advantage of this magnificentoffer, we need hardly say that we are prepared to buy his stock back atthe amount he gave for it. " He smiled, as if inviting ridicule at theabsurdity of the proposition. 

"I am unwilling, " cried Mr. Opp, tugging at the restraining hands. "Ihave never yet in all the length and breadth of my experience beenassociated with a dishonest act. "

"Don't! Mr. Opp, don't!" whispered Mat Lucas. "You're acting like acrazy man. Don't you see you are losing the chance to make threethousand dollars?"

"That hasn't nothing to do with it, " cried Mr. Opp, almost besidehimself. "I'll not be a party to the sale. I'll--"

Mr. Mathews turned to his secretary. "Just fix up those papers for Mr. Opp, and give him a check for what is coming to him. Now, Mr. Chairman, will you put the matter to the vote?"

Amid the hilarious confusion that succeeded the unanimous vote, and thesubsequent adjournment of the meeting, Mr. Opp pushed his way throughthe crowd that surrounded Mr. Mathews. 

"You know what I was alluding at, " he shouted through his chatteringteeth. "You've carried this through, but I'll blockade you. I am goingto tell the truth to the whole community. I am going to telegraph tothe syndicate and stop the sale. "

Mr. Mathews lifted his brows and smiled deprecatingly. 

"I am sorry you have worked yourself up to such a pitch, my friend, " hesaid. "Telegraph, by all means if it will ease your mind; but the factis, the deal was closed at noon to-day. "

The long, low whistle of the packet sounded, but Mr. Opp heeded it not. He was flinging his way across to the telegraph office in a frenzy ofQuixotic impatience to right the wrong of which he had refused to be apart. 

XVI

Half an hour later, Mr. Opp dragged himself up the hill to his home. Allthe unfairness and injustice of the universe seemed pressing upon hisheart. Every muscle in his body quivered in remembrance of what he hadbeen through, and an iron band seemed tightening about his throat. Histown had refused to believe his story! It had laughed in his face!

With a sudden mad desire for sympathy and for love, he began callingKippy. He stumbled across the porch, and, opening the door with hislatch-key, stood peering into the gloom of the room. 

The draft from an open window blew a curtain toward him, a whitespectral, beckoning thing, but no sound broke the stillness. 

"Kippy!" he called again, his voice sharp with anxiety. 

From one room to another he ran, searching in nooks and corners, peeringunder the beds and behind the doors, calling in a voice that wassometimes a command, but oftener a plea: "Kippy! Kippy!"

At last he came back to the dining-room and lighted the lamp withshaking hands. On the hearth were the remains of a small bonfire, withpapers scattered about. He dropped on his knees and seized a bit ofcharred cardboard. It was a corner of the hand-painted frame that hadincased the picture of Guinevere Gusty! Near it lay loose sheets ofpaper, parts of that treasured package of letters she had written himfrom Coreyville. 

As Mr. Opp gazed helplessly about the room, his eyes fell upon somethingwhite pinned to the red table-cloth. He held it to the light. It was aportion of one of Guinevere's letters, written in the girl's clear, round hand:

 Mother says I can never marry you until Miss Kippy goes to the asylum. 

Mr. Opp got to his feet. "She's read the letter, " he cried wildly;"she's learned out about herself! Maybe she's in the woods now, or downon the bank!" He rushed to the porch. "Kippy!" he shouted. "Don't beafraid! Brother D. 's coming to get you! Don't run away, Kippy! Wait forme! Wait!" and leaving the old house open to the night, he plunged intothe darkness, beating through the woods and up and down the road, calling in vain for Kippy, who lay cowering in the bottom of a leakingskiff that was drifting down the river at the mercy of the current. 

 * * * * *

Two days later, Mr. Opp sat in the office of the Coreyville Asylum forthe Insane and heard the story of his sister's wanderings. Her boat hadevidently been washed ashore at a point fifteen miles above the town, for people living along the river had reported a strange little woman, without hat or coat, who came to their doors crying and saying her namewas "Oxety, " and that she was crazy, and begging them to show her theway to the asylum. On the second day she had been found unconscious onthe steps of the institution, and since then, the doctor said, she hadbeen wild and unmanageable. 

