The Postmaster

by Joseph Crosby Lincoln

  CHAPTER III--I GET INTO POLITICS

  When I shook hands with Mary Blaisdell and left her standin' under thewistaria vine at the front door of the little old house that hadbelonged to Henry, all I said was for her to keep a stiff upper lip andnot to be any bluer than was necessary. "Ostable's lost a goodpostmaster," says I, "and you've lost a kind, thoughtful, providin'brother. I know it looks pretty foggy ahead to you just now and youcan't see how you're goin' to get along; but you keep up your pluck anda way'll be provided. Meantime I'm goin' to think hard and perhaps I cansee a light somewheres. My owners used to tell me I was consider'ble ofa navigator, so between us we'd ought to fetch you into port."

  Her eyes were wet, but she smiled, rainbow fashion, through the shower,and said I was awful good and she'd never forget how kind I'd beenthrough it all.

  "Whatever becomes of me, Cap'n Snow," she says, "I shall never forgetthat."

  What I'd done wa'n't worth talkin' about, so I said good-by and hurriedaway. At the top of the hill I turned and looked back. She was stillstandin' in the door and, in spite of the wistaria and the hollyhocksand the green summer stuff everywheres, the whole picture was prettyforlorn. The little white buildin' by the road, with the sign,"Post-office" over the window, looked more lonesome still. And yet thesight of it and the sight of that sign give me an inspiration. I stoodstock still and thumped my fists together.

  "Why not?" says I to myself. "By mighty, yes! Why not?"

  You see, Henry Blaisdell was one of the few Ostable folks that I'd knownas a boy and who was livin' there yet when I came back. He was youngerthan I, and Mary, his sister, was younger still. I liked Henry and hisdeath was a sort of personal loss to me, as you might say. I liked Mary,too. She was always so quiet and common-sense and comfortable. _She_didn't gossip, and the way she helped her brother in the post-office wasa treat to see. She wa'n't exactly what you'd call young, and the worldhadn't been all fair winds and smooth water for her, by a whole lot;but, in spite of it, she'd managed to keep sweet and fresh. She andHenry and I had got to be good friends and I gen'rally took a walk uptowards their house of a Sunday or managed to run in at the post-officebuildin' at least once every week-day and have a chat with 'em.

  When I heard of Henry's dyin' so sudden my fust thought was about Maryand what would she do. How was she goin' to get along? I thought of thateven durin' the funeral, and now, the day after it, when I went up tosee her, I was thinkin' of it still. And, at last, I believed I had gotthe answer to the puzzle.

  Half the way back to the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoesand Fancy Goods Store," I was thinkin' of my new notion and makin' up mymind. The other half I was layin' plans to put it through. When I walkedinto the store, Jim Henry met me.

  "Hello, Skipper," says he, brisk and fresh as a no'theast breeze in dogdays, "did you ever hear the story about the office-seekin' feller inWashin'ton, back in President Harrison's time? He wanted a gov'ment joband he happened to notice a crowd down by the Potomac and asked what wasup. They told him one of the Treasury clerks had been found drowned. Herun full speed to the White House, saw the President, and asked for thedrowned chap's place. 'You're too late,' says Harrison, 'I've justapp'inted the man that saw him fall in.'"

  I'd heard it afore, but I laughed, out of politeness, and wanted to knowwhat made him think of the yarn.

  "Why," says he, "because that's the way it's workin' here in Ostable.Poor old Blaisdell's funeral was only yesterday and it's already settledwho's to be the new postmaster."

  Considerin' what I'd been goin' over in my mind all the way home fromMary's, this statement, just at this time, knocked me pretty nigh out ofwater.

  "What?" I gasped. "How did you know?"

  "Why wouldn't I know?" says he. "I got the advance information rightfrom the oracle. I was told not ten minutes since that the app'intmentwas to go to Abubus Payne."

  I stared at him. "Abubus Payne!" says I. "Abubus--Are you dreamin'?"

  He laughed. "I'd never dream a name like 'Abubus,' he says, 'even afterone of our Poquit House dinners. No, it's no dream. The Major was justin and he says his mind is made up. That settles it, don't it? Youwouldn't contradict the all-wise mouthpiece of Providence, would you,Cap'n Zeb?"

