“Just come in a minute and sit down,” he fluttered; “you’ll have to excuse the looks of things. Having just this one [p279] 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!”
[p280]
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 [p281] 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.