Suddenly out of the silence came the long, low whistle of the boat. They scrambled to their feet and hurried down [p132] the path, Mr. Opp having some trouble in keeping up with the nimbler pace of the girl.
“I’ll be calculatin’ every minute until the arrival of the boat to-morrow night,” he was gasping as they came within sight of the wharf. “I’ll be envyin’ every—”
“Where’s my band-box?” demanded Guinevere. “Why, Mr. Opp, if you haven’t gone and left it up in the woods!”
Five minutes later, just as the bell was tapping for the boat to start, a flying figure appeared on the wharf. He was hatless and breathless, his coat was ripped from collar to hem, and a large band-box flapped madly against his legs as he ran. He came down the home-stretch at a record-breaking pace, stepped on board as the gang-plank was lifted, deposited his band-box on the deck, then with a running jump cleared the rapidly widening space between the boat and the shore, and dropped upon the wharf.
He continued waving his handkerchief even after the boat had rounded the [p133] curve, then, having edited a paper, promoted a large enterprise, effected a proposal, and performed two remarkable athletic stunts all in the course of a day, Mr. Opp turned his footsteps toward home.
[p134] IX
he next day dawned wet and chilly. A fine mist hung in the trees, and the leaves and grasses sagged under their burden of moisture. All the crimson and gold had changed to brown and gray, and the birds and crickets had evidently packed away their chirps and retired for the season.
By the light of a flickering candle, Mr. D. Webster Opp partook of a frugal breakfast. The luxurious habits of the Moore household had made breakfast a movable feast depending upon the time of Aunt Tish’s arrival, and in establishing the new régime Mr. Opp had found it necessary to prepare his own breakfast in order to make sure of getting to the office before noon.
As he sipped his warmed-over coffee, [p135] with his elbows on the red table-cloth, and his heels hooked on the rung of the chair, he recited to himself in an undertone from a very large and imposing book which was propped in front of him, the leaves held back on one side by a candlestick and on the other by a salt-cellar. It was a book which Mr. Opp was buying on subscription, and it was called “An Encyclopedia of Wonder, Beauty, and Wisdom.” It contained pellets of information on all subjects, and Mr. Opp made it a practice to take several before breakfast, and to repeat the dose at each meal as circumstances permitted. “An editor,” he told Nick, “has got to keep himself instructed on all subjects. He has got to read wide and continuous.”