"Considering all things, " he concluded, "it is much wiser for you not tosee her. She came of her own accord, evidently felt the attack comingon, and wanted to be taken care of. "

He was a large, smooth-faced man, with the conciliatory manner of onewho regards all his fellow-men as patients in varying degrees ofinsanity. 

"But I'm in the regular habit of taking care of her, " protested Mr. Opp. "This is just a temporary excitement for the time being that won't ever, probably, occur again. Why, she's been improving all winter; I'velearnt her to read and write a little, and to pick out a number ofcities on the geographical atlas. "

"All wrong, " exclaimed the doctor; "mistaken kindness. She can never beany better, but she may be a great deal worse. Her mind should never bestimulated or excited in any way. Here, of course, we understand allthese things and treat the patient accordingly. "

"Then I must just go back to treating her like a child again?" asked Mr. Opp, "not endeavoring to improve her intellect, or help her grow up inany way?"

The doctor laid a kindly hand on his shoulder. 

"You leave her to us, " he said. "The State provides this excellentinstitution for just such cases as hers. You do yourself and yourfamily, if you have one, an injustice by keeping her at home. Let herstay here for six months or so, and you will see what a relief it willbe. "

Mr. Opp sat with his elbow on the desk and his head propped in hishand, and stared miserably at the floor. He had not had his clothes offfor two nights, and he had scarcely taken time from his search to eatanything. His face looked old and wizened and haunted from the strain. Yet here and now he was called upon to make his great decision. On theone hand lay the old, helpless life with Kippy, and on the other afuture of dazzling possibility with Guinevere. All of his submerged selfsuddenly rose and demanded happiness. He was ready to snatch it, at anycost, regardless of everything and everybody--of Kippy; of Guinevere, who, he knew, did not love him, but would keep her promise; of Hinton, whose secret he had long ago guessed. And, as a running accompaniment tohis thoughts, was the quiet, professional voice of the doctor urging himto the course that his heart prompted. For a moment the personal forcesinvolved trembled in equilibrium. 

After a long time he unknotted his fingers, and drew his handkerchiefacross his brow. 

"I guess I'll go up and see her now, " he said, with the gasping breathof a man who has been under water. 

In vain the doctor protested. Mr. Opp was determined. 

As the door to the long ward was being unlocked, he leaned for a momentdizzily against the wall. 

"You'd better let me give you a swallow of whisky, " suggested thedoctor, who had noted his exhaustion. 

Mr. Opp raised his hand deprecatingly, with a touch of his oldprofessional pride. "I don't know as I've had occasion to mention, " hesaid, "that I am the editor and sole proprietor of 'The Opp Eagle'; andthat bird, " he added, with a forced smile, "is, as everybody knows, acomplete teetotaler. "

At the end of the crowded ward, with her face to the wall, was a slight, familiar figure. Mr. Opp started forward; then he turned fiercely uponthe attendant. 

"Her hands are tied! Who dared to tie her up like that?"

"It's just a soft handkerchief, " replied the matronly woman, reassuringly. "We were afraid she would pull her hair out. She wants itsfixed a certain way; but she's afraid for any of us to touch her. Shehas been crying about it ever since she came. "

In an instant Mr. Opp was on his knees beside her. "Kippy, Kippydarling, here's brother D. ; he'll fix it for you! You want it parted onthe side, don't you, tied with a bow, and all the rest hanging down?Don't cry so, Kippy. I'm here now; brother D. 'll take care of you. "

She flung her loosened arms around him and clung to him in a passion ofrelief. Her sobs shook them both, and his face and neck were wet withher tears. 

As soon as they could get her sufficiently quiet, they took her into herlittle bedroom. 

"You let the lady get you ready, " urged Mr. Opp, still holding her hand, "and I'll take you back home, and Aunt Tish will have a nice, hot supperall waiting for us. "

But she would let nobody else touch her, and even then she broke forthinto piteous sobs and protests. Once she pushed him from her and lookedabout wildly. "No, no, " she cried, "I mustn't go; I am crazy!" But hetold her about the three little kittens that had been born under thekitchen steps, and in an instant she was all a-tremble with eagerness togo home to see them. 

