The Postmaster

by Joseph Crosby Lincoln

  CHAPTER XIV--THE EPISTLE TO ICHABOD

  Mary came in a few minutes later and she had to be told the news. Shewas as pleased as I was and there was more congratulatin'. ThenGeorgianna had to go home and, as she was altogether too precious to beallowed to walk, Jim Henry went and got his auto and they left in that.

  When he got back--that car must have been sufferin' from a stroke ofcreepin' paralysis, for it took him two hours to run that littledistance--he and I had a good confidential talk. He was way up abovethis common earth, soarin' around in the clouds, and all he wanted totalk was Georgianna. The whole of creation had been set to music and wasdancin' to the one tune--"Georgianna."

  It was astonishin' to me who had been in the habit of considerin' himjust a sharp, up-to-date buyer and seller, a man whose whole soul waswrapped up in business with no room in it for anything else. I foundmyself lookin' at him and wonderin': "Is the world comin' to an end, Iwonder? Is this my partner? Is this moon-struck critter Jim HenryJacobs, doctor of sick businesses?"

  I couldn't help jokin' him a little.

  "Jim," says I, "for a feller who hadn't any use for females you're doin'pretty well, I must say. Either you was mistaken in your old opinions oryour new ones are wrong. Which is it? 'Women and business don't mix,'you know. That ain't an original notion; that is quoted from the Gospelaccording to Jacobs, Chapter 1,000; two hundred and eightieth verse."

  He reddened up and laughed. "Well, they _don't_ mix, as a generalthing," he says. "I guess 'twas Georgianna's sand in goin' into businessthat got me in the first place. I leave it to you, Skipper--ain't she awonder? Now be honest, ain't she?"

  Course I said she was; I have the usual sane man's regard for my headand I didn't want it knocked off yet awhile. And Georgianna _was_ asnice a girl as I ever saw--that is, _almost_ as nice. Jim went sailin'on, about how now he could settle down and live like a white man in ahome of his own, about the house he was goin' to build, and so forth andetcetery. I declare it made me feel almost jealous to hear him.

  "My! my!" says I, kind of spiteful, I'm afraid, "you have got it bad,ain't you! Sudden attacks are liable to be the most acute, I suppose."

  He laughed again. You couldn't have made him mad just then.

  "Ha, ha!" says he. "Yes, I guess I'm way past where there's any hope forme. But I'm glad of it. It did come sudden, but that's the way most goodthings come to me. It's my nature. Now if I was like some folks that Iwon't name, I'd be mopin' around for months without sense enough to knowwhat ailed me."

  "Who are you diggin' at?" I wanted to know. He wouldn't tell; said 'twasa secret, and maybe I'd find out the answer for myself some day.

  The next few weeks was busy times, in the store and out of it.Georgianna havin' declined the screen contract, Parkinson gave it to us,after a little arguin'. That kept me hustlin', for Jim was toointerested in other things to care for screens. He was makingarrangements to be married.

  And married he and Georgianna were. She'd have waited a little longer, Ical'late--that bein' a woman's way--if it had been left to her to namethe time; but Jim Henry never was the waitin' kind. They were married atthe parson's and Mary Blaisdell and I saw the splice made fast. Then wewent to the depot and said good-by to Mr. and Mrs. Jim Henry Jacobs.They were goin' on a honeymoon cruise to the West Indies that would lasttwo months.

  Good-byes ain't ever pleasant to say, but I was so glad for Jim, and sohappy because he was, that I tried to be as chipper as I could.

  "If you need me, wire at Havana, Skipper," he says. "I'll come theminute you say the word."

  "I sha'n't need you," I told him. "Mary and I'll run things as well aswe can. She makes a good fust mate, Mary does."

  "You bet!" says he. "I feel a little conscience-struck to leave you justnow, with that West End crowd tryin' to make trouble for you, butCongressman Shelton is your friend and he'll look out for you inWashin'ton."

  "Don't you worry about that," I says. "I ain't scared of Bill Phipps orIke Hamilton--much, or any of their West End crew. The decent folks intown are on my side, and with Shelton to back me up at Washin'ton, Ical'late I'll keep my job till you come back anyhow."

