CHAPTER IV--HOW I MADE A CLAM CHOWDER; AND WHAT A CLAM CHOWDER MADE OFME
Well, sir, even the Major's guns was spiked for a minute. I cal'latethat, for once, he'd forgot all about his dietizin' and only rememberedhis appetite. He gurgled and choked and glared. Afore he could get hisartillery ready for a broadside I walked off and left him. He'd riled meup a little and I saw a chance to rile him back.
I went around to the back part of the Crowell house and tried thekitchen door. 'Twas locked, for a wonder, but the window side of itwasn't. I pushed up the sash and reached in fur enough to unhook thedoor. Then I went into the house and begun to overhaul the supplies inthe galley. I found flour and sugar and salt and pepper and coffee andbutter and canned milk and salt pork--about everything I wanted.Jonathan and I was friendly enough so's I knew he wouldn't care what Iused so long as I paid for it. If he had I'd have taken the risk, justthen.
The wood-box was full and I got a fire goin' in the cookstove, and puton a couple of kettles of water to heat. Then I went out to the shed andlocated a clam hoe and a bucket. There's clams a-plenty 'most anywheresalong that beach and the tide was out fur enough for me to get abucket-full of small ones in no time. I fetched 'em up to the house andset down on the back step to open 'em.
The Major and Shelton was watchin' me all this time and they lookedinterested--that is, the Congressman did, and Clark was doin' his bestnot to. Pretty soon Shelton walks over and asks a question. "What areyou doin' with those things, Cap'n Snow?" says he, referrin' to theclams.
"Oh," says I, cheerful, "I'm figgerin' on makin' a chowder, if nothin'busts."
"A chowder," he says, sort of eager. "A clam chowder? Can you?"
"I can. That is, I have made a good many and I cal'late to make thisone, unless I'm struck with paralysis."
"A clam chowder!" he says again, sort of eager but reverent. "By George!that's good--er--for you, I mean."
"I hope 'twill be good for you, too," says I. "I'm sorry that MajorClark's dyspepsy's such that 'twon't be good for him, but that's hismisfortune, not my fault."
Shelton looked sort of queer and went away to jine his chum. The two of'em did consider'ble talkin' and the Major appeared to be deliverin' asermon, at least I heard a good many orthodox words in the course of it.I finished my clam openin', went in and got my cookin' started. Theflour and the butter made me think that some hot spider-bread would gogood with the chowder and I started to mix a batch. Then I got anotheridea.
'Twas too late for huckleberries and such, but out back of the shed,beyond the pines, was a little swampy place. I took a tin pail, went outthere and filled the pail with early wild cranberries in five minutes.As I was comin' back I noticed an onion patch in the garden. A chowderwithout onions is like a camp-meetin' Sunday without your bestgirl--pretty flat and impersonal. Most of those left in the patch hadgone to seed, but I got a half dozen.
After a short spell that kitchen begun to get fragrant and folksy, asyou might say. The coffee was b'ilin', the chowder was about ready,there was a pan of red-hot spider-bread on the back of the stove and acranberry shortcake--'twould have been better with cream, but to skimcondensed milk is more exercise than profit--in the oven. I'd opened allthe windows and the door, so the smell drifted out and livened up thesurroundin' scenery. Clark and Shelton were settin' on a sand hummock alittle ways off and I could see 'em wrinklin' their noses.
When the table was set and everything was ready I put my head out of thewindow and hollered:
"Dinner!" I sung out.
There wa'n't any answer. The pair on the hummock stirred and acteduneasy, but they didn't move. I ladled out some of the chowder and theperfume of it got more pervadin' and extensive. Then I rattled thedishes and tried again.
"Dinner!" I hollered. "Come on; chowder's gettin' cold."
Still they didn't move and I begun to think my fun had been all formyself. I was disappointed, but I set down to the table and commenced toeat. Then I heard a noise. The pair of 'em had drifted over to thedoorway and was lookin' in.
"Hello!" says I, blowin' a spoonful of chowder to cool it. "Am I givin'a good imitation of a hungry man? If I ain't, appearances aredeceitful."
"_Hog!_" snarls Clark, with enthusiasm.
"Not at all," says I. "There's plenty of everything and Mr. Shelton'swelcome. So would you be, Major, if there was anything aboard you couldeat. I'm awful sorry about them prunes and nutmeats. I only wish Crowellhad laid in a supply--I do so."
The Major's mouth was waterin' so he had to swallow afore he couldanswer. When he did I realized what he was at his best. Shelton didn'tsay a word, but the looks of him was enough.
"My, my!" says I, "I'm glad I made a whole kettleful of this stuff; Ican use a grown man's share of it."
