Mr. Opp

								

The elder Opp took his seat by the window, and drummed with impatient
fingers on the sill. He was small, like his brother, but of a compact,
sturdy build. His chin, instead of dwindling to a point, was square and
stubborn, and his eyes looked straight ahead at the thing he wanted,
and neither saw nor cared for what lay outside. He had been trying ever
since leaving the cemetery to bring the conversation down to practical
matters, but D. Webster, seizing the first opportunity of impressing
himself upon his next of kin, had persisted in indulging in airy and
time-destroying flights of fancy.
The truth is that our Mr. Opp was not happy. In his secret heart he felt
a bit apologetic before the material success of his elder brother. Hence
it was necessary to talk a great deal and to set forth in detail the
very important business enterprises upon which he was about to embark.
Presently Ben Opp looked at his watch.
"See here," he interrupted, "that boat may be along at any time. We'd
better come to some decision about the estate."
D. Webster ran his fingers through his hair, which stood in valiant
defense of the small bald spot behind it.
"Yes, yes," he said; "business is business. I'll have to be off myself
the very first thing in the morning. This funeral couldn't have come at
a more unfortunate time for me. You see, my special territory--"
But Ben saw the danger of another bolt, and checked him:
"How much do you think the old house is worth?"
D. Webster drew forth his shiny note-book and pencil and made elaborate
calculations.
"I should say," he said, as one financier to another, "that including of
the house and land and contents of same, it would amount to the whole
sum total of about two thousand dollars."
"That is about what I figured," said Ben; "now, how much money is in the
bank?"
D. Webster produced a formidable packet of letters and papers from his
inside pocket and, after some searching, succeeded in finding a
statement, which set forth the fact that the Ripper County Bank held in
trust one thousand dollars, to be divided between the children of Mary
Opp Moore at the death of her husband, Curtis V. Moore.
"One thousand dollars!" said Ben, looking blankly at his brother, "Why,
for heaven's sake, what have Mr. Moore and Kippy been living on all
these years?"
D. Webster moved uneasily in his chair. "Oh, they've managed to get
along first rate," he said evasively.
His brother looked at him narrowly. "On the interest of a thousand
dollars?" He leaned forward, and his face hardened: "See here, have you
been putting up cash all this time for that old codger to loaf on? Is
that why you have never gotten ahead?"
D. Webster, with hands in his pockets and his feet stretched in front of
him, was blinking in furious embarrassment at the large-eyed elk
overhead.
"To think," went on Ben, his slow wrath rising, "of your staying here in
Kentucky all these years and handing out what you made to that old