  The train started and Mary and I waved till 'twas out of sight. Then wewent back to the store. I give in that the old feelin', the feelin' thatI'd had when Jim was sick out West, that of bein' adrift without ananchor, was hangin' around me a little, but I braced up and vowed tomyself that I'd do the best I could. If this post-office row did getdangerous, I might telegraph for Jacobs, but I wouldn't till the shipwas founderin'.

  I suppose you can always get up an opposition party. There was oneamongst the Children of Israel in Moses's time, and there's been plentyever since. So long as somebody has got somethin' there'll always besomebody else to want to get it away from him. That's human nature, andthere's as much human nature in Ostable, size considered, as there wasin the Land of Canaan.

  I'd been postmaster at Ostable for quite a spell. I didn't try for theposition, I was mad when 'twas given to me, there wa'n't much ofanything in it but a lot of fuss and trouble, and I'd said forty timesover that I wished I didn't have it. But when the gang up at the WestEnd of the town set out to take it away from me I r'ared up on my hindlegs and swore I'd fight for my job till the last plank sunk from underme. Don't sound like sense, does it? It wa'n't--'twas just more humannature.

  Course the opposition wa'n't large and 'twa'n't very influential. Oldman William Phipps and young Ike Hamilton was at the head of it, andthey had forty or fifty West-Enders to back 'em up. Phipps had been oneof the leading workers for Abubus Payne, the chap I beat for theapp'intment in the fust place; and young Hamilton was junior partner inthe firm of "Ichabod Hamilton & Co., Stoves, Tinware and Fishermen'sSupplies," a mile or so up the main road. Young Ike--everybody calledhim "Ike," though his real name was Ichabod, same as his uncle's--was apushin' critter, who'd come back from a Boston business college and hadstarted right in to make the town sit up and take notice. He was goin'to get rich--he admitted that much--and he cal'lated to show us hayseedsa few things. Up to now he hadn't showed much but loud clothes andcheek, but he had enough of them to keep all hands interested for aspell.

  His uncle, Ichabod, Senior, was a shrewd old rooster, with twentythousand or so that, accordin' to his brags--he was always tellin' ofit--he'd put away for a "rainy day." We have consider'ble damp weatherat the Cape, but 'twould have taken a Noah's Ark flood to make Ichabod'spurse strings loosen up. That twenty thousand dollars had growed fast tohis nervous system and when you pulled away a cent he howled. Young Ikewas the only one that could mesmerize this old man into spendin'anything, and how he did it nobody knew. But he did. Since he got intothat Stoves and Tinware firm the store had been fixed up andadvertisements put in the papers, and I don't know what all. The unclehad been under the weather with rheumatism for a year; maybe thatexplained a little.

  Anyhow 'twas young Ike that picked himself to be postmaster instead ofme and he and Phipps got the West-Enders, fifty or so of 'em, to sign apetition askin' that a new app'intment be made. I couldn't be removedexcept on charges, so a lot of charges was made. Fust, the post-office,bein' in the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy GoodsStore, was too far from the center of the town. Second, I was neglectin'the office and my assistant--Mary, that is--was really doin' the wholeof the government work. There was some truth in this, because Mary knewa good deal more about mail work than I did, and was as capable a womanas ever lived; and besides, Jim Henry and I had been so busy with ourstore and the "Windmill Restaurant," and our other by-product ventures,that I _had_ left Mary to run the post-office. But it was run betterthan any post-office ever was run afore in Ostable and everybody withbrains knew it.

  Third.... But never mind the rest of the charges, they didn't amount toanything. In fact, there was so little to 'em that when the West Endpetition went in to Washin'ton, I didn't take the trouble to send one ofmy own, though Jacobs thought I'd better and a hundred folks asked me toand said they'd sign. I just wro
te to the Post-office Department andtold them that I was ready to submit my case, if there was any need forit, and if they cared to send a representative to investigate, I'd betickled to death to see him. They wrote back that they'd look into thematter, and that's the way it stood when Jim and Georgianna left and itstayed so until the lost letter affair run me bows fust onto the rocksand turned the situation from ridiculousness into something that lookedlikely to be mighty serious for me.

  It come about--same as such jolts generally come--when I was least readyfor it. Jim Henry had been gone three weeks or more. 'Twas February andnone of my influential friends amongst the summer folks was on hand tohelp. No, Mary and I were all alone and sailin' free with what lookedlike a fair wind, when "Bump!"--all at once our craft was half full ofwater and sinkin' fast.