  I never said anything--not then. I was realizin' that, if I wanted MaryBlaisdell to be postmistress at Ostable--which was the inspiration I wastook with when I looked back at her from the hill--I'd got to dosomethin' besides say. I'd got to work and work hard. And even at thatmy work was cut out from the small end of the goods. To beat MajorCobden Clark in a political fight was no boy's job. But Abubus Payne!Abubus Payne postmaster at Ostable!! Think of it! Maybe you can; _I_couldn't without stimulants.

  You see, this critter Abubus--did you ever hear such a name in yourlife?--had lived around 'most every town on the Cape at one time oranother. He and his wife wa'n't what you'd call permanent settlersanywhere, but had a habit of breakin' out in new and unexpected places,like a p'ison-ivy rash. He worked some at carpenterin', when he couldn'thelp it, but his main business, as you might say, had always beenlookin' for an easier job. In Ostable he'd got one. He was caretaker andgeneral nurse of Major Cobden Clark. His wife, who was about asshiftless as he was, was the Major's housekeeper.

  And the Major? Well, the Major was a star, a planet--yes, in his ownopinion, the whole solar system. He was big and fleshy and straight andgray-haired and red-faced. He belonged to land knows how many clubs andsocieties and milishys, includin' the Ancient and Honorable ArtilleryCompany of Boston and the Old Guard of New York. He had politicalinfluence and a long pocketbook and a short temper. Likewise he sufferedfrom pig-headedness and chronic indigestion. 'Twas the indigestion thatbrought him to Ostable and Abubus; or rather 'twas his doctor, Dr.Conquest Payne, the celebrated food and diet specializer--seeadvertisements in 'most any newspaper--who sent him there. Abubus wasDoctor Conquest's cousin and I judge the two of 'em figgered the Clarkstomach and income as things too good to be treated outside of thefamily.

  Anyway, the spring afore I landed in Ostable, down comes the Major, buysa good-sized house on the lower road nigh the water front, hires Abubusand his wife to look out for the place and him, and settles down to thesimple life, which wa'n't the kind he'd been livin', by a consider'blesight. But he lived it now; yes, sir, he did! He lived by the clock andhe ate and slept by the clock, and that clock was wound up and setaccordin' to the rules prescribed by Dr. Conquest Payne, "World FamousDietitian and Food Specialist"--see more advertisin', with a tintype ofthe Doctor in the corner.

  Nigh as I could find out the diet was a queer one. It give me dyspepsyjust to think of it. Breakfast at seven sharp, consistin' of a dozen nutmeats, two raw prunes, some "whole wheat bread"--whatever that is--and apint of hot water. Luncheon at quarter to eleven, with anotherassortment of similar truck. Afternoon snack at three and dinner athalf-past seven. He had two soft b'iled eggs for dinner, or else atwo-inch slice of rare steak, and, with them exceptions, the whole billof fare was, accordin' to my notion, more fittin' for a goat than ahuman bein'. He mustn't smoke and he mustn't drink: Considerin' whathe'd been used to afore the "World Famous" one hooked him it ain't muchwonder that he was as crabbed and cranky as a liveoak windlass.

  However, it--or somethin' else--had made him feel better since he landedin Ostable and he swore by that Conquest Payne man and everybodyconnected with him. And if he once took a notion into his tough oldhead, nothin' short of a surgeon's operation could get it out. He'ddecided to make Abubus postmaster and he'd move heaven and earth to doit. All right, then, it was up to me to do some movin' likewise. I canbe a little mite pig-headed myself, if I set out to be.

  And I set out right then. It may seem funny to say so, but I was aboutas good a friend as the Major had in Ostable. Course he had a tremendousinfluence with the selectmen and the like of that, owin' to his soldierrecord and his pompousness and the amount of taxes he paid. And he and Inever agreed on one single p'int. But just the same he spent the heft ofhis evenin's at the store
and I was always glad to see him. I respectedthe cantankerous old critter, and liked him, in a way. And I'm inclinedto think he respected and liked me. I cal'late both of us enjoyedfightin' with somebody that never tried for an under-holt or quit evenwhen he was licked.

  So that night, when he comes puffin' in and sets down, as usual, in themost comfortable chair, I went over and come to anchor alongside of him.

