The Postmaster

by Joseph Crosby Lincoln

  CHAPTER XI--COOKS AND CROOKS

  I was at the store by quarter of eleven, but the gang of creditors wasthere to meet me, seven of 'em altogether. Cahoon, the chicken man, andBangs, the milk man, and Hall, the ice man, and Alpheus, and CalebBearse, who'd been supplyin' meat to that road-house, and Peleg Doane,who'd done carpenterin' and repairs on it, and Jeremiah Doane, hisbrother, who'd painted the repaired places. Seven was all the creditorsPerkins could scare up on short notice, though he cal'lated there wasmore.

  "There's one more, anyway," says Bill Bangs. "That dark-complectedwoman--the one you call the stewardess, Cap'n Zeb--was sick a spell agoand Frank told Doctor Goodspeed he'd be responsible for the bill. I seethe doc this mornin' and he's with us. Says he may be down later."

  They elected me chairman of the meetin' and we started deliberatin'. Thedebts amounted to quite a lot, though the Ostable Store's was thebiggest. Some was for doin' one thing and some another, but we allagreed we must see Colcord, the lawyer, afore we did much of anything.While we was still pow-wowin', somebody knocked at the door. 'TwasDoctor Goodspeed, on the way to see a patient.

  "Well," says he, "how's the consultation comin' on? Judgin' by yourfaces, I should imagine 'twas a autopsy. Time to take desperatemeasures, if you asked _me_. I never did believe that Frank chap wasanything but a crook, so I'm not surprised. I'm with you in spirit,boys, though I can't stop. However, here's a couple of pieces ofinformation which may interest you: One is that 'The Sign of theWindmill's' account was overdrawn yesterday at the bank and the bankfolks sent notice. T'other is that Lawyer Colcord is out of town for acouple of days, so you can't get him. Otherwise than that, the patientis normal. By, by. Life's a giddy jag of joy, isn't it?"

  He grinned and shut the door with a bang. The eight of us looked at eachother. Then Alpheus Perkins riz to his feet.

  "Humph!" says he. "Account overdrawn, hey? Well, maybe that Windmillain't made enough to pay its bills, but it's been takin' in consider'blecash. If it ain't at the bank, where is it? I'm goin' to find out. Andif I can't get a lawyer to help me, I'll do without one. That Frankcritter's store clothes are wuth somethin', and, if I can't get nothin'more, I'll rip _them_ right off his back. So long, fellers. Keep yourear to the ground and you'll hear somethin' drop."

  He headed for the door, but he didn't go alone. The rest of us got thereat the same time, and I--well, I wouldn't wonder if 'twas me that openedit. I was desperate, and I've commanded vessels in my time.

  Anyhow, 'twas me that led the procession up the front steps of the "Signof the Windmill" and into the dinin'-room. The two waiters was busy.They had five of the tables set end to end and covered with cloths, andthey was layin' plates and knives and forks for a big crowd. 'Twas plainthat special customers was expected.

  "Mr. Frank in his office?" says I, headin' for the skipper's cabin. Thewaiters looked at each other and jabbered in some sort of foreign lingo.

  "No, sare," says one of 'em. "No, sare. Meester Frank, he is away--out."

  "Away out, hey?" says I. "You're wrong, son. We're the ones that areout, but we ain't goin' to be out another cent's wuth. Come on, boys,we'll find him."

  You can see I was mighty mad, or I wouldn't have been so reckless. Iwalked acrost that dinin'-room and flung open the office door. Frankhimself wa'n't there, but who should be settin' at his roll-top desk,but the fleshy, dark-complected stewardess woman. She glowered at me,ugly as a settin' hen.

  "This is a private room," she snaps.

  "I know, ma'am," says I; "but the business we've come on is sort ofprivate, too. Come in, boys."

  The seven of 'em come in and they filled that office plumb full. Thestewardess woman's black eyes opened and then shut part way. But therewas fire between the lashes.

  "What do you mean by comin' in here?" says she. "And what do you want?"

  The rest of the fellers looked at me, so I answered.

  "Ma'am," says I, "we don't want nothin' of you and we're sorry totrouble you. We've come to see Mr. Frank on a matter of business,important business--that is, it's important to us."

  "Mr. Frank is out," says she. "You must call again. Good day."