An hour later, Mr. Opp and his charge sat on the river-bank and waitedfor the little launch that was to take them back to the Cove. A curiouscrowd had gathered at a short distance, for their story had gone therounds. 

Mr. Opp sat under the fire of curious glances, gazing straight in frontof him, and only his flushed face showed what he was suffering. MissKippy, in her strange clothes and with her pale hair flying about hershoulders, sat close by him, her hand in his. 

"D. , " she said once in a high, insistent voice, "when will I be grown upenough to marry Mr. Hinton?"

Mr. Opp for a moment forgot the crowd. "Kippy, " he said with all thegentle earnestness that was in him, "you ain't never going to grow up atall. You are just always going to be brother D. 's little girl. You see, Mr. Hinton's too old for you, just like--" he paused, then finished itbravely--"just like I am too old for Miss Guin-never. I wouldn't besurprised if they got married with each other some day. You and me willjust have to take care of each other. "

She looked at him with the quick suspicion of the insane, but he wasready for her with a smile. 

"Oh, D. , " she cried, in a sudden rapture, "we are glad, ain't we?"

XVII

For the next four weeks there was no issue of "The Opp Eagle. " When itdid make its appearance, it contained the following editorial:

 Ye editor has for several weeks been the victim of the La Grip which eventuated into a rising in our left ear. Although we are still in severe and continuous pain, we know that behind the clouds of suffering the blue sky of health is still shining, and that a brighter day is coming, as it were. 

The night of Mr. Opp's return from Coreyville, he had written a longletter to Guinevere Gusty telling her of his final decision in regard toKippy, and releasing her from her promise. This having beenaccomplished, he ceased to fight against the cold and exhaustion, andwent to bed with a hard chill. 

Aunt Tish, all contrition for the disasters she thought she had broughtupon the household, served him night and day, and even Miss Kippy, movedby the unusual sight of her brother in bed, made futile efforts toassist in the nursing. 

When at last he was able to crawl back to the office, he found startlingchanges had taken place in the Cove. The prompt payment of the oilstock-holders by the Union Syndicate had brought about such a conditionof prosperity and general satisfaction as had never before been known. The civic spirit planted and carefully nourished by "The Opp Eagle"burst into bloom under this sudden and unexpected warmth. Committees, formed the year before, were called upon for reports, and gratifyingresults were obtained. The Cove awoke to the fact that it hadlamp-posts, and side-walks and a post-office, with a possibility, looming large, of a court house. 

Nor did this ambition for improvement stop short with the town: itextended to individuals. Jimmy Fallows was going to build a new hotel;Mr. Tucker was going to convert his hotel into a handsome privateresidence, for which Mrs. Gusty had been asked to select the wall-paper;Mat Lucas was already planning to build a large store on Main Street, and had engaged Mr. Gallop to take charge of the dry-goods department. The one person upon whom prosperity had apparently had a blightingeffect was Miss Jim Fenton. Soon after the receipt of her check, she hadappeared in the Cove in a plain, black tailor suit, and a small, severefelt hat innocent of adornment. The French-heeled slippers had beenreplaced by heavy walking shoes, and the lace scarf was discarded for astiff linen collar. 

But the state of Miss Jim's mind was not to be judged by the sombernessof her raiment. The novelty of selecting her own clothes, of consultingher own taste, of being rid of the entangling dangers of lace rufflesand flying furbelows, to say nothing of unwelcome suitors, gave her asense of exhilaration and independence which she had not enjoyed foryears. 

In the midst of all these tangible evidences of success, Mr. Opp foundhimself indulging in a hand-to-hand struggle with failure. As a hunteraims at a point well in advance of the flying bird, so he had aimed atpossibilities ahead of the facts, and when events took an unexpectedturn, he was left stranded, his ammunition gone, his judgmentquestioned, and his hands empty. He had been conducting his affairs noton the basis of his present income, but in reference to the large sumswhich he confidently believed would accrue from the oil-wells. 