  "Hello," he grunts, "you old salt hayseed. Any closer to bankruptcy thanyou was yesterday?"

  "Your bill's a little bigger and more overdue, that's all," says I. "Seehere, I want to talk politics with you. Mary Blaisdell, Henry's sister,is goin' to have the post-office now he's gone, and I want you to putyour name on her petition. Not that she needs it, or anybody else's, butjust to help fill up the paper."

  Well, sir, you ought to have seen him! His red face fairly puffed out,like a young-one's rubber balloon. He whirled round on the edge of hischair--he was too big to move in any other part of it--and glared at me.What did I mean by that? Hey? Was my punkin head sp'ilin' now that warmweather had come, or what? Had I heard what he told my partner that verymornin'?

  "Yes," says I, "I heard it. But I judged you must have broke your ruleabout drinkin' liquor, or else your dyspepsy has struck to your brains.No sane person would set out to make Abubus Payne anythin' moreresponsible than keeper of a pig pen. You didn't mean it, of course."

  He didn't! He'd show me what he meant! Abubus was the most honest, ableman on the whole blessed sand-heap, and he was goin' to be postmaster.Mary Blaisdell was an old maid, good enough of her kind, maybe, but theplace for her was some kind of an asylum or home for incompetentfemales. He'd sign a petition to put her in one of them places, butnothin' else. Abubus was just as good as app'inted already.

  We had it back and forth. There was consider'ble chair thumpin' andhollerin', I shouldn't wonder. Anyhow, afore 'twas over every loafer onthe main road was crowdin' 'round us and Jim Henry Jacobs was pacin' upand down back of the counter with the most worried look on his face everI see there. It ended by the Major's jumpin' to his feet and headin' forthe door.

  "You--you--you tarry old imbecile," he hollers, shakin' a fat forefingerat me, "I'll show you a few things. I'll never set foot in this ratholeof yours again."

  "You better not," I sung out. "If you dare to, I'll--"

  "What?" he interrupts. "You'll what? I'll be back here to-morrow night.Then what'll you do?"

  "I'll show you Mary Blaisdell's petition," I says. "And the names onit'll make you curl up and quit like a sick caterpillar."

  "Humph! I'll show _you_ a petition for Abubus Payne, next postmaster ofOstable, with a string of names on it so long you'll die of old ageafore you can finish readin' 'em. Bah!"

  With that he went out and I went into the back room to wash my face incold water.

  I wrote the headin' to the Blaisdell petition afore I turned in thatvery night. Next mornin' I hurried over and, after consider'ble arguin',I got Mary to say she'd try for the place. All the rest of that day Iput in drivin' from Dan to Beersheby gettin' signatures. And I got 'em,too, a schooner load of 'em. I had the petition ready to show the Majorthat evenin'; but, when he come into the store, he had a petition, too,just as long as mine. And the worst of it was, in a lot of cases thesame names was signed to both papers. Accordin' to those petitions theheft of Ostable folks wanted somebody to keep post-office and theydidn't much care who. They wanted to please me and they didn't like tosay no to the Major.

  He was mad and I was mad and we had another session. But he wouldn'tcross the names off and neither would I and so, after another week, bothpetitions went in as they was. All the good they seemed to do was thatwe each got a letter from the Post-office Department and Mary Blaisdellwas allowed to hold over her brother's place until somebody was pickedout permanent. And every evenin' Major Clark came into the store to tellme Abubus was sure to win and get my prediction that Mary was as good aselected. One week dragged along and then another, and 'twas still adraw, fur's a body could tell. The Washin'ton folks wa'n't makin' apeep.

  But old Ancient and Honorable Clark was workin' his wires on the quietand I must give in that he pulled one on me that I wa'n't expectin'. Thewhole town had got sort of tired of guessin' and talkin' about thepost-office squabble and had drifted back into the reg'lar rut ofpickin' their neighbors to pieces. The Major had set 'em talkin' on anew line durin' the last fortni't. He'd been fixin' up his house andhavin' the grounds seen to, and so forth. Likewise he'd bought anautomobile, one of the nobbiest kind. This was somethin' of a surprise,'cause afore that he'd been pretty much down on autos and did hisdrivin' around in a high-seated sort of buggy--"dog cart" he calledit--though 'twas hauled by a horse and he hated dogs so that he kept ashotgun loaded with rock salt on his porch to drive stray ones off hispremises.