  She turned back again to the desk, but none of us moved.

  "Out, is he?" says I. "Well then, I cal'late we'll wait till he comesin."

  "He is out of town. He won't be in till to-morrer," she snaps.

  I looked 'round at the rest of the crowd. Every one of 'em nodded.

  "Well, then, ma'am," I says, "I cal'late we'll stay here and wait tillto-morrer."

  That shook her. She got up from the desk and turned to face us. If I'many judge of a temper she had one, and she was holdin' it in by mainstrength.

  "You may tell me your business," she says. "I am Mr.Frank's--er--secretary."

  So I told her. "We've waited for our money long as we can," says I."None of us are well-off and every one of us needs what's owin' him.We've called and we've wrote. Now we're goin' to stay here till we'repaid. Of course, ma'am, I realize 'tain't none of your affairs, and weain't goin' to make you any more trouble than we can help. We'll justset down on the piazza or in the dinin'-room or somewheres and wait foryour boss, that's all."

  I said that, 'cause I didn't want her to think we had anything againsther personal. I cal'lated 'twould smooth her down, but it didn't. Shelooked as if she'd like to murder us, every livin' soul.

  "You get out of here!" she screamed, her hands openin' and shuttin'."You get right out of here this minute!"

  "Yes, ma'am," says I, "we'll get out of your office, of course.Further'n that you'll have to excuse us. We're goin' to stay right inthis house till we see Mr. Frank."

  "I'll put you out!" she sputtered. "I'll have the waiters put you out."

  I thought of them two puny lookin' waiters and, to save me, I couldn'thelp smilin'. You'd think she'd have seen the ridic'lous side of it,too, but apparently she didn't, for she bust right through betweenAlpheus and me and rushed into the dinin'-room.

  "Boys," says I, to the crowd, "maybe we'd better step out of here. Wemay need more room."

  She was in the dinin'-room talkin' foreign language in a blue streak tothe waiters. They was lookin' scared and spreadin' out their hands andhunchin' their shoulders.

  "Ma'am," says I, "if I was you I wouldn't do nothin' foolish. We ain'tgoin' and we won't be put out, but, on the other hand, we won't make anyfuss. We'll just set down here and wait for the boss, that's all. Setdown, boys."

  So all hands come to anchor on chairs around that dinin'-room andgrinned and looked silly but determined. The stewardess glared at ussome more and then rushed off upstairs. In a minute she was back withher hat on.

  "You wait!" says she. "You just wait! I'll put you in prison!I'll--Oh--" The rest of it was French or Italian or somethin', but wedidn't need an interpreter. She shook her fists at us and run down thefront steps and away up the road.

  "Well, gents all," says I, "man born of woman is of few days and full oftrouble. To-day we're here and to-morrer we're in jail, as the sayin'is. Anybody want to back out? Now's the accepted time."

  Nobody backed. The two waiters went on with their table settin' and weset and watched 'em. 'Twas the queerest Sunday mornin' ever I put in. Byand by Alpheus got uneasy and wandered away out towards the kitchen. Ina few minutes back he comes, b'ilin' mad.

  "Say, fellers," he sung out. "Do you know what's goin' on here? There'sa party of thirty folks comin' in automobiles for dinner. They'regettin' the dinner ready now. And if we don't stop 'em, they'll be fedwith our stuff, the grub we've never got a cent for. I don't know howyou feel, but _I've_ got ten dollar's wuth of clams and lobsters in thiseatin'-house that ain't goin' to be used unless I get my pay for 'em.You can do as you please, but I'm goin' to stay in that kitchen andwatch them lobsters and things."

  And out he put, headed for the kitchen. The rest of us looked at eachother. Then Caleb Bearse rose to his feet.

  "Well," says he, determined, "there's a lot of chops and roastin' beefand steaks out a
ft here that belong to me. None of _them_ go to feedauto folks unless I get my pay fust."

  And _he_ started for the kitchen. Then up gets Ed Cahoon and follerssuit.

  "I've got six or eight fowl and some eggs aboard this craft," he says."I cal'late I'll keep 'em company."

  The rest of us never said nothin', but I presume likely we all thoughtalike. Anyhow, inside of three minutes we was all out in that kitchenand facin' as mad a chief cook and bottle washer as ever hailed fromFrance or anywheres else. You see, 'twas time to put the lobsters andclams and all the rest of the truck on the fire and we wa'n't willin' tosee 'em put there.

