The warning note sounded by Mrs. Fallows at the beginning of the oil
boom was echoed by many before the summer was over. The coldest thing in
the world is an exhausted enthusiasm, and when weeks slipped into
months, and notes fell due, and the bank became cautious about lending
money, a spirit of distrust got abroad, and a financial frost settled
upon the community.
Notwithstanding these conditions, "The Opp Eagle" persistently screamed
prosperity. It attributed the local depression to the financial
disturbance that had agitated the country at large, and assured the
readers that the Cove was on the eve of the greatest period in its
history.
"The ascending, soaring bubble of inflated prices cannot last much
longer," one editorial said; "the financial flurry in the Wall Streets
of the North were pretty well over before we become aware of it, in a
major sense. 'The Opp Eagle' has in the past, present, and future waged
noble warfare against the calamity jays. Panic or no panic, Cove City
refuses to remain in the backgrounds. There has been a large order for
job-work in this office within the past ten days, also several new and
important subscribers, all of which does not make much of a showing for
hard times, at least not from our point of looking at it."
But in the same issue, in an inconspicuous corner, were a couple of
lines to the effect that "the editor would be glad to take a load of
wood on subscription."
The truth was that it required all of Mr. Opp's diplomacy to rise to the
occasion. The effort to meet his own obligations was becoming daily
more embarrassing, and he was reduced to economies entirely beneath the
dignity of the editor of "The Opp Eagle." But while he cheerfully
restricted his diet to two meals a day, and wore shirt-fronts in lieu of
the genuine article, he was, according to Nick's ideas, rashly
extravagant in other ways.
"What did you go and buy Widow Green's oil-shares back for?" Nick
demanded upon one of these occasions.
"Well, you see," explained Mr. Opp, "it was purely a business
proposition. Any day, now, things may open up in a way that will
surprise you. I have good reason to believe that those shares are bound
to go up; and besides," he added lamely in an undertone, "I happen to
know that that there lady was in immediate need of a little ready
money."
"So are we," protested Nick; "we need every cent we can get for the
paper. If we don't get ahead some by the first of the year, we are going
under, 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 you
worry, Nick; you leave that to the larger brains in the concern."
But in spite of his superior attitude of confidence, Nick's words
rankled in his mind, and the first of the year became a time which he
preferred not to consider.
One day in September the mail-packet brought two letters of great
importance to Mr. Opp. One was from Willard Hinton, the first since his
operation, and the other was from Mr. Mathews, stating that he would
arrive at the Cove that day to lay an important matter of business
before the stock-holders of the Turtle Creek Land Company.
Mr. Opp rushed across the road, a letter in each hand, to share the news
with Guinevere.
"It's as good as settled," he cried, bursting in upon her, where she sat
at the side door wrestling with a bit of needlework. "Mr. Mathews will
be here to-day. He is either going to open up work or sell out to a
syndicate. I'm going to use all my influence for the latter; it's the
surest and safest plan. Miss Guin-never,"--his voice softened,--"this is
all I been waiting for to make my last and final arrangement with your
mother. 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 all
last night--just sat up trying to figure it out. But this will settle
it. I'll be in a position to have a little home of my own and take care
of Kippy, too. I don't know as I ever was so happy in all my life put
together before." He laughed nervously, but his eyes anxiously studied
her averted face.
"Then there's more news," he plunged on, when she did not speak--"a
letter from Mr. Hinton. I thought maybe you'd like to hear what he had
to say."
Guinevere's scissors dropped with a sharp ring on the stepping-stone
below, and as they both stooped to get them, their fingers touched. Mr.
Opp ardently seized her hand in both of his, but unfortunately he
seized her needle as well.
"Oh, I am so sorry!" she said. "Wait, let me do it," and with a
compassion which he considered nothing short of divine she extricated
the needle, and comforted the wounded member. Mr. Opp would have gladly
suffered 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.