[p316]
Some men spend their lives in the valley, and some are born and die on the heights; but it was Mr. Opp’s fate to climb from the valley to his own little mountain-top of prosperity, only to have to climb down on the other side. It was evidence of his genius that in time he persuaded himself and his fellow-citizens that it was exactly what he wanted to do.
“That there life of managing and promoting was all right in its way,” he said one day to a group of men at the post-office, “but a man owes something to himself, don’t he? Now that the town has got well started, and Mr. Hinton is going to take main charge of the paper, I’ll be freer than I been for years to put some of my ideas into practice.”
“We are counting on getting you back in the orchestra,” said Mr. Gallop, whose admiration for Mr. Opp retained its pristine bloom.
Mr. Opp shook his head regretfully. “No, I’m going to give all my evenings over to study. This present enterprise I [p317] am engaged on requires a lot of personal application. I sometimes think that I have in the past scattered my forces too much, in a way.”
So persistently did Mr. Opp refer to the mysterious work that was engrossing him that he reduced Mr. Gallop’s curiosity to the saturation-point.
When he was no longer able to stand it, the telegraph operator determined upon a tour of investigation. The projected presentation of a new cornet by the Unique Orchestra to its erstwhile leader proved a slender excuse for a call, and while he knew that, with the exception of Willard Hinton, no visitor had ever been known to cross the Opp threshold, yet he permitted desire to overrule delicacy.
It was a blustery December night when he climbed the hill, and he had to pause several times during the ascent to gain sufficient breath to proceed. By the time he reached the house he was quite speechless, and he dropped on the steps to rest a moment before knocking. As he sat [p318] there trying to imagine the flying-machine or torpedo-boat upon which he felt certain Mr. Opp was engaged, he became aware of voices from within, and looking up, he saw the window above him was slightly raised. Overcome by his desire to see his friend at work upon his great invention, he cautiously tiptoed across the porch and peeped in.
The low-ceilinged old room was bright with firelight, and in the center of it, with his knees drawn up, his toes turned in, and his tongue thrust out, sat Mr. Opp, absorbed in an object which he held between his knees. Miss Kippy knelt before him, eagerly watching proceedings.
Mr. Gallop craned his neck to see what it was that held their interest, and at last discovered that they were fitting a dress on a large china doll.
Miss Kippy’s voice broke the silence. “You can sew nice,” she was saying; “you can sew prettier than Aunt Tish.”