  The chief or "chef," or whatever they called him, fairly hopped up anddown. The madder he got the less English he talked and the lesseverybody else understood. Bill Bangs done most of the talkin' for ourside and he had the common idea that to make foreigners understand youmust holler at 'em. Some of the other fellers put in their remarks tohelp along, all hollerin' too, and such a riot you never heard outsideof a darky camp-meetin'. While the exercises was at their liveliest thetelephone bell rung. After it had rung five times I went into the otherroom to answer it. When I got back to that kitchen I got Alpheus to oneside and says I:

  "Al," I says, "this thing's gettin' more interestin' every minute. Thattelephone call was from the man that's ordered the big dinner hereto-day. There's thirty-two in his party and they've got as far asCohasset Narrows already. They'll be here in an hour and a half. He'phoned just to let me know they was on the way."

  "Humph!" says he. "What did he say when you told him there wouldn't beno dinner?"

  "He didn't say nothin'," says I, "because I didn't tell him. The wirewas a bad one and he couldn't hear plain, so he lost patience and rungoff. Said I could tell him whatever I wanted to say when him and hisparty got here. _I_ don't want to tell him anything. You can explain tothirty-two hungry folks that there's nothin' doin' in the grub line, ifyou want to--I don't."

  "Humph!" he says again. "I ain't hankerin' for the job. What had webetter do, Cap'n Zeb, do you think?"

  "Well," says I, "I cal'late we'd better shorten sail and haul out of therace, for a spell, anyhow. At any rate we'd better clear out of thiskitchen and leave that chef and the rest to get the dinner. I know it'sour stuff that'll go to make that dinner, but I don't see's we can helpit. A few dollars more won't break us more'n we're cracked already."

  But he waved his hand for me to stop. "No question of a few dollars isin it. It's no use," he says, solemn; "you're too late. The Frenchman'squit."

  "Quit?" says I.

  "Um-hm," says he. "Bill Bangs told him that we fellers had took chargeof this road-house and he and the rest of the kitchen help quit rightthen and there. They're out in the barn now, holdin' counsel of war, Ishouldn't wonder. Bill seems to think he's done a great piece of work,but I don't."

  I didn't either; and, after I'd hot-footed it to the barn and tried topump some reason and sense into that chef and his gang, I was surer ofit than ever. They wouldn't listen to reason, not from us. They wantedto see the boss, meanin' Mr. Frank. He was the one that had hired 'emand they wouldn't have anything to say to anybody else.

  I come back to the kitchen and found the boys all settin' round lookin'pretty solemn. My joke about the jail wa'n't half so funny as it hadbeen. Bill Bangs, who'd been the most savage outlaw of us all, was themeekest now.

  "Say, Cap'n," he says to me, nervous like, "hadn't we better clear outand go home? I don't want to see them auto people when they get here.And--and I'm scared that that stewardess has gone after the sheriff."

  "I presume likely that's just where she's gone," says I.

  "Wh-what'll we do?" says he.

  "Don't know," says I. "But I do know that the time for backin' out ispast and gone. We started out to be pirates and now it's too late tohaul down the skull and cross-bones. We've got to stand by our guns andfight to the finish, that's all I see. If the rest of you have gotanything better to offer, I, for one, would be mighty glad to hear it."

  Everybody looked at everybody else, but nobody said anything. 'Twas aglum creditors' meetin', now I tell you. We set and stood around thatkitchen for ten minutes; then we heard voices in the dinin'-room.

  "Heavens and earth!" sings out Ed Cahoon. "Who's that? It can't be theautomobile gang so soon!"

  It wa'n't. 'Twas a parcel of women. You see, some of the crowd had toldtheir wives about the counsel at the store and that, more'n likely, we'dpay a visit to the "Sign of the Windmill." Church bein' over, they'dcome to hunt us up. There was Alpheus's wife, and Cahoon's, and Bangs's,and Bearse's, and Jerry Doane's daughter, and Mary Blaisdell. They wasmighty excited and wanted to know what was up. We told 'em, but wedidn't hurrah none while we was doin' it.