  "Who's goin' to run that smell-wagon of yours?" I asked him, sarcastic.He kept comin' to the store just the same as ever and we had our reg'larrows constant. I cal'late we'd both have missed 'em if they'd stopped. Iknow I should.

  "Humph!" he snorts; "smell-wagon, hey? If it smells any worse than thatold fish dory of yours, I'll have it buried, for the sake of the publichealth."

  By "fish dory" he meant a catboat I'd bought. She was named the _Glide_and she could glide away from anything of her inches in the bay.

  "But who's goin' to run that auto?" I asked again. "'Tain't possibleyou're goin' to do it yourself. If she went by alcohol power, I couldunderstand, but--"

  "Hush up!" he says, forgettin' to be mad for once and speakin' actuallyplaintive. "Don't talk that way, Snow," says he. "If you knew how much Iwanted a drink you wouldn't speak lightly of alcohol."

  "Why don't you take one, then?" I wanted to know. "I believe 'twould doyou good. That and a square meal. If you'd forget your prunes and yournutmeats and your quack doctorin'--"

  He was mad then, all right. To slur at the "World Famous" was a gooddeal worse than murder, in his mind. He expressed his opinion of me,free and loud. He said I'd ought to try Doctor Conquest, myself, fordevelopin' my brains. The Doctor was pretty nigh a vegetarian, he said,and my head was mainly cabbage--and so on. Incidentally he announcedthat Abubus was to run the new auto.

  "Abubus!" says I. "Why, he don't know a gas engine from a coffee mill!He wouldn't know what the craft's for."

  "That's all right," he says. "He's been takin' lessons at the garage inHyannis and he can run it like a bird. He knows what it's for. He! he!so do I. By the way, Snow, are you ready to give up the post-office tomy candidate yet?"

  "Give up?" says I. "Tut! tut! tut! I hate to hear a supposed sane mantalk so. Mary Blaisdell handles the mail in the Ostable post-office forthe next three years--longer, if she wants to."

  "Bet you five she don't," he says.

  "Take the bet," says I.

  He went out chucklin'. I wondered what he had up his sleeve. A weeklater I found out. Congressman Shelton, our district Representative atWashin'ton, came to Ostable to look the post-office situation over and,lo and behold you, he comes as Major Cobden Clark's guest, to stay athis house.

  When Jim Henry Jacobs learned that, he took me to one side to give mesome brotherly advice.

  "It's all up for Mary now," he says. "She can't win. Clark and Sheltonare old chums in politics. There's only one chance to beat Payne andthat's to bring forward a compromise candidate--a dark horse."

  "Rubbish!" I sung out. "Dark horse be hanged! Shelton's square as abrick. Nobody can bribe him."

  "It ain't a question of bribin'," he says. "If it was, you could bribe,too. Shelton is square, and that's why he'd welcome a compromisecandidate. But if it comes to a fight between Mary Blaisdell and AbubusPayne, Abubus'll win because he's the Major's pet. Shelton knows theMajor better than he knows you. Take my advice now and look out for thedark horse."

  But I wouldn't listen. All the next hour I was ugly as a bear with asore head and long afore dinner time I told Jacobs I was goin' for asail in the _Glide_. "Goin' somewheres on salt water where the a
ir'sclean and not p'isoned by politics and automobiles and congressmen andPaynes," I told him.

  I headed out of the harbor and then run, afore a wind that was fair butgettin' lighter all the time, up the bay. I sailed and sailed until someof my bad temper wore off and my appetite begun to come back. All thetime I was settin' at the tiller I was thinkin' over the post-officesituation and, try as hard as I could to see the bright side for MaryBlaisdell, it looked pretty dark. The Major would give that Shelton manthe time of his life and he'd talk Abubus to him to beat the cars. Icouldn't get at the Congressman to put in an oar for Mary and--well, I'dhave discounted my five-dollar bet for about seventy-five cents, at thattime.

  I thought and thought and sailed and sailed. When I came to myself andrealized I was hungry the _Glide_ was miles away from Ostable. I cameabout and started to beat back; then I saw I was in for a long job. Letalone that the wind was ahead, 'twas dyin' fast, and if I knew the signsof a flat calm, there was one due in half an hour. I took as long tacksas I could, but I made mighty little progress.