Shelton looked at Clark and Clark looked at him. Then the Major yelps athim like a sore pup.
"Go ahead!" he shouts. "Go ahead in! Don't stand starin' at me like acannibal. Go in and eat, why don't you?"
You could see the Congressman was divided in his feelin's. He wanteddinner worse than the Old Harry wanted the backslidin' deacon, but hehated to desert his friend.
"You're sure--" he stammered. "It seems mean to leave you, but.... Sureyou wouldn't mind? If it wasn't that you are on a diet and _can't_ eat Ishouldn't think of it, but--"
"Shut up!" The Major fairly whooped it to Jericho. "If you talk diet tome again I'll kill you. Go in and eat. Eat, you idiot! I'd just as soonwatch two pigs as one. Go in!"
So Shelton came in and I had a plate of chowder waitin' for him. Hegrabbed up his spoon and didn't speak until he'd finished the whole ofit. Then he fetched a long breath, passed the plate for more, and sayshe:
"By George, Cap'n, that is the best stuff I ever tasted. You're awonderful cook."
"Much obliged," says I. "But you ain't competent to judge until afterthe third helpin'. And now you try a slab of that spider-bread and a cupof coffee. And don't forget to leave room for the shortcake because....Well, I swan to man! Why, Major Clark, are you crazy?"
For, as sure as I'm settin' here, old Clark had come bustin' into thatkitchen, yanked a chair up to that table, grabbed a plate and the ladleand was helpin' himself to chowder.
"Major!" says I.
"Why, _Cobden_!" says Shelton.
"Shut up!" roars the Major. "If either of you say a word I won't beresponsible for the consequences."
We didn't say anything and neither did he. Judgin' by the silence 'twasa mighty solemn occasion. Everybody ate chowder and just thought, Iguess.
"Pass me that bread," snaps Clark.
"But Cobden," says Shelton again.
"It's hot," says I, "and it's fried, and--"
"Give it to me! If you don't I shall know it's because you're toorip-slap stingy to part with it."
After that, there was nothin' to be done but the one thing. He got thebread and he ate it--not one slice, but two. And he drank coffee and atea three-inch slab of shortcake. When the meal was over there wa'n'tenough left to feed a healthy canary.
"Now," growls the Major, turnin' to Shelton, "have you a cigar in yourpocket? If you have, hand it over."
The Congressman fairly gasped. "A cigar!" he sings out. "You--goin' to_smoke_? _You?_"
"Yes--me. I'm goin' to die anyway. This murderer here," p'intin' to me,"laid his plans to kill me and he's succeeded. But I'll die happy. Giveme that cigar! If you had a drink about you I'd take that."
He bit the end off his cigar, lit it, and slammed out of that kitchen,puffin' like a soft-coal tug. Shelton shook his head at me and I shookmine back.
"Do you s'pose he _will_ die?" he asked. "He's eaten enough to killanybody. And with his stomach! And to smoke!"
"The dear land knows," says I. To tell you the truth I was a littleconscience-struck and worried. My idea had been to play a joke onClark--tantalize him by eatin' a square meal that he couldn't touch--andget even for some of the names he'd called me. But now I wa'n't surethat my fun wouldn't turn out serious. When a man with a lame dig
estioneats enough to satisfy an elephant nobody can be sure what'll come ofit.
The Congressman and I washed the dishes and 'twas a pretty averagesorrowful job. Only once, when I happened to glance at him and caught aqueer look in his eyes, was the ceremony any more joyful than a funeral.Then the funny side of it struck me and I commenced to laugh. He joinedin and the pair of us haw-hawed like loons. Then we was sorry for it.
Shelton went out when the dish-washin' was over. I cleaned upeverything, left a note and some money on Jonathan's table and locked upthe house. When I got outside there was a fair to middlin' breezespringin' up. Shelton was settin' on the hummock waitin' for me.
"Where--where's the Major?" I asked, pretty fearful.
"He's over there in the shade--asleep," he whispered.
"Asleep!" says I. "Sure he ain't dead?"
"Listen," says he.
I listened. If the Major was dead he was a mighty noisy remains.
He woke up, after an hour or so, and come trampin' over to where we was.
"Well," he snaps, "it's blowin' hard enough now, ain't it? Why don't youtake us home?"
"How about the auto?" I asked.
The auto could stay where it was until the horses came to pull it out.As for him he wanted to be took home.
"But--but are you able to go?" asked Shelton, anxious.
What in the sulphur blazes did we mean by that? Course he was able togo! And had Shelton got another cigar in his clothes?