The circulation of "The Opp Eagle" was increasing steadily, but thegrowing bird must be fed, and the editor, struggling to meet dailypressing obligations, was in no condition to furnish the steady demandfor copy. 

All unnecessary diversions were ruthlessly foregone. He resigned with apang the leadership of the Union Orchestra, he gave up his membershipwith the Odd Fellows. Even his more important duties, as president ofthe Town Improvement League, and director in the bank, wererelinquished. For, in addition to his editorials, he had undertaken toaugment his slender income by selling on subscription the "Encyclopediaof Wonder, Beauty, and Wisdom. "

It was at this low ebb of Mr. Opp's fortunes that Willard Hintonreturned to the Cove. He was still pale from his long confinement, butthere was an unusual touch of animation about him, the half-surprisedinterest of one who has struck bottom, and found it not so bad as he hadexpected. 

One dark afternoon in November he made his way over to the office of"The Opp Eagle, " and stood irresolute in the door. 

"That you, Mr. Opp? Or is it Nick?" He blinked uncertainly. 

"Why, it is me, " said Mr. Opp. "Come right in. I've been so occupiedwith engagements that I haven't scarcely had occasion to see anything ofyou since you come back. You are getting improved all the time, ain'tyou? I thought I saw you writing on a type-writer when I passed thismorning. "

"Yes, " said Hinton; "it's a little machine I got before I came down, with raised letters on the keyboard. If I progress at the rapid pace Ihave started, I'll be an expert before long. Mrs. Gusty was able to readfive words out of ten this morning!"

"Hope you'll do us an article or two, " said Mr. Opp. "I don't mindtelling you that things has been what you might name as pressing eversince that trouble about the oil-wells. I'm not regretting any step thatI taken, and I am endeavoring not to harbor any feelings against thosethat went on after I give my word it wasn't a fair transaction. But ifwhat that man Clark said is true, Mr. Hinton, the Union Syndicate willnever open up another well in this community. "

"Your conscience proved rather an expensive luxury that time, didn't it, Mr. Opp?" asked Hinton, who had heard as many versions of the affair asthere were citizens in the Cove. 

Mr. Opp shrugged his shoulders, and pursed his lips. "It's a matter thatI cannot yet bring myself to talk about. After a whole year and more ofassociating with me in business and social ways, to think they wouldn'tbe willing to take my word for what I said. "

"But it wasn't to their advantage, " said Hinton, smiling. "You forgetthe amount of money involved. "

"No, " declared Mr. Opp with some heat, "you do those gentlemen ainjustice. There ain't a individual of them that is capable of adishonest act, any more than you or me. They just lacked the experiencein dealing with a man like Mr. Mathews. "

Hinton's smile broadened; he reached over and grasped Mr. Opp's hand. 

"Do you know you are a rattling good fellow? I am sorry things havegotten so balled up with you. "

"I'll pay out, " said the editor. "It'll take some time, but I've got aremarkable ability for work in me. I don't mind telling you, though I'llhave to ask you not to mention the fact to no one at present, that I amconsidering inventing a patent. It's a sort of improved type-setter, oneof the most remarkable things you ever witnessed. I never knew tillabout six months ago what a scientific turn my mind could take. I'veworked this whole thing out in my brain without the aid of a model ofany sort. "

"In the meanwhile, " said Hinton, "I hear you will have to sell yourpaper. "

Mr. Opp winced, and the lines in his face deepened. "Well, yes, " hesaid, "I have about decided to sell, provided I keep the editorship, ofcourse. After my patent gets on the market I will soon be in a positionto buy it back. "

"Mr. Opp, " said Hinton, "I've got a proposition to make to you. I havea moderate sum of money in bank which I want to invest in business. Howwould you like to sell out the paper to me, lock, stock, and barrel?"

Mr. Opp, whose eyes had been resting on the bills that strewed histable, looked up eagerly. 

"You to own it, and me to run it?" he asked hopefully. 

