tual 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
suit of insistent plaid, his magnificent tie sagging with the weight of
a colossal scarf-pin, his brown hat, his new tan shoes, all demanded
individual and instant attention.

The only insignificant thing about Mr. Opp was himself. His slight,
undeveloped body seemed to be in a chronic state of apology for failing
properly to set off the glorious raiment wherewith it was clothed. His
pock-marked face, wide at the temples, sloped to a small, pointed chin,
which, in turn, sloped precipitously into a long, thin neck. It was Mr.
Opp's eyes, however, that one saw first, for they were singularly vivid,
with an expression that made strangers sometimes pause in the street to
ask him if he had spoken to them. Small, pale, and red of rim, they
nevertheless held the look of intense hunger--hunger for the hope or the
happiness of the passing moment.

As he came bustling down to the water's-edge he held out a friendly hand
to Jimmy Fallows.

"How are you, Jimmy?" he said in a voice freighted with importance.
"Hope I haven't kept you waiting long. Several matters of business come
up at the last and final moment, and I missed the morning train."

Jimmy, who was pouring gasolene into a tank in the launch, treated the
ferryman to a prodigious wink.

"Oh, not more'n four or five hour," he said, casting side glances of
mingled scorn and admiration at Mr. Opp's attire. "It is a good thing
it was the funeral you was tryin' to get