All of the sail home I was expectin' to see that military man keel overand begin his digestion torments. But he didn't keel. He smoked andtalked and was better-natured than ever I'd seen him. He didn't mentionhis stomach once and you can be sure and sartin that I didn't. As we wascomin' up to the moorin's in Ostable I'm blessed if he didn't begin tosing, a kind of a fool tune about "Down where the somethin'-or-otherruns." Then I _was_ scared, because I judged that his attack had startedand delirium was settin' in.
Shelton shook hands with me at the landin'.
"You're all right, Cap'n Snow," he says. "That was the best meal I evertasted and nobody but you could have conjured it up in the middle of ahowlin' wilderness. If there's anything I can do for you at any timejust let me know."
There was one thing he could do, of course, but I wouldn't be meanenough to mention it then. The Major and I had, generally speakin',fought fair, and I wouldn't take advantage of a delirious invalid. Andjust then up comes the invalid himself.
"See here, Snow," says he, pretty gruff; "I'll probably be dead aforemornin', but afore I die I want to tell you that I'm much obliged to youfor bringin' us home. Yes, and--and, by the great and mighty, I'mobliged to you for that chowder and the rest of it! It'll be my death,but nothin' ever tasted so good to me afore. There!"
"That's all right," says I.
"No, it ain't all right. I'm much obliged, I tell you. You're astubborn, obstinate, unreasonable old hayseed, but you're the mostcompetent person in this town just the same. Of course though," he adds,sharp, "you understand that this don't affect our post-office fight inthe least. That Blaisdell woman don't get it."
"Who said it did affect it?" I asked, just as snappy as he was. That'sthe way we parted and I wondered if I'd ever see him alive again.
I didn't see him for quite a spell, but I heard about him. I woke upnights expectin' to be jailed for murder, but I wa'n't; and when, threedays later, Shelton started for Washin'ton, the Major went away on thetrain with him. Abubus and his wife shut up the house and went off, too,and nobody seemed to know where they'd gone. All's could be found outwas that Abubus acted pretty ugly and wouldn't talk to anybody. This wascomfortin' in a way, though, most likely, it didn't mean anything atall.
But at the end of two weeks a thing happened that meant somethin'. I gottwo letters in the mail, one in a big, long envelope postmarked from thePost-Office Department at Washington and the other a letter from Sheltonhimself. I don't suppose I'll ever forget that letter to my dyin' day.
"Dear Captain Snow," it begun. "You may be interested to know that our mutual friend, Major Clark, has suffered no ill effects from our picnic at the beach. In fact, he is better than he ever was and has been enjoying the comforts of city life to an extent which I should not dare attempt. Whether his long respite from such comforts helped, or whether the celebrated Doctor Conquest was responsible, I know not. The Major, however, declares Doctor Payne to be a fraud and to have been, as he says, 'working him for a sucker.' Therefore he has discharged the doctor and discharged the cousin with the odd name--your fellow townsman, Abubus Payne. The mishap with the auto was the beginning of Abubus's finish and the fact that no indigestion followed our chowder party completed it. And also--which may interest you still more--Major Clark has withdrawn his support of Payne's candidacy for the post-office and urged the appointment of another person, one whom he declares to be the only able, common-sense, honest _man_ in the village. As I have long felt the appointment of a compromise candidate to be the sole solution of the problem, I was very happy to agree with him, particularly as I thoroughly approve of his choice. When you learn the new postmaster's name I trust you may agree with us both. I know the citizens of Ostable will do so.
"Yours sincerely,
"_William A. Shelton._
"P.S. I am coming down next summer and shall expect another one of your chowders."
My hands shook as I ripped open the other envelope. I knew what wascomin'--somethin' inside me warned me what to expect. And there it was.Me--_me_--Zebulon Snow, was app'inted postmaster of Ostable!
Was I mad? I was crazy! I fairly hopped up and down. What in thunder didI want of the postmastership? And if I wanted it ever so much did theythink I was a traitor? Was it likely that I'd take it, after workin'tooth and nail for Mary Blaisdell? What would Mary say to me? By time,_I'd_ show 'em! It should go back that minute and my free and frankopinion with it. I'd kicked one chair to pieces already, and wasbeginnin' on another, when Jim Henry Jacobs come runnin' in and stoppedme.
No use to goin' into particulars of the argument we had. It lasted tillafter one o'clock next mornin'. Jim Henry argued and coaxed and provedand I ripped and vowed I wouldn't. He was tickled to death. Thepost-office was the greatest thing to bring trade that the store couldhave, and so on. I _must_ take the job. If I didn't somebody else would,somebody that, more'n likely, we wouldn't like any better than we didAbubus.
