his way through
the crowd that surrounded Mr. Mathews.

"You know what I was alluding at," he shouted through his chattering
teeth. "You've carried this through, but I'll blockade you. I am going
to tell the truth to the whole community. I am going to telegraph to
the syndicate and stop the sale."

Mr. Mathews lifted his brows and smiled deprecatingly.

"I am sorry you have worked yourself up to such a pitch, my friend," he
said. "Telegraph, by all means if it will ease your mind; but the fact
is, the deal was closed at noon to-day."

The long, low whistle of the packet sounded, but Mr. Opp heeded it not.
He was flinging his way across to the telegraph office in a frenzy of
Quixotic impatience to right the wrong of which he had refused to be a
part.

XVI

Half an hour later, Mr. Opp dragged himself up the hill to his home. All
the unfairness and injustice of the universe seemed pressing upon his
heart. Every muscle in his body quivered in remembrance of what he had
been through, and an iron band seemed tightening about his throat. His
town had refused to believe his story! It had laughed in his face!

With a sudden mad desire for sympathy and for love, he began calling
Kippy. He stumbled across the porch, and, opening the door with his
latch-key, stood peering into the gloom of the room.

The draft from an open window blew a curtain toward him, a white
spectral, beckoning thing, but no sound broke the stillness.

"Kippy!" he called again, his voice sharp with anxiety.

From one room to another he ran, searching in nooks and corners, peering
under the beds and behind the doors, calling in a voice that was
sometimes a command, but oftener a plea: "Kippy! Kippy!"

At last he came back to the dining-room and lighted the lamp with
shaking hands. On the hearth were the remains of a small bonfire, with
papers scattered about. He dropped on his knees and seized a bit of
charred cardboard. It was a corner of the hand-painted frame that had
incased the picture of Guinevere Gusty! Near it lay loose sheets of
paper, parts of that treasured package of letters she had written him
from Coreyville.

As Mr. Opp gazed helplessly about the room, his eyes fell upon something
white pinned to the red table-cloth. He held it to the light. It was a
portion of one of Guinevere's letters, written in the girl's clear,
round hand:

Mother says I can never marry you until Miss Kippy goes to the
asylum.

Mr. Opp go