  That mornin' the mail was a little mite late and there wa'n't any storetrade to speak of. Mary was in the post-office place writin', the usualgang of loafers was settin' around the stove, and I was out fronttalkin' with Sim Kelley, who lived up to the west end of the town,amongst the mutineers. 'Twas from Sim that I got most of my news aboutthe doin's of the Phipps and Hamilton crowd. He was a great, hulkin',cross-eyed lubber, too lazy to get out of his own way, and as shif'lessas a body could be and take pains enough to live.

  "Sim," says I to him, "I thought you said old man Hamilton was in bedwith his rheumatiz. I saw him up street as I was comin' by. He lookedpretty feeble, but he was toddlin' along on foot just as he always does.Rheumatic or not, it's all the same. I cal'late the old critter wouldn'tspend enough money to hire a team if he was dyin'."

  Sim was surprised, and not only surprised, but, seemingly, a little miteworried. Why he should be worried because Ichabod was takin' chanceswith his diseases I couldn't see.

  "Old man Hamilton!" says he. "Is he out a cold mornin' like this? Wherewas he bound?"

  "Don't know," says I. "He stopped into the drug store when I saw him.Whether that was his final port of call or not I don't know."

  He seemed to be thinkin' it over. Then he got up and walked to the door.

  "He ain't in sight nowheres," he says. "Guess he wa'n't comin' as far ashere, 'tain't likely."

  "Well," says I, "how's the rest of the family? The hopeful leader of theforlorn hope--how's he?"

  "Ike?" he says. "Oh, he's all right. He's a mighty smart young feller,Ike is."

  "Yes," says I, "so I've heard him say. Gettin' ready to stand in withhim when he gets my job, are you, Sim?"

  That shook him up a mite. 'Twas common talk around town that Sim and Ikewas pretty thick. He turned red under his freckles.

  "No, no!" he sputtered. "Course I ain't! I'm standin' by you, Cap'nSnow, and you know it. But, all the same, Ike's a smart boy. He'sgettin' rich fast, Ike is."

  "Sold another cookstove, has he?"

  "He sells a lot of 'em. Sold two last month. But that ain't it. He's gotforesight and friends in the stock exchange up to Boston. He's buyin'copper stocks and they--"

  He stopped short; thought his tongue was runnin' away with him, Ipresume likely. But I was interested and I kept on.

  "Oh!" says I; "he's buyin' coppers, is he? Well, where does he get theU. S. coppers to do it with? Is Uncle Ichabod backin' him? Has the oldman's rheumatiz struck to his brains?"

  "Course he ain't backin' him. _He_ don't know nothin' of stocks. Heain't up-to-date same as Ike. But he'll be glad enough when his nephewmakes fifty thousand. When he finds that out he'll--"

  "He'll never find it out on this earth," I cut in. "If he found out thatIke made fifty dollars, all on his own hook, he'd drop dead with heartdisease. If he didn't, everybody else in town would. But it takes moneyto buy stocks, don't it? I never knew Ike had any cash of his own."

  "He's in the firm, ain't he! And Hamilton and Co. are----Hello! herecomes the depot wagon."

  Sure enough, 'twas the depot wagon with the mail. I took the bags fromthe driver and went back to help Mary sort. I'd taken to helpin' her agood deal lately--more since Jacobs left than ever afore. She said therewa'n't any need of it, but I didn't agree with her. Of course I realizedthat I was an old fool--but, somehow or other, I felt more and morecontented with life when I was alongside of Mary. She and I understoodeach other and I'd come to depend upon her same as a man might on hissister--or his--well, or anybody, you understand, that he thought a gooddeal of and knew was square and--and so on. And she seemed to feel thesame way about me.

  We sorted the mail together, puttin' it in the different boxes and such.And almost the fust thing I run across was that registered letteraddressed to "Ichabod Hamilton, Jr." 'Twas a long envelope and up in onecorner of it was printed the name of a Boston broker's firm. I laid itout by itself and went on sortin'.

  When the sortin' and distributin' was over and the crowd had gone, Icalled to Sim Kelley. We didn't have Rural Free Delivery then and Simcarried the West End mail box; that is, a lot of the folks up that waychipped in and paid him so much for deliverin' their mail to 'em.

  "Sim," says I, "there's a registered letter here for young Ike Hamilton.If I give it to you will you be careful and see that he signs thereceipt and the like of that?"

