Mr. Opp Part 9

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

Mr. Opp and the preacher const.i.tuted the Liberal party. They furnished the enthusiasm that floated the scheme. They were able to project themselves into the future and prophesy dazzling probabilities.

Jimmy Fallows, alone of the group, maintained an artistic att.i.tude toward the situation. He was absolutely detached. He sat with his chair tilted against the door and his thumbs in his armholes, and treated the whole affair as a huge joke.

"The matter up for immediate consideration," Mr. Opp was saying impressively, "is whether these here gentlemen should want to buy us out, we would sell, or whether we would remain firm in possession, and let 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," urged Mr. Tucker in a high, querulous voice. "To sell on a rising market is always a pretty good plan."

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

"Gentlemen," protested Mr. Opp, "this here ain't the att.i.tude to a.s.sume to the affair. To my profoundest belief there is a fortune in these here lands. The establishment of 'The Opp Eagle' has, as you know, been a considerable tax on my finances, but everything else I've got has gone into this company. It's a great and glorious opportunity, one that I been predicting and prophesying for these many years. Are we going to sell out to this party, and let them reap the prize? No; I trust and hope that such is not the case. In order to have more capital to open up the 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 the lead-pencil," said Jimmy, without moving.

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

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

"Very well," said Mr. Opp, briskly; "the motion is carried. Now we got to 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 about entertainment whizzed past. The instinct of the landlord awoke at the call, and he promptly switched off the main line and went down the side track.

"Gallop was here while ago," Jimmy was saying, with a satisfied glance at Mr. Tucker; "said they wanted me to take keer of 'em. I'll 'commodate all 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 and brought him home, he was as glad to find me to work on as she'd 'a' be'n to git some fruit to preserve. 'Brother,' he says, reaching out for my hand, 'do you ever think about the awful place you are going to when you die?' 'You bet,' says I; 'I got more friends there than anywhere.'" And Jimmy's laugh shook the stove-pipe.

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

"Ten," said Jimmy. "Now, you wouldn't think it, but this here hotel has got 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 of these 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 provide entertainment for the gentleman in question."

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

Just now the problem that confronted him was the entertainment of the expected guest. Never, since he could remember, had a stranger invaded that 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 away as something he was ashamed of, or to let her appear and run the risk of exposing her deficiency to uncaring eyes? During the months that he had watched her, a fierce tenderness had sprung up in his heart. He had become possessed of the hope that she might be rescued from her condition. Night after night he patiently tried to teach her to read and to write, stopping again and again to humor her whims and indulge her foolish fancies. More than once he had surprised a new look in her eyes, a sudden gleam of sanity, of frightened understanding; and at such times she would cling to him for protection against that strange thing that was herself.

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

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

"I am waiting for the packet to go down to Coreyville," announced Miss Gusty, straightening her plumed hat, and smiling. "Mr. Gallop says it's an 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 at the heavens and the earth. "Is it?" he asked, finding his voice. "I been so occupied with business that I haven't scarcely taken occasion to note the weather."

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

"I'll take you," said Mr. Opp, eagerly. "We can hear the whistle of the boat 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 never have yet got a lady left on a boat."

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

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

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

As he talked, his companion moved heedlessly along beside him, stopping now and then to gather a spray of goldenrod, or to gaze absently at the river through some open s.p.a.ce in the trees. For Miss Guinevere Gusty lived in a world of her own--a world of vague possibilities, of half-defined longings, and intangible dreams. Love was still an abstract sentiment, something radiant and breathless that might envelop her at any moment and bear her away to Elysium.

As she stooped to free her skirt from a detaining thorn, she pointed down 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 so far up that it was necessary to climb out a short distance in order to reach them. Mr. Opp's soul was undoubtedly that of a knight-errant, but his body, alas! was not. When he found himself astride the slender, swaying trunk, with the bank dropping sharply to the river flowing dizzily beneath him, he went suddenly and unexpectedly blind. Between admiration for himself for ever having gotten there, and despair of ever getting back, lay the present necessity of loosening his hold long enough to break off a branch of the crimson leaves. He tried opening one eye, but the effect was so terrifying that he promptly closed it. He pictured himself, a few moments before, strolling gracefully along the road conversing brilliantly upon divers subjects; then he bitterly considered the present moment and the effect he must be producing upon the young lady in the red cloak on the path above. He saw himself clinging abjectly to the swaying tree-trunk, only waiting for his strength or the tree to give away, before he should be plunged into the waters below.

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

Mr. Opp, rallying all his courage, reached blindly out in the direction indicated, and as he did so, he realized that annihilation was imminent.

Demonstrating a swift geometrical figure in the air, he felt himself hurling through s.p.a.ce, coming to an abrupt and awful pause when he struck the earth. Perceiving with a thrill of surprise that he was still alive, he cautiously opened his eyes. To his further amazement he found that he had landed on his feet, unhurt, and that in his left hand he held a long branch of sweet-gum leaves.

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

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

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

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

Mr. Opp sank beside her on the bank and gave himself up to the full enjoyment of the moment. Both hands were badly bruised, and he had a dim misgiving that his coat was ripped up the back; but he was happy, with the wild, reckless happiness of one to whom Fate has been unexpectedly kind. Moreover, the goal toward which all his thought had been rushing for the past hour was in sight. He could already catch glimpses of the vision beautiful. He could hear himself storming the citadel with magic words of eloquence. Meanwhile he nursed the band-box and smiled dumbly into s.p.a.ce.

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