"No," says I. "_No!_ Mary Blaisdell shall have--"
"She won't get it anyway," says he. "She's out of it--Shelton as much assays so--whatever happens. And she don't want the title anyway. All sheneeds or cares for is the pay and I've thought of a way to fix that. Youlisten."
I listened--under protest, and the upshot of it was that the next day Iwent up to see Mary. She'd heard that I was likely to get theappointment--old Clark had been doin' some hintin' afore he left town, Ical'late--and she congratulated me as hearty as if 'twas what she'dwanted all along. But I wa'n't huntin' congratulations. I felt as meanas if I'd been took up by the constable for bein' a chicken thief, and Itold her so.
"Mary," says I, "I wa'n't after the postmastership. I swear by all thatis good and great I wa'n't. I don't know what you must think of me."
"What I've always thought," says she, "and what poor Henry thoughtbefore he died. My opinion is like Major Clark's," with a kind of halfsmile, "that the appointment has gone to the best man in Ostable."
"My, my!" says I. "_Your_ digestion ain't given you delirium, has it? Nosir-ee! I'm no more fit to be postmaster than a ship's goat is to teachschool."
"You mustn't talk so," she says, earnest. "You will take the position,won't you?"
"I'll take it," says I, "under one condition." Then I told her what thecondition was. She argued against it at fust, but after I'd saidflat-footed that 'twas either that or the government could take itsappointment and make paper boats of it, and she'd seen that I meant it,she give in.
&n
bsp; "But," says she, chokin' up a little, "I know you're doin' this just tohelp me. How I can ever repay your kindness I don't--"
I cut in quick. My deadlights was more misty than I like to have 'em."Rubbish!" says I, "I'm doin' it to win my bet with old Clark. I'd doanything to beat out that old critter."
So it happened that when, along in November, the Major came back toOstable to look over his place, afore leavin' for Florida, and come intothe store, I was ready for him. He grinned and asked me if he had anymail.
"While you're about it," he says, chucklin', "you can pay me that bet."
Now the very sound of the word "bet" hit me on a sore place. I'd lostone hat to Mr. Pike and the letter I'd got from him rubbed me across thegrain every time I thought of it.
"What bet?" says I.
"Why, the bet you made that the Blaisdell woman would be postmistresshere."
"I didn't bet that," I says.
"You didn't?" he roared. "You did, too! You bet--"
"I bet that Mary would handle the mail, that's all. So she will; factis, she's handlin' it now. She's my assistant in the post-office here.If you don't believe it, go back to the mail window and look in. No,Major, _I_ win the bet."
Maybe I did, but he wouldn't pay it. He vowed I was a low down swindlerand a "welsher," whatever that is. He blew out of that store like a toytyphoon and I didn't see him again until the next summer. However, I hada feelin' that Major Cobden Clark wa'n't the wust friend I had, by aconsider'ble sight.
You see, that was Jim Henry's great scheme--to hire Mary to run theoffice as my assistant. He didn't say what salary I was to pay her, and,if I chose to hand over three-quarters of the postmaster's pay to her,what business was it of his? I told him that plain, and, to do himjustice, he didn't seem to care.
But he did rub it in about my declarin' I'd never go into politics.
In a little while the mail department was as much a part of the "OstableGrocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store" as the calicoand dress goods counter. We bought the Blaisdell letter-box rack andfixin's and set 'em up and they done fust-rate for the time bein'. I waspostmaster, so fur as name goes, but 'twas Mary that really run that endof the ship. It seemed as natural to have her come in mornin's, as itdid for the sun to rise; and, if she was late, which didn't happenoften, it seemed almost as if the sun hadn't rose. The old store neededsomethin' like her to keep it clean and sweet and even Jim Henry give inthat she was the best investment the business had made yet.
As for business it kept on good, even though the summer folks had goneand winter had set in. Our order carts kept runnin' and they _took_orders, too. The store was doin' well by us both and I certainly owedold Pullet a debt of thanks for workin' on my sympathies until I put mycash into it. There was consider'ble buildin' goin' on in town and, whenspring begun to show symptoms of makin' Ostable harbor, Jim Henry gotpossessed of a new idea. I didn't pay much attention at fust. He wasalways as full of notions as a peddler's cart and if I took every one of'em serious we'd either been Rockefellers or star boarders at thepoorhouse, one or t'other. 'Twa'n't till that day in April when oldEbenezer Taylor came in after his mail and went out after the constablethat I realized somethin' had to be done.