  He was outside the partition and he come to the little window and tookthe letter from me. He acted mighty interested.

  "Gosh!" says he, grinnin', "I wouldn't wonder if this was.... Humph! Oh,I'll be careful of it! don't you worry about that."

  Just then Mary called to me. I went over to where she was settin' at herdesk.

  "Cap'n Zeb," she whispered, "I wouldn't send that letter by Sim. It isimportant, or it would not be registered, and Sim is so irresponsible.If anything _should_ happen it would give Mr. Hamilton and the rest sucha chance. And they have accused us of bein' careless already."

  They had, that was a fact. One or two letters had gone astray durin' thepast six months and the loss of 'em was described, with trimmin's, inthe West End charges and petition. And Sim _was_ a lunkhead. I thoughtit over a jiffy and then I called to Kelley once more. He was justcomin' to the hooks by the door outside the mail-box racks where Maryand I and the store clerk--the one we'd hired in place of 'Dolph--hungour overcoats and hats. Sim had hung his coat there that mornin'.

  "Sim," I said, "let me see that registered letter of Ike Hamilton'sagain, will you?" He took it out of his pocket and passed it to me.

  "All right," says I; "you needn't bother about this. I'll send a noticeby you that it's here and Ike can call for it himself. I won't take anychances of your losin' it."

  Well, you'd ought to have seen him! His face blazed up like a Fourth ofJuly tar-barrel. "Chances!" he sung out. "What are you talkin' about? Ical'late I'm able to carry a letter without losin' it. I ain't a kid."

  "Maybe not," says I, "but you ain't goin' to lose this one, kid or not.Here's the notice, all made out."

  "Notice be darned!" he snarled. "You give me that letter. Hamilton andCo. pay me to carry their mail, don't they? And, besides, Ike told meparticular that he was expectin'--"

  He pulled up short again.

  "Well?" says I. "Heave ahead. What's the rest of it?"

  "Nothin'," he answered, ugly; "but you've got no right to say I can'tcarry a letter when I'm paid to do it. As for losin' things, there'sothers besides me that lose mail in this town."

  There's no use arguin' when a matter's all settled. I handed him thenotice and walked off, leavin' him standin' outside that partition, soreas a scalded cat.

  I looked at my watch. 'Twas twelve o'clock, my dinner time. I walked outto the hook rack, took down my overcoat and put it on. I had theHamilton letter in my hand. There wa'n't any reason why I should be moreworried about that registered letter than any other, but I was, just thesame. Maybe 'twas because 'twas Ike's and he was so anxious to maketrouble for me. Somehow or other I couldn't feel safe till he got it andsigned the receipt. I thought for a minute and then I decided I'd walkup to Hamilton and Co.'s and deliver it myself. That decision wasfoolish, maybe, but I felt better when 'twas made. I put the letter inthe i
nside pocket of the overcoat I had on, and just as I was doin' itMary come out of the post-office room with her hat on.

  "Oh!" says she, "are you goin' out, Cap'n Zeb? I thought--"

  Then I remembered. She'd asked to go to dinner fust that day and I'dtold her of course she could. I begged her pardon and said I'd forgot.I'd wait till she got back. So, after makin' sure that I didn't care,she took her coat from the hook, put it on and went out.

  I took off my overcoat and, just as I did so, somethin' fell on thefloor. I stooped and picked it up. I swan to man if it wasn't that peskyHamilton letter! Thinks I, "That's funny!" I put my hand into the pocketwhere it had been and there was a hole right through the linin'. Now ifthere's one thing I'm fussy about it is that my pockets are whole. And I_knew_ this one ought to be whole. So I looked at the coat and I'mblessed if it was mine at all! 'Twas Sim Kelley's! Both coats had beenhangin' together on the hook-rack and both was blue and about the samesize. I'd been saved by a miracle, as you might say.

  I was comin' to feel more and more as if there was some sort of fateabout that registered letter. I took it back into the post-office room,handlin' it as careful as if 'twas solid gold, and laid it down on thesortin' bench behind the letter boxes. And then somebody spoke to methrough the little window.

  "Cap'n Zeb," says Sim Kelley, "there's a man just drove over fromBayport to see you. Come in Gabe Lumley's buggy, he did. His name'sPeters and Gabe says he's got some sort of government job."

