ight say, about the rest of the
army. Then there is the cowards and deserters. But a decent sort of a
individual, or rather soldier, carries his orders around with him, and
the chief and principal thing he's got to do is to follow them. What the
fight is concerning, or in what manner the general is a-aiming to bring
it all correct in the end, ain't, according to my conclusion, a particle
of our business."

Having arrived at this point of the discussion in a somewhat heated and
indignant state, Mr. Opp suddenly remembered his duties as host. With a
lordly wave of the hand he dismissed the subject, and conducted Hinton
in state to his bed-chamber, where he insisted upon lighting the fire
and arranging the bed.

[Illustration: "It was Mr. Opp saying his prayers"]

Hinton sat for a long time before undressing, listening to the wind in
the chimney, to the scrape, scrape of the cedar on the roof, and to the
yet more dismal sounds that were echoing in his heart. Everything about
the old house spoke of degeneration, decay; yet in the midst of it lived
a man who asked no odds of life, who took what came, and who lived with
a zest, an abandon, a courage that were baffling. Self-deception,
egotism, cheap optimism--could they bring a man to this state of mind?
Hinton wondered bitterly what Opp would do in his position; suppose his
sight was threatened, how far would his foolish self-delusion serve him
then?

But he could not imagine Mr. Opp, lame, halt, or blind, giving up the
fight. There was that in the man--egotism, courage, whatever it
was--that would never recognize defeat, that quality that wins out of a
life of losing the final victory.

Before he retired, Hinton found there was no drinking water in his room,
and, remembering a pitcher full in the dining-room, he took the candle
and softly opened his door. The sudden cold draft from the hall made the
candle flare, but as it steadied, Hinton saw that an old cot had been
placed across the door opposite his, as if on guard, and that beside it
knelt an ungainly figure in white, with his head clasped in his hands.
It was Mr. Opp saying his prayers.

XII

The visit of the capitalists marked the beginning of a long and
profitable spell of insomnia for the Cove. The little town had gotten a
gnat in its eye when Mr. Opp arrived, and now that it had become
involved in a speculation that threatened to develop into a boom, it
found sleep and tranquillity a thing of the