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 assuring himself
that all would be well.
The visit of Mr. Mathews, while eagerly anticipated, 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 nigger 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
nigger 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 nigger 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 passed through the hall he saw Miss Kippy slip ahead of him
and conceal herself behind the door. She carried something hidden in her
apron.
"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 space 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, damn
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."
He set forth at great length the undoubted oil wealth of the region, he
complimented them on their sagacity and foresight in buying up the
Turtle Creek ground, he praised the Cove in general and that
distinguished citizen, the editor of "The Opp Eagle," in particular.
The enterprise upon which they had embarked, he said, had grown to such
proportions that large capital was required to carry it on. Owing to the
recent depression in the money market, the Kentucky company did not feel
able properly to back the concern, so it had been agreed that if a good
offer was made to buy it, it should be accepted. It was with such an
offer, Mr. Mathews said, that he had come to them to-day.
A stir of excitement met this announcement, and Miss Jim Fenton waved
her lace scarf in her enthusiasm.
"Some time ago," went on Mr. Mathews, graciously acknowledging the
applause, "the Union Syndicate of New York sent an expert, Mr. Clark,
down here to report on the oil conditions in this region." Mr. Opp's
eyes became fixed on Mr. Mathews's face, and his lips parted. "The
report was so entirely satisfactory," continued Mr. Mathews, "that the
following offer has been made."
Mr. Opp rose immediately. "Excuse me, sir, there is--er--rather, there
must be some little mistake just at this juncture."
All eyes were turned upon him, and a murmur of dissent arose at an
interruption at such a critical point.
Mr. Mathews gave him permission to proceed.
"You see--I--Mr. Clark, that is,"--Mr. Opp's fingers were working
nervously on the back of the chair before him,--"him and myself went
over the ground together, and--I--well, I must say I don't consider him
a competent judge."
Mr. Mathews smiled. "I am afraid, Mr. Opp, that your opinion is
overruled. Mr. Clark is a recognized authority, although," he added
significantly, "of course the most expert make mistakes at times."
"That ain't the point," persisted Mr. Opp; "it's the conflicting
difference in what he said to me, and what he's reported to them. He
told me that he didn't consider our prospects was worth a picayune, and
if the wells were drilled, they probably wouldn't run a year. I didn't
believe him then; but you say now that he is a expert and that he
knows."
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's
remarks were injudicious, but he was looking at all sides of the
question. He saw me after he saw you, you know, and I was able to direct
his attention to the more favorable aspects of the case. His report was
entirely 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 and
his eyes bent on the floor and bit his lips furiously. Something was
wrong. Again and again he fought his way back to this conclusion through
the enveloping mazes of Mr. Mathews's plausibility. Why had they waited
so long after drilling that first well? Why, after making elaborate
plans and buying machinery, had they suddenly decided to sell? Why had
Mr. Clark given such contradictory opinions? What did Mr. Mathews mean
by that message from Mr. Gallop's office? Mr. Opp's private affairs,
trembling in the balance, were entirely lost sight of in his
determination for fair play.
Covering his eyes with his hand, and trying not to hear the flood of
argument which Mr. Mathews was bringing to bear upon his already
convinced audience, Mr. Opp attempted to recall all that Mr. Gallop had
told him.
"He said 'manipulate,'" repeated Mr. Opp to himself. "I remember that,
and he said 'telegraph New York party that terms were agreed on.' Then
he 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 upon
his agitated reasoning, "is whether the stock-holders of the Turtle
Creek Land Company is willing to sell out at a rate of seven to one to
the Union Syndicate."
In the buzz of delight that ensued, Mr. Opp found himself standing on a
chair and demanding attention.
"Listen here," he cried, pounding on the wall with his hand, "I've got
important 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 report
of our ground. I can't prove it, but I know it. We're taking part in a
fraud; we're--we're being manipulated."
Mr. Opp almost shrieked the last word in his agony of earnestness; but
before the crowd could fully apprehend his meaning, Mr. Mathews rose and
said somewhat sharply:
"What the representative of the Union Syndicate is, or is not, doesn't
concern 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 you
an immediate return of seven dollars to every one you put into this
concern. Mr. Chairman, will you put it to the vote?"
But Mr. Opp again stopped proceedings. "As a director in this company I
won't stand for what's going on. I'll telegraph the syndicate. I'll
advertise the whole matter!"
Mat Lucas pulled at his sleeve, and the preacher put a restraining arm
about his shoulder. The amazing rumor had become current that the Cove's
stanchest advocate for temperance had been indulging in drink, and there
was nothing in the editor's flushed face and excited manner to
contradict the impression.
"If by any chance," Mr. Mathews went on in a steady voice, "there should
be a stock-holder who is unwilling to take advantage of this magnificent
offer, we need hardly say that we are prepared to buy his stock back at
the amount he gave for it." He smiled, as if inviting ridicule at the
absurdity of the proposition.
"I am unwilling," cried Mr. Opp, tugging at the restraining hands. "I
have never yet in all the length and breadth of my experience been
associated with a dishonest act."
"Don't! Mr. Opp, don't!" whispered Mat Lucas. "You're acting like a
crazy man. Don't you see you are losing the chance to make three
thousand dollars?"
"That hasn't nothing to do with it," cried Mr. Opp, almost beside
himself. "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 the
subsequent adjournment of the meeting, Mr. Opp pushed his way through
the crowd that surrounded Mr. Mathews.
"You know what I was alluding at," he shouted through his chattering
teeth. "You've carried this through, but I'll blockade you. I am going
to tell the truth to the whole community. I am going to telegraph to
the 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," he
said. "Telegraph, by all means if it will ease your mind; but the fact
is, 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 of
Quixotic impatience to right the wrong of which he had refused to be a
part.