  On the second tack inshore I came up abreast of Jonathan Crowell's houseat Heron P'int. Jonathan's just a no-account longshoreman or he wouldn'tlive in that place, which is the fag-end of creation. There's atwenty-mile stretch of beach and pines and such close to the shorethere, with a road along it. The first eight mile of that road is prettygood macadam and hard dirt. A land company tried to develop that sectionof beach once and they put in the road; but the land didn't sell and thecompany busted and after that eight mile the road is just beach sand,soft and coarse. The strip of solid ground, with its pines andscrub-oaks, is, as I said afore, twenty mile long, but it's only a halfmile or so wide. Between it and the main cape is a tremendous saltmarsh, all cut up with cricks that nobody can get over without a boat.Jonathan's is the only house for the whole twenty mile, except thelighthouse buildin's down at the end. The land company put up a fewsummer shacks on speculation, but they're all rickety and fallin' topieces.

  I knew Jonathan had gone to Bayport, quahaug rakin', and that his wifewas visitin' over to Wellmouth, so when the _Glide_ crept in towards thebeach and I saw a couple of folk by the Crowell house, I was surprised.I didn't pay much attention to 'em, however, until I was just aboutready to put the helm over and stand out into the bay again. Then theycome runnin' down to the beach, yellin' and wavin' their arms. I thoughtone of 'em had a familiar look and, as I come closer, I got more andmore sure of it. It didn't seem possible, but it was--one of thosefellers on the beach was Major Cobden Clark.

  "Hi-i!" yells the Major, hoppin' up and down and wavin' both arms as ifhe was practicin' flyin'; "Hi-i-i! you man in the boat! Come here! Iwant you!"

  That was him, all over. He wanted me, so of course I must come. Myfeelin's in the matter didn't count at all. I run the _Glide_ in as nighthe beach as I dared and then fetched her up into what little wind therewas left.

  "Ahoy there, Major," I sung out. "Is that you?"

  "Hey?" he shouts. "Do you know--Why, I believe it's Snow! Is that you,Snow?"

  "Yes, it's me," I hollers. "What in time are you doin' way over here?"

  "Never mind what I'm doin'," he roared. "You come ashore here. I wantyou."

  If I hadn't been so curious to know what he was doin', I'd have seen himin glory afore I ever thought of obeyin' an order from him; but I wascurious. While I was considerin' the breeze give a final puff and diedout altogether. That settled it. I might as well go ashore as stayaboard. I couldn't get anywhere without wind. So I hove anchor anddropped the mains'l.

  "Come on!" he kept yellin'. "What are you waitin' for? Don't you hear mesay I want you?"

  I had on my long-legged rubber boots and the water wa'n't more'n up tomy knees. When I got good and ready, I swung over the side and waded tothe beach.

  "Hello, Maje," I says, brisk and easy, "you ought not to holler likethat. You'll bust a b'iler. Your face looks like a red-hot stovealready."

  He mopped his forehead. "Shut up, you old fool," says he. "Think I'mhere to listen to a lecture about my face? You carry Mr. Shelton and meout to that boat of yours. We want you to sail us home."

  So the other chap was the Congressman. I'd guessed as much. I went up tohim and held out my hand.

  "Pleased to know you, Mr. Shelton," says I. "Had the pleasure of votin'for you last fall."

  Shelton shook and smiled. "This is Cap'n Snow, isn't it?" he says, hiseyes twinklin'. "Glad to meet you, I'm sure. I've heard of you often."

  "I shouldn't wonder," says I. "Major Clark and me are old chums and Ical'late he's mentioned my name at least once. Hey, Maje?"

  The Major grinned. I grinned, too; and Shelton laughed out loud.

  "I never saw such a talkin' machine in my life," snaps Clark. "Don'tstop to tell us the story of your life. Take us aboard that boat ofyours. You've got to get us back to Ostable, d'you understand?"

  "Have, hey?" says I. "I appreciate the honor, but.... However, maybe youwon't mind tellin' me what you're doin' here, twelve miles fromnowhere?"

  The Major was too mad to answer, so Shelton did it for him.

