Mat Lucas pulled at his sleeve, and the preacher put a restraining arm about his shoulder. The amazing rumor had become current that the Cove's stanchest advocate for temperance had been indulging in drink, and there was nothing in the editor's flushed face and excited manner to contradict the impression. "If by any chance," Mr. Mathews went on in a steady voice, "there should be a stock-holder who is unwilling to take advantage of this magnificent offer, we need hardly say that we are prepared to buy his stock back at the amount he gave for it." He smiled, as if inviting ridicule at the absurdity of the proposition. "I am unwilling," cried Mr. Opp, tugging at the restraining hands. "I have never yet in all the length and breadth of my experience been associated with a dishonest act." "Don't! Mr. Opp, don't!" whispered Mat Lucas. "You're acting like a crazy man. Don't you see you are losing the chance to make three thousand dollars?" "That hasn't nothing to do with it," cried Mr. Opp, almost beside himself. "I'll not be a party to the sale. I'll--" Mr. Mathews turned to his secretary. "Just fix up those papers for Mr. Opp, and give him a check for what is coming to him. Now, Mr. Chairman, will you put the matter to the vote?" Amid the hilarious confusion that succeeded the unanimous vote, and the subsequent adjournment of the meeting, Mr. Opp pushed 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.