"No, " said Hinton; "you would help me to run it, I hope, but I would bethe editor. I have thought the matter over seriously, and I believe, with competent help, I can make the paper an up-to-date, self-supportingnewspaper, in spite of my handicap. "

Mr. Opp sat as if stunned by a blow. He had known for some time that hemust sell the paper in order to meet his obligations, but the thought ofrelinquishing his control of it never dawned upon him. It was the prideof his heart, the one tangible achievement in a wilderness of dreams. Life without Guinevere had seemed a desert; life without "The OppEagle" seemed chaos. He looked up bewildered. 

"We'd continue on doing business here in the regular way?" he asked. 

"No, " said Hinton; "I would build a larger office uptown, and put in newpresses; we could experiment with your new patent type-setter as soon asyou got it ready. "

But Mr. Opp was beyond pleasantries. "You'd keep Nick?" he asked. "Iwouldn't consider anything that would cut Nick out. "

"By all means, " said Hinton. "I'm counting on you and Nick to initiateme into the mysteries of the profession. You could be city editor, andNick--well, we could make him foreman. "

One last hope was left to Mr. Opp, and he clung to it desperately, notdaring to voice it until the end. 

"The name, " he said faintly, "would of course remain 'The Opp Eagle'?"

Hinton dropped his eyes; he could not stand the wistful appeal in thedrawn face opposite. 

"No, " he said shortly; "that's a--little too personal. I think I shouldcall my paper 'The Weekly News. '"

Mr. Opp could never distinctly remember what happened after that. Heknew that he had at first declined the offer, that he had been arguedwith, had reconsidered, and finally accepted a larger sum than he hadasked for; but the details of the transaction were like the setting ofbones after an accident. 

He remembered that he had sat where Hinton left him, staring at thefloor until Nick came to close the office; then he had a vagueimpression of crossing the fields and standing with his head against theold sycamore-tree where the birds had once whispered of love. After thathe knew that he had met Hinton and Guinevere coming up the river roadhand in hand, that he had gotten home after supper was over, and hadbuilt a bridge of blocks for Miss Kippy. 

Then suddenly he had wakened to full consciousness, staggered out of thehouse to the woodshed, and shivered down into a miserable heap. Therein the darkness he seemed to see things, for the first time in his life, quite as they were. His gaze, accustomed to the glittering promise ofthe future, peered fearfully into the past, and reviewed the long lineof groundless hopes, of empty projects, of self-deceptions. Shorn of itspetty shams and deceits, and stripped of its counterfeit armor ofconceit, his life lay naked before him, a pitiful, starved, futilething. 

"I've just been similar to Kippy, " he sobbed, with his face in hishands, "continually pretending what wasn't so. I acted like I was young, and good-looking, and--and highly educated; and look at me! Look at me!"he demanded fiercely of the kindling-wood. 

Mr. Opp had been fighting a long duel--a duel with Circumstance, and Mr. Opp was vanquished. The acknowledgment of defeat, even to himself, gaveit the final stamp of verity. He had fought valiantly, with what poorweapons he had, but the thrusts had been too many and too sure. He layclothed in his strange new garment of humility, and wondered why he didnot want to die. He did not realize that in losing everything else, hehad won the greater stake of character for which he had beenunconsciously fighting all along. 

The kitchen door opened, and he saw Miss Kippy's figure silhouettedagainst the light. 

"Brother D. , " she called impatiently, "ain't you coming back to playwith me?"

He scrambled to his feet and made a hasty and somewhat guilty effort tocompose himself. 

"Yes, I'm a-coming, " he answered briskly, as he smoothed his scant locksand straightened his tie. "You go on ahead and gather up the blocks; Ionly stopped playing for a little spell. "

XVIII

The marriage of Guinevere Gusty and Willard Hinton took place inmid-winter, and the account of it, published in the last issue of "TheOpp Eagle, " proved that the eagle, like the swan, has its death-song. 

Like many of the masterpieces of literature, the article had beenwritten in anguish of spirit; but art, like nature, ignores the process, and reckons only the result, and the result, in Mr. Opp's opinion atleast, more than justified the effort. 