You see, Ebenezer's eyes was failin' on him and, to make things worse,he'd forgot his nigh-to specs and had on his far-off pair. Consequently,when he headed for the after end of the store, he wa'n't in no conditionto keep clear of the rocks and shoals in the channel. Fust thing he runinto was a couple of dress-forms with some bargain calico gowns on 'em.While he was beggin' pardon of them forms, under the impression thatthey was women customers, he backed into a roll of barbed wire fencin'that was leanin' against the candy and cigar counter. His clothes wassort of thin and if that barbed wire had been somebody tryin' to borrera quarter of him he couldn't have jumped higher or been more emphatic inhis remarks. The third jump landed him against the gunwale of a bushelbasket of eggs that Jacobs was makin' a special run on and had set outprominent in the aisle. Maybe Ebenezer was tired from the jumpin' ormaybe the excitement had gone to his head and he thought he was a hen.Anyhow he set on them eggs, and in two shakes of a heifer's tail he wasthe messiest lookin' omelet ever I see. Jacobs and me and the clerkscraped him off best we could with pieces of barrel hoop and the cheeseknife, and Mary come out from behind the letter boxes and helped alongwith the floor mop, but when we'd finished with him he was consider'blemore like somethin' for breakfast than he was human.
And mad! An April fool chocolate cream couldn't have been more pepperythan he was. He distributed his commentaries around pretty general--Marygot some and so did Jacobs--but the heft was fired at me. He hated meanyhow, 'count of my bein' made postmaster and for some other reasons.
"You--you thunderin' murderer!" he hollered, shakin' his old fist in myface. "'Twas all your fault. You done it a-purpose. Look at me! Look! mylegs punched full of holes like a skimmer, and--and my clothes! Justlook at my clothes! A whole suit ruined! A suit I paid ten dollars and ahalf for--"
"Ten year and a half ago," I put in, involuntary, as you might say.
"It's a lie. 'Twon't be nine year till next September. You think you'refunny, don't you? Ever since this consarned, robbin' Black Republicanadministration made you postmaster! Postmaster! You're a healthypostmaster! I'll have you arrested! I'll march straight out and have youtook up. I will!"
He headed for the door. I didn't say nothin'. I was sorry about theclothes and I'd have paid for 'em willin'ly, but arguin' just then was awaste of time, as the feller said when the deef and dumb man caught himstealin' apples. Ebenezer stamped as fur as the door and then turnedaround.
"I may not have you took up," he says; "but I'll get even with you, ZebSnow, yet. You wait."
After he'd gone and we'd made the place look a little less like anegg-nog, I took Jim Henry by the sleeve and led him into the back roomwhere we could be alone. Even there the surroundin's was so cluttered upwith goods and bales and boxes that we had to stand edgeways and talkout of the sides of our mouths.
"Jim," says I, "this place of ours ain't big enough. We've got to havemore room."
He pretended to be dreadful surprised.
"Why, why, Skipper!" he says. "You shock me. This is so sudden. What putsuch an idea as that in your head? Seems to me I have a vagueremembrance of handin' you that suggestion no less than twenty-fivetimes since the last change of the moon, but I hope _that_ didn'tinfluence you."
"Aw, dry up," says I. "You was right. Let it go at that. Afore I got thepostmastership this buildin' was big enough. Now it ain't. We've got tobuild on or move or somethin'. Have you got any definite plan?"
He smiled, superior and top-lofty, and reached over to pat me on theback; but reachin' in that crowded junk-shop was bad judgment, 'causehis elbow hit against the corner of a tea chest and his next set ofremarks was as explosive and fiery as a box of ship rockets.
"Never mind the blessin'," I says. "Go ahead with the fust course. Haveyou got anything up your sleeve? anything besides that bump, I mean."
Well, it seems he had. Seems he'd thought it all out. We'd ought to buyPhilander Foster's buildin', which was on the next lot to ours, move itclose up, cut doors through, and use it for the post-office department.
"Humph!" says I, after I'd turned the notion over in my mind. "Thatain't so bad, considerin' where it come from. I can only sight onepossible objection in the offin'."
"What's that, you confounded Jezebel?" he says.
"Jezebel?" says I. "What on airth do you call me that for?"
"'Cause you're him all over," he says. "He was the feller I used to hearabout in Sunday School, the prophet chap that was always croakin' andbelieved everything was goin' to the dogs. That was Jezebel, wasn't it?"
"No," says I, "that was Jeremiah; Jezebel was the one the dogs _went_to. And she was a woman, at that."
"Well, all right," he says. "Whatever he or she was they didn't haveanything on you when it comes to croaks. What's the objection?"
&
nbsp; "Nothin' much. Only I don't know's you've happened to think thatPhilander might not care to sell his buildin', to us or to anybodyelse."
That was all right. We could go and see, couldn't we? Well, we could ofcourse--and we did.
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