It was not until a buggy stopped at the door, and the Opp brothers descended, that the tension was in any way relieved. Jimmy greeted them with the joy of an Arctic explorer welcoming a relief party. "Come right on in here, in the office," he cried hospitably; "your talkin' won't bother me a speck." But Ben abruptly expressed his desire for more private quarters, and led the way up-stairs. The low-ceiled room into which he ushered D. Webster was of such a depressing drab that even the green and red bed-quilt failed to disperse the gloom. The sole decoration, classic in its severity, was a large advertisement for a business college, whereon an elk's head grew out of a bow of ribbon, the horns branching and rebranching into a forest of curves and flourishes. 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.