"In these strenuous, history-making meanderings of the sands of life, "it ran, "we sometimes overlook or neglect particulars in events whichprove of larger importance than appears on the surface. The case towhich we have allusion to is the wedding which was solemnized ateventide at the residence of the bride's mother. The Gustys may bejustly considered one of the best-furnished families in the county, andthe parlors were only less beautiful than the only daughter therepresiding. The collation served therein was of such a liberal naturethat every guest, we might venture to say, took dinner enough home forsupper. It has seldom been our fate to meet a gentleman of suchintelligent attainments as Mr. Hinton, and his entire future existence, be it long or short, cannot fail of being thrice blessed by thecompanionship of the one who has confided her trust to him, --her choice, world-wide. Although a bachelor ourself, we know what happiness must betheirs, and with all our heart we vouchsafe them a joyful voyage acrossthe uncertain billows of Time until their nuptial or matrimonial barkshall have been safely moored in the haven of everlasting bliss, wherethe storms of this life spread not their violence. "

Some men spend their lives in the valley, and some are born and die onthe heights; but it was Mr. Opp's fate to climb from the valley to hisown little mountain-top of prosperity, only to have to climb down on theother side. It was evidence of his genius that in time he persuadedhimself and his fellow-citizens that it was exactly what he wanted todo. 

"That there life of managing and promoting was all right in its way, " hesaid one day to a group of men at the post-office, "but a man owessomething to himself, don't he? Now that the town has got well started, and Mr. Hinton is going to take main charge of the paper, I'll be freerthan I been for years to put some of my ideas into practice. "

"We are counting on getting you back in the orchestra, " said Mr. Gallop, whose admiration for Mr. Opp retained its pristine bloom. 

Mr. Opp shook his head regretfully. "No, I'm going to give all myevenings over to study. This present enterprise I am engaged onrequires a lot of personal application. I sometimes think that I have inthe past scattered my forces too much, in a way. "

So persistently did Mr. Opp refer to the mysterious work that wasengrossing him that he reduced Mr. Gallop's curiosity to thesaturation-point. 

When he was no longer able to stand it, the telegraph operatordetermined upon a tour of investigation. The projected presentation of anew cornet by the Unique Orchestra to its erstwhile leader proved aslender excuse for a call, and while he knew that, with the exception ofWillard Hinton, no visitor had ever been known to cross the Oppthreshold, yet he permitted desire to overrule delicacy. 

It was a blustery December night when he climbed the hill, and he had topause several times during the ascent to gain sufficient breath toproceed. By the time he reached the house he was quite speechless, andhe dropped on the steps to rest a moment before knocking. As he satthere trying to imagine the flying-machine or torpedo-boat upon which hefelt certain Mr. Opp was engaged, he became aware of voices from within, and looking up, he saw the window above him was slightly raised. Overcome by his desire to see his friend at work upon his greatinvention, he cautiously tiptoed across the porch and peeped in. 

The low-ceilinged old room was bright with firelight, and in the centerof it, with his knees drawn up, his toes turned in, and his tonguethrust out, sat Mr. Opp, absorbed in an object which he held between hisknees. Miss Kippy knelt before him, eagerly watching proceedings. 

Mr. Gallop craned his neck to see what it was that held their interest, and at last discovered that they were fitting a dress on a large chinadoll. 

Miss Kippy's voice broke the silence. "You can sew nice, " she wassaying; "you can sew prettier than Aunt Tish. "

[Illustration: "'Can't nobody beat me making skirts'"]

"Can't nobody beat me making skirts, " said Mr. Opp, and Mr. Gallop sawhim push his needle through a bit of cloth, with the handle of theshovel; "but sleeves is a more particular proposition. Why, I'd ratherthread three needles than to fix in one sleeve! Why don't you make likeit's summer-time and let her go without any?"

Miss Kippy's lips trembled. "I want sleeves, D. --two of them, and alady's hat, with roses on it. We can let _her_ be grown up, can't we, D. ?"

Mr. Gallop beat a hasty and shame-faced retreat. Though his idol hadfallen from its pedestal, he determined to stand guard over thefragments, and from that night on, he constituted himself Mr. Opp'sloyal defender. 

