Mr. Opp

								


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MR. OPP

BY
ALICE HEGAN RICE
Author of "Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch,"
"Lovey Mary," "Sandy," etc.

With Illustrations
by LEON GUIPON

NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1909

Copyright, 1908, 1909, by
The Century Co.

Published, April, 1909

THE DE VINNE PRESS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS



                                            PAGE
"He read impressively"           Frontispiece


"'Don't leave me'"                          45


"'Why, Mr. Opp, I'm not old enough'"       129


"It was Mr. Opp saying his prayers"        197


"'Oh, my God, it has come'"                263


"'Can't nobody beat me making skirts'"     319

MR. OPP

I

"I hope your passenger hasn't missed his train," observed the ferryman
to Mr. Jimmy Fallows, who sat on the river bank with the painter of his
rickety little naphtha launch held loosely in his hand.
"Mr. Opp?" said Jimmy. "I bet he did. If there is one person in the
world that's got a talent for missing things, it's Mr. Opp. I never seen
him that he hadn't just missed gettin' a thousand dollar job, or
inventin' a patent, or bein' hurt when he had took out a accident
policy. If he did ketch a train, like enough it was goin' the wrong
way."
Jimmy had been waiting since nine in the morning, and it was now well
past noon. He was a placid gentleman of curvilinear type, short of limb
and large of girth. His trousers, of that morose hue termed by the
country people "plum," reached to his armpits, and his hat, large and
felt and weather-beaten, was only prevented from eclipsing his head by
the stubborn resistance of two small, knob-like ears.
"Mr. Opp ain't been back to the Cove for a long while, has he?" asked
the ferryman, whose intellectual life depended solely upon the crumbs of
information scattered by chance passers-by.
"Goin' on two years," said Mr. Fallows. "Reckon he's been so busy
formin' trusts and buyin' out railways and promotin' things generally
that he ain't had any time to come back home. It's his step-pa's funeral
that's bringin' him now. The only time city folks seem to want to see
their kin folks in the country is when they are dead."
"Ain't that him a-comin' down the bank?" asked the ferryman, shading
his eyes with his hands.
Mr. Fallows, with some difficulty, got to his feet.
"Yes, that's him all right. Hustlin' to beat the band. Wonder if he
takes me for a street car."
Coming with important stride down the wharf, and whistling as he came,
was a small man of about thirty-five. In one hand he carried a large
suit-case, and in the other a new and shining grip. On both were
painted, in letters designed to be seen, "D. Webster Opp, Kentucky."
In fact, everything about him was evidently designed to be seen. His new