  "Well," says Matildy Bangs, "I must say you men folks have made a nicemess of it all. William Bangs, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.What'll I do when you're in state's prison? How'm I goin' to get along,I'd like to know! You never think of nobody but yourself."

  Poor Bill was about ready to cry, but this made him mad. "Who would Ithink of, for thunder sakes!" he sung out. "I'm the one that's goin' tobe jailed, ain't I?"

  Then Mary Blaisdell took me by the arm. Her eyes were sparklin' and shelooked excited.

  "Cap'n Snow," she whispered, "come here a minute. I want to speak toyou. I have an idea."

  "Lord!" says I, groanin', "I wish _I_ had. What is it?"

  What do you suppose 'twas? Why, that we, ourselves, should get up thedinner for the auto folks. Every woman there could cook, she said, andso could some of the men. We'd seized the stuff for the dinner already.It was ours, or, at any rate, it hadn't been paid for.

  "We can get 'em a good dinner," says she. "I know we can. And, if thatFrank doesn't come back until you have been paid, you can take that muchout of his bills. If he does come no one will be any worse off, not evenhe. Let's do it."

  I looked at her. As she said, we wouldn't be any worse off, and we mightas well be hung for old sheep as lamb. The auto folks would be betteroff; they'd have some kind of a meal, anyhow.

  We had a grand confab, but, in the end, that's what we done. Every oneof them women could cook plain food, and Mrs. Cahoon was the best cakeand pie maker in the county. We divided up the job. All hands hadsomethin' to do, includin' me, who undertook a clam chowder, and BillBangs, who split wood and lugged water and cussed and groaned aboutstate's prison while he was doin' it.

  The last thing was ready and the last plate set when the autos, six of'em, purred and chugged up to the front door. We expected Frank, or thestewardess, or the constable, or all three of 'em, any minute, but theyhadn't showed up. The dinner crowd piled in and set down at the tablesand the head man of 'em, the one who was givin' the party, come over tosee me. And who should he turn out to be but the stout man I'd met atthe store. The one who had told me he'd been waitin' for a chance to geteven with Frank. I don't know which was the most surprised to meet eachother in that place, he or I.

  "Hello!" says he. "What are you doin' here? You joined the FortyThieves? Where's the boss robber?"

  I told him the boss was out; that there was some complications thatwould take too long to explain.

  "But, at any rate," says I, "you're meal's ready and that's the mainthing, ain't it?"

  "Yes," says he, "it is. I've got a crowd of New York men--businessassociates of mine and their wives--down for the week end and I wantedto give 'em a Cape dinner. I never would have come here, but the Denboroplace is full up and couldn't take us in. I hope the dinner is a betterone than the last I had in this place."

  I told him not to expect too much, but to set and be thankful forwhatever he got. He didn't understand, of course, but he set down and wecommenced servin' the dinner.

  We started in with Little Neck quahaugs and followed them up with myclam chowder. Then we jogged along with bluefish and hot biscuit andcreamed potatoes. After them come the lobsters and corn and such. Eat!You never see anybody stow food the way those New Yorkers did.

&nbs
p; In the middle of the lobster doin's I bent over my fleshy friend andasked him if things was satisfactory. He looked up with his mouth full.

  "Great Scott!" says he. "Cap'n, this is the best feed I've had since Ifirst struck the Cape, and that was ten years ago. What's happened tothis hotel? Is it under new management?"

  I didn't feel like grinnin', but I couldn't help it.

  "Yes," says I, "it is--for the time bein'."

  The final layer we loaded that crowd up with was blueberry dumplin' andthey washed it down with coffee. Then the fat man--his name wasJohnson--hauled out cigars and the males lit and started puffin'. I wentout to the kitchen to see how things was goin' there.

  Mary Blaisdell, with a big apron tied over her Sunday gown, was washin'dishes. Her sleeves was rolled up, her hair was rumpled, and she lookedpretty enough to eat--at least, I shouldn't have minded tryin'.

  "How was it?" she asked. "Are they satisfied?"

  "If they ain't they ought to be," says I. "And to-morrer the dyspepsydoctors'll do business enough to give us a commission. But where's ourold college chum, the chef, and the waiters and all?"

  "They're in the barn," says she. "They tried to come in here and maketrouble, but Mr. Perkins wouldn't let 'em. He drove 'em back to the barnagain. But they're dreadfully cross."