And Mr. Gallop was not the only one who came forth boldly in expressionsof sympathy and respect for the ex-editor. It was especially easy forthose who had prospered by the oil boom to express unbounded admirationfor the conscientious stand he had taken in the late transaction. Theyhad done him a grave injustice, they acknowledged. The wells had beenreinvestigated and proved of small value. The fact that the truth wasdiscovered too late to affect their luck deepened their appreciation ofMr. Opp. 

Willard Hinton, seeing what balm these evidences of approval brought toMr. Opp's wounded spirit, determined to arrange for a banquet to theretiring editor, at which he planned to bring forth as many testimonialsof friendship and good-will as was possible. 

The affair was to take place New Year's night, in the dining-room ofFallows's new Your Hotel. The entire masculine contingent of the Covewas invited, and the feminine element prepared the supper. There hadnever been a social event of such an ambitious nature attempted in theCove before, and each citizen took a personal pride in its success. 

For a week in advance the town was in violent throes of speech-writing, cake-baking, salad-mixing, and decorating. Even Mrs. Fallows warmed tothe occasion, and crocheted a candlestick, candle, flame, and all, tograce the table. 

When the night arrived, Jimmy Fallows did the honors. He was resplendentin his dress-suit, which consisted of a black sateen shirt and a brownsuit of clothes. 

When the guests were all seated, Willard Hinton rose, and in a fewbrief, pointed remarks, called the attention of the town to the changesthat had been wrought by the indefatigable efforts of one citizen inparticular. He spoke of the debt of gratitude they owed, collectivelyand individually, to the late editor of "The Opp Eagle, " and added thatafter Mr. Opp's response, the guests desired, each in turn, to voice hissentiments upon the subject. 

Mr. Opp then rose amid a thunder of applause, and stood for a moment inpleased but overwhelming embarrassment. Then he put forward one footinflated his chest, and began:

"Valued brother fellow-beings, I come before you to-night to expressthat which there is no words in the English vocabulary to express. Whatever you may have to say concerning me, or my part in the awakeningof this our native city, I shall listen at with a grateful heart. Ibelieve in a great future for Cove City. We may not live to see it, butI believe that the day will arrive when our city shall be the gateway tothe South, when the river front will be not dissimilar to Main Street, New York. I predict that it reaches a pivot of prominence of which wewot not of. As for Mr. Hinton, one and all we welcome him amid ourmongst. 'The Opp Eagle' strikes palms with 'The Weekly News, ' and wishesit a lasting and eternal success. "

A burst of applause interrupted the flow of his eloquence, and as heglanced around the room, he saw there was some commotion at the door. Aturbaned head caught his eye, then Aunt Tish's beckoning hand. 

Hastily excusing himself, he made his way through the crowd, and bent tohear her message. 

"Hit's Miss Kippy, " she whispered. "I hate to 'sturb you, but she donecrack her doll's head, an' she's takin' on so, I can't do nuffin 't allwif her. "

"Couldn't you contrive to get her quiet no way at all?" asked Mr. Opp, anxiously. 

"Naw, sir. She mek like dat doll her shore 'nough baby, and she 'low shegwine die, too, furst chanct she gits. I got Val's mother to stay wifher till I git back. "

"All right, " said Mr. Opp, hastily. "You go right on and tell her I'mcoming. "

When he reëntered the dining-room, he held his hat in his hand. 

"I find a urgent matter of business calls me back home; for only a fewmoments, I trust, " he said apologetically, with bows and smiles. "If thebanquet will kindly proceed, I will endeavor to return in ample time forthe final speeches. "

With the air of a monarch taking temporary leave of his subjects, heturned his back upon the gay, protesting crowd, upon the feast preparedin his honor, upon the speech-making, so dear to his heart. Trampingthrough the snow of the deserted street, through the lonely graveyard, and along the river road, he went to bind up the head of a china doll, and to wipe away the tears of a little half-crazed sister. 

He wears the same checked suit as when we saw him first, worn andfrayed, to be sure, but carefully pressed for the occasion, the samebrave scarf and pin, and watch fob, though the watch is missing. 

Passing out of sight with the sleet in his face, and the wind cuttingthrough his finery, he whistles as he goes, such a plucky, sturdy, hopeful whistle as calls to arms the courage that lies slumbering in thehearts of men. 

THE END