  "Well," he says, smilin' and with a wink at his partner, "we _came_ inthe Major's auto, but--"

  He stopped without finishin' the sentence.

  "The auto?" says I. "You came in the auto? Well, why don't you go backin it? What's the matter? Has it broke down? Humph! I ain't surprised;them things are always breakin' down, 'specially the cheap ones."

  _That_ stirred up the kettle. The Major give me to understand that hisauto cost six thousand dollars and was the best blessedty-blank car onearth. It wa'n't the auto's fault. It hadn't broke down. It had stuck inthe eternal and everlastin' sand and they couldn't get it out, that wasthe trouble.

  "But Abubus can get it out, can't he?" says I. "Abubus runs it like abird, you told me so yourself. Now a bird can fly, and if you want toget from here to Ostable in anything like a straight line, you've _got_to fly. By the way, where is Abubus?"

  Three or four more questions, and a hogshead of profanity on the Major'spart, and I had the whole story. He and Shelton had started for a rideway up the Cape. They was cal'latin' to get home by eleven o'clock, butthe machine went so fast that they got where they was goin' early andhad time to spare. Shelton happened to remember that he'd sunk somemoney in the land company I mentioned and he thought he'd like to seethe place where 'twas sunk. He asked Abubus if they couldn't run alongthe beach road a ways. Abubus hemmed and hawed and didn't know forsure--he never was sure about anything. But the Major said course theycould; that car could go anywhere. So they turned in way up by Sandwichand come b'ilin' down alongshore. Long's the old land company roadlasted they was all right, but when, runnin' thirty-five miles an hour,they whizzed off the end of that road, 'twas different. The automobilelit in the soft sand like a snow-plow and stopped--and stayed. Theytried to dig it out with boards from Jonathan Crowell's pig pen, but themore they dug the deeper it sunk. At last they give it up; nothin' but ateam of horses could haul that machine out of that sand. So Abubusstarts to walk the ten or eleven miles back to civilization and liverystables and the Major and Shelton waited for him. And the more theywaited the hungrier and madder Clark got. 'Twas all Abubus's fault, ofcourse. He ought to have had more sense than to run that way on thatroad, anyhow. He ought to have known better than to get into that sand,a feller that had lived in sand all his life. He was an incompetentjackass. Well, I knew that afore, but it certainly did me good to hearthe Major confirm my judgment.

  I went over and looked at the automobile. It had always acted like amighty lively contraption, but now it looked dead enough. And not onlydead, but two-thirds buried.

  "Well?" fumes Clark, "how much longer have we got to stay in this hole?"

  "It's consider'ble of a hole," says I, "and it looks to me as if she'dstay there till Abubus gets back with a pair of horses. Considerin' howfar he's got to tramp and how long it'll be afore he can get a pair, Ical'late the hole'll be occupied until some time in the night."

&nbs
p; That wa'n't what he meant and I knew it. Did I suppose he and Sheltonwas goin' to wait and starve until the middle of the night? No, sir; theauto could stay where it was; he and the Congressman would sail homewith me in the _Glide_.

  "I hope you ain't in any partic'lar hurry," says I, lookin' out over thebay. There wa'n't a breath of air stirrin' and the water was slick andshiny as a starched shirt. "The _Glide_ runs by wind power and there'sno wind. This calm may last one hour or it may last two. As long as itlasts I stay where I am."

  What! Did I think they would stay there just because I was too lazy toget my whoopety-bang fish-dory under way? Stay there in thatsand-heap--sand-heap was the politest of the names he called Crowell'splantation--and starve?

  "Oh," says I. "I won't starve. I'm goin' to get dinner."

  Dinner! The very name of it was like a life-preserver to a feller who'dgone under for the second time.

  "Can you get us dinner?" roars the Major. "By George, if you can I'll--"

  "Not for you I can't," I says. "You live accordin' to the Payneschedule, on prunes and pecans and such. The prune crop 'round here is afailure and I don't see a pecan tree in Jonathan's back yard. No, anydinner I'd get would give you compound, gallopin' dyspepsy, and I can'tbe responsible for your death--I love you too much. But I cal'late I canscratch up a meal that'll keep folks with common insides from perishin'of hunger. Anyhow, I'm goin' to try."