  "I shouldn't wonder," I says. "Well, goodness knows what'll come ofthis, Mary, but--"

  Bill Bangs interrupted me. He come tearin' out of the dinin'-room, whiteas a new tops'l, and his eyes pretty close to poppin' out of his head.

  "My soul!" he panted. "Oh, my soul, Cap'n Zeb! They're comin'! they'recomin'!"

  "Who's comin'?" I wanted to know.

  "Why, Mr. Frank, and that stewardess! And John Bean, the constable, iswith 'em. What shall I do? I'll have to go to jail!"

  He was all but cryin', like a young one. I left him to his wife, who,judgin' by her actions, was cal'latin' to soothe him with a pan of hotwater, and headed for the front porch. However, I was too late. I hadn'tany more than reached the dinin'-room, where all the comp'ny was stillsettin' at the tables, than in through the front door marches Mr. EdwinFrank of Pittsburg, and the stewardess, and John Bean, the constable.The band had begun to play and 'twas time to face the music.

  Frank looked around at the crowd at the tables, at Mrs. Cahoon, andAlpheus, and the rest who'd done the waitin'; and then at me. His facewas fire red and he was ugly as a shark in a weir net.

  "Humph!" says he. "What does this mean? Snow, what high-handed outragehave you committed on these premises?"

  I held up my hand. "Shh!" says I, tryin' to think quick and save ascene; "Shh, Mr. Frank!" I says. "If you'll come into your private cabinI'll explain best I can. Somebody had to get dinner for this crowd. YourFrenchmen wouldn't work, so we did. All we've used is our grub, thatwhich ain't been paid for, and--"

  His teeth snapped together and he was so mad he couldn't speak for asecond. The stewardess was as mad as he was, but it took more'n that tokeep her quiet.

  "Fred," says she--and even then, upset as I was, I noticed she didn'tcall him by the name he give Jacobs and me--"Fred, have him arrested.He's the one that's responsible for it all. Officer, you do your duty.Arrest that Snow there! Do you hear?"

  She was pointin' to me. Poor old Bean hadn't arrested anybody for solong that he'd forgot how, I cal'late. All he did was stammer and looksilly.

  "Cap'n Zeb," he says, "I--I'm dreadful sorry, but--but--"

  Then _he_ was interrupted. A big, tall, gray-haired chap, who wassettin' about amidships of the table got to his feet.

  "Just a minute, Officer," says he, quiet, and never lettin' go of hiscigar, "just a minute, please. The--er--lady and gentleman you have withyou are old acquaintances of mine. Hello, Francis! I'm very glad to seeyou. We've missed you at the Conquilquit Club. This meetin' isunexpected, but not the less pleasant."

  He was talkin' to the Frank man. And the Frank man--well, you shouldhave seen him! The red went out of his face and he almost flopped overonto the floor. The stewardess went white, too, and she grabbed his armwith both hands.

  "My Lord!" she says, in a whisper like, "it's Mr. Washburn!"

  "Correct, Hortense," says the gray-haired man. "You haven't forgottenme, I see. Flattered, I'm sure."

  For just about ten seconds the three of 'em looked at each other. ThenFrank made a jump for the door and the woman with him. They was out anddown the steps afore poor old Bean could get his brains to workin'.

  "Stop 'em!" shouts Washburn. "Officer, don't let 'em get away!"

  But they'd got away already. By the time we'd reached the porch they wasin the buggy they'd come in and flyin' down the road in a cloud of dust.

  I wiped my forehead.

  "Well!" says I, "_well!_"

  Johnson pushed through the excited bunch and took the gray-haired fellerby the arm.

  "Say, Wash," he says, "you're havin' too good a time all by yourself.Let us in on it, won't you? Your friends are goin' some; no use to runafter them. Who are they?"

  Washburn knocked the ashes from his cigar and smiled. He'd been cool asa no'thwest breeze right along.

  "Well," he says, "the masculine member used to be called Fred Francis.He was steward of the Conquilquit Country Club on Long Island for sometime. He cleared out a year ago with a thousand or so of the Club funds,and we haven't been able to trace him since. He was a first-classsteward and sharp as a steel trap--but he was a crook. The woman--oh,she went with him. She is his wife."