Mr. Opp Part 22

"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 gla.s.ses, 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 Bened.i.c.k 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 friends.h.i.+p.

What's left of me is

Yours,

Willard Hinton."

Mr. Opp avoided looking at her as he folded the sheets and put them back in the envelop. The goal was bright before his eyes, but quicksands dragged at his feet.

"And he _will_ find us married, won't he, Miss Guin-never? You'll be ready just as soon as I and your mother come to a understanding, won't you? Why, it seems more like eleven years than eleven months since you and me saw that sunset on the river! There hasn't been a day since, you might say, that hasn't been occupied with you. All I ask for in the world is just the chance for the rest of my life of trying to make you happy. You believe that, don't you, Miss Guin-never?"

"Yes," she said miserably, gazing out at the little arbor Hinton had made for her beneath the trees.

"Well, I'll stop by this evening after the meeting, if it ain't too late," said Mr. Opp. "You'll--you'll be--glad if everything culminates satisfactory, won't you?"

"I'm glad of everything good that comes to you," said Guinevere so earnestly that Mr. Opp, who had lived on a diet of crumbs all his life, looked at her gratefully, and went back to the office a.s.suring himself that all would be well.

The visit of Mr. Mathews, while eagerly antic.i.p.ated, could not have fallen on a less auspicious day. Aunt Tish, the arbiter of the Opp household, 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 in answer to Mr. Opp's request that she stay with Miss Kippy until after the stock-holders' meeting. "I's 'bleeged to go on dat night boat. De funeral teks place at ten o'clock in de mawnin', an' I's gwine be dar ef I 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 his funeral?" asked Mr. Opp.

"'Ca'se I 'spise him so. I been hating dat n.i.g.g.e.r fer pretty nigh forty year, an' I ain't gwine lose dis chanst ob seein' him buried."

"But, Aunt Tish," persisted Mr. Opp, impatiently, "I've got a very important and critical meeting this afternoon. The business under consideration may be wound up in the matter of a few minutes, and then, again, it may prolong itself into several consecutive hours. You'll have to 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? Dat n.i.g.g.e.r Bunk Bivens mek hit. He was a roustabout on de ribber, an' him an' yer paw fell out, an' one night when you was a baby he follow yer paw 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 n.i.g.g.e.r didn't have no better manners den to 'spute wif a gentleman dat was full. An' pore Miss she run in so skeered an' white an' she say, 'Aunt Tish, don't let him hurt him; he don't know what he's sayin',' she baig, an' I tell her to keep yer paw outen de way 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 he bust my haid open wif de poker, an' looks lak I been losing my knowledge ever sence. From dat day I 'low I's gwine to git even if it took me till I died, an' now dat spiteful old devil done died fust. But I's gwine see him buried. I want to see 'em nail him up in a box and th'ow dirt on him."

Aunt Tish ended the recital in a sing-song chant, worked up to a state of hysteria by the recital of her ancient wrong.

Mr. Opp sighed both for the past and the present. He saw the futility of arguing the case.

"Well, you'll stay until the boat whistles?" he asked. "Sometimes it is two hours late."

"Yas, sir; but when dat whistle toots I's gwine. Ef you is heah, all right; ef you ain't, all right: I's _gwine_!"

As Mr. Opp pa.s.sed through the hall he saw Miss Kippy slip ahead of him and conceal herself behind the door. She carried something hidden in her ap.r.o.n.

"Have you learned your reading lesson to say to brother D. to-night?" he asked, ignoring her behavior. "You are getting so smart, learning to read handwriting just as good as I can!"

But Miss Kippy only peeped at him through the crack in the door and refused to be friendly. For several days she had been furtive and depressed, and had not spoken to either Aunt Tish or himself.

On the way to his office Mr. Opp was surprised to see Mr. Gallop leaning out of the window of his little room beckoning frantically. It was evident that Mr. Gallop had a secret to divulge, and Mr. Gallop with a secret was as excited as a small bird with a large worm.

"Just come in a minute and sit down," he fluttered; "you'll have to excuse the looks of things. Having just this one room for telegraph office and bedroom and everything crowds me up awful. I've been trying to 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 at twelve o'clock. Now, of course I know it ain't right to repeat anything I hear over the long-distance wire, but being such a good friend of yours, and you being such a friend of mine--why, Mr. Opp there ain't anybody in the world I owe more to than I do to you, not only the money you've lent me from time to time, but your standing up for me when everybody 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 little salad dressing I promised Mrs. Fallows for the social,--it's to be over at Your Hotel this evening--there's the telephone!"

Mr. Opp sat on the edge of the sofa, the rest of it being occupied with gaily embroidered sofa pillows, specimens, the town declared, of Mr.

Gallop's own handiwork. In fact, the only unoccupied s.p.a.ce in the room was on the ceiling, for between his duties as operator and housekeeper Mr. Gallop still found time to cultivate the arts, and the result of his efforts was manifest in every nook and corner.

"It was Mrs. Gusty getting after Mr. Toddlinger for sending vanilla extract instead of lemon," explained Mr. Gallop, who had stopped to hear the discussion.

"Well, as I was saying, Mr. Mathews called up somebody in the city almost as soon as he got here--Now you've got to promise me you won't tell a living soul about this."

Mr. Opp promised.

"He said to telegraph New York party that terms were agreed on, and to mail check at once to Clark, and tell him to keep his mouth shut. Then the other end said something, and Mr. Mathews said: 'We can't afford to wait. You telegraph at once; I'll manipulate the crowd down here.' They talked a lot more, then he said awful low, but I heard him: 'Well, d.a.m.n it! 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 particular word?"

Mr. Gallop nodded.

"He may have been referring to something else," said Mr. Opp, waiving aside any disagreeable suspicion. "Mr. Mathews is a business gentleman.

He's involved in a great many ventures, something like myself. You wouldn't think from what you heard that--er--that he was contemplating not acting exactly--fair with us, would you?"

Mr. Gallop, having delivered himself of his information, did not feel called upon to express a personal opinion.

"If you ever say I told you a word of this, I'll swear I didn't," he said. "It was just because you were such a good friend, and--there's that 'phone again!"

During the early hours of the afternoon, Mr. Opp was oppressed with a vague uneasiness. He made several attempts to see Mr. Mathews, but that gentleman was closeted with his stenographer until five o'clock, the hour named for the meeting.

All feeling of distrust was banished, however, when Mr. Mathews made his way through the crowd of stock-holders that filled the office of Your Hotel, and took his stand by the desk. He was so bland and confident, so satisfied with himself and the world and the situation, that, as Jimmy Fallows remarked, "You kinder looked for him to purr when he wasn't talking."