Part 20

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

"But," protested Mr. Tucker, resisting the effort to force him into his overcoat, "I want to talk over this oil business. We don't want to take any 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 in great haste, "I know, of course. You are exactly right about it. We'll just 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 safely into the harbor of Our Hotel, where he anchored him breathless, but satisfied.

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

It was easier to decide on the goose than it was to procure it, and some time was consumed in the search. Mr. Opp brought all his mental powers to bear on the subject, and attacked the problem with a zeal that merited success.

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

"Dey ain't but one clean table-cloth, an' hit's got a hole in hit, an' I can't find no sheets to put on de company baid, an' dere ain't three cups an' saucers in de house what belongs to theyselves. I shorely doan know what you thinkin' 'bout, Mr. D., to go an' ast company fer. We-all never 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 goose tenderly on the table; then he stepped inside the dining-room door, and stood watching the childish figure that sat on the floor before the fire. She was putting artificial flowers on her head, and every time they fell off, she dropped her head on her knees and sobbed softly to herself. Again and again she made the experiment, and again and again the faded roses came tumbling into her lap.

"I'll fix 'em," said Mr. Opp, coming up behind her; "don't you cry about it, Kippy; I can make them stay, easy." He searched around in the clothes-press until he found a paper box, which he tied securely upon Miss 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 the flowers were caught in the box, she gave a sigh of satisfaction and delight.

"Well, sence I j'ined de church!" exclaimed Aunt Tish, who had been watching proceedings from the doorway; then she added, as Mr. Opp came into 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'other day if she wasn't crazy. I 'lowed no indeedy, dat crazy folks was lock up 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 she don't git a fool notion; den dey ain't nobody kin make out what she wants inceptin' you. She been cryin' over dem flowers ever sence breakfast."

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

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

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

All afternoon Mr. Opp encountered difficulties that would have disheartened a less courageous host. With the limited means at hand it seemed impossible to entertain in a manner befitting the dignity of the editor of "The Opp Eagle." But Mr. Opp, though sorely perplexed, was not depressed, for beneath the disturbed surface of his thoughts there ran an undercurrent of pure joy. It caused him to make strange, unnatural sounds in his throat which he meant for song; it made him stop every now and then in his work to glance tenderly and reminiscently at the palm of his right hand, once even going so far as to touch it softly with his lips. For since the last sun had set there had been no waking moment but had held for him the image of a golden world inhabited solely by a pair of luminous eyes, one small hand, and, it must be added, a band-box.

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

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

Miss Kippy turned obediently, but her lips continued the dumb conversation 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's going to remain over till to-morrow, and Aunt Tish is cooking that large goose for him, and I've been fixing up the spare room. We are all endeavoring to give him a nice time. Don't you want to dress up for him?"

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

Mr. Opp expiated on the enjoyment it would give the unknown guest to see Kippy 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 him glad."

"Good!" said Mr. Opp. "And if you will sit nice and quiet and never say a 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 when Mr. Opp nodded, she closed her eyes and smiled as if heaven were within sight. For Miss Kippy was like a harp across which some rough hand had swept, snapping all the strings but two, the high one of ecstasy and the low one of despair.