“‘The new preacher will be greatly surprised soon by the gift of a fine plush rocking-chair from the ladies of the congregation.’
“‘The infant baby of the new preacher has been sick, but is better some.’
“‘Jimmy Fallows came near getting an undertaking job at the Ridge last week, but the lady got well.’
[p99]
“And that ain’t all,” he continued excitedly; “I’m going out now to get all the particulars about that band, and we’ll have a long story about it.”
Mr. Opp, left alone in his office, made an unsuccessful effort to resume work. The fluttering of the “Eagle’s” wings preparatory to taking flight was not the only thing that interfered with his power of concentration. He did not at all like the way he felt. Peculiar symptoms had developed in the last week, and the quinine which he had taken daily had failed to relieve him. He could not say that he was sick,—in fact, he had never been in better health,—but there was a strange feeling of restlessness, a vague disturbance of his innermost being, that annoyed and puzzled him. Even as he tried to solve the problem, an irresistible impulse brought him to his feet and carried him to the door. Miss Guinevere Gusty was coming out of her gate in a soft, white muslin, and a chip hat laden with pink roses.
“Anything I can do for you up [p100] street?” she called across pleasantly to Mr. Opp.
“Why, thank you—no, the fact is—well, you see, I find it necessary for me to go up myself.” Mr. Opp heard himself saying these words with great surprise, and when he found himself actually walking out of the office, leaving a large amount of unfinished work, his indignation knew no bounds.
“The sun is awful hot. Ain’t you goin’ to wear a hat?” drawled Miss Guinevere.
Mr. Opp put his hand to his head in some embarrassment, and then assured her that he very often went without it.
They sauntered slowly down the dusty road. On one side the trees hedged them in, but on the other stretched wide fields of tasseled corn over which shimmered waves of summer heat. White butterflies fluttered constantly across their path, and overhead, hidden somewhere in the branches, the birds kept up a constant song. The August sun, still high in the heavens, shone fiercely down on [p101] the open road, on the ragweed by the wayside, on the black-eyed Susans nodding at the light; but it fell most mercilessly of all upon the bald spot on the head of the unconscious Mr. Opp, who was moving, as in an hypnotic state, into the land of romance.