  "Government job?" says I. And then it flashed through my mind who thefeller might be. The Post-office Department had said they might send aninvestigator. I didn't care for that, but I did wish Sim hadn't seenhim.

  "Oh," says I; "all right. It's the lighthouse inspector, I shouldn'twonder. Guess 'tain't me he is after. Probably I ain't the Snow he wantsto see; it's Henry Snow over to the Point. Where is he?"

  "Out on the platform," says Sim. I hurried out of the post-office room,lockin' the door careful astern of me. The man Peters was just comin'into the store. I met him at the front door. We shook hands and heintroduced himself. 'Twas the investigator, sure enough.

  "Glad to see you," says I. "I know that may sound like a lie, but, as ithappens, it ain't in this case. I ain't got anything to be ashamed ofand the sooner the government finds that out the better I'll bepleased."

  He laughed. He was a real good chap, this Peters man, and I took to himright off the reel. We stood there talkin' and laughin' and says he:

  "Well, Cap'n," he says, "I'll tell you frankly that I'm not very muchworried about the conduct of your office here at Ostable. I've made someinquiries about you, here and in Washin'ton, and the answers are prettysatisfactory. Congressman Shelton seems to be a friend of yours."

  I grinned. "Yes," says I, "but Shelton's prejudiced, I'm afraid. He andold Major Clark ate a chowder once that I cooked and ever since they'veboth swore by me."

  He laughed, though I could see Shelton hadn't told him the yarn.

  "Humph!" says he, "that's unusual, isn't it? Judgin' by some chowders_I've_ eaten, it would be easier to swear _at_ the cook. Speakin' ofeatables, though, reminds me that I'm hungry. Where's a good place toget a meal around here?"

  "Nowhere," says I, prompt; "not at this season of the year, with thesummer dinin'-room closed. But, if you'll wait until my assistant getsback, I'll pilot you down to the Poquit House, where I feed, and we'llface the wust together."

  He was willin' to risk it, he said, and we walked back and set down inthe post-office department. As we left the front door Sim Kelley wentout of it, luggin' his West-End mail box. Peters and I talked. Seems hehadn't come to the Cape a-purpose to investigate me, but he had a job atthe Bayport office and had took me in on the way home. After a spellMary come back and Peters and I headed for the Poquit, where the coldfish balls and warmed-over beans was waitin'.

  On the way I saw old man Hamilton, Ike's uncle, totterin' along, headin'to the west'ard this time. I pointed him out to Peters.

  "There goes," I says, "one of the fellers that's trying to knock me outof my job."

  "Humph!" says he; "he looks pretty near knocked out himself. Why, he'sall bent out of shape."

  "Yes," I told him. "Ichabod's bent, but he's far from broke. And a toughold limb like him stands a lot of bendin'."

  I was feelin' pretty good. With a square man like this Peters to lookinto matters, I cal'lated I'd be postmaster for a spell yet.

  But that afternoon, about three o'clock, as we was inside the mail room,Mary at her desk, and Peters alongside of her, goin' over the books andpapers, and me smokin' in a chair nigh the delivery window, Ike Hamiltonwalked into the store.

  "Afternoon, Snow," says he, pert and important as ever, "I understandthere's a registered letter for me. I s'pose it is part of your businessto refuse to give it to the regular carrier and put me to the trouble ofwalkin' way down here."

  "I s'pose 'tis," says I.

  "Yes," he says. "Well, if you were as careful to put your partic'larfriends to the same inconvenience there might not be as much talk aboutyou and your handlin' of this office as there is now."

  "Oh, yes, there would," I told him. "There'd always be more talk thananything else where you lived, Ike. Want your letter, do you?"

  He was mad, but he held in pretty well.

  "I do--if gettin' it won't make you work _too_ hard," he says,sarcastic. "I should hate to see you really work."

  "Yes," I says, "the sight of work never was a joy to you, 'cordin' toall accounts. Well, here's your letter."

  I reached down to the sortin' table where I'd laid the letter at noontime--and it wa'n't there.

  I hunted that table over. "Mary," says I, "did you put that registeredletter of Mr. Hamilton's away somewheres?"

  She looked surprised and, it seemed to me, rather anxious.

  "Why no!" says she; "I haven't touched it."

  Whew!... Well, there was a lively hunt in that mail room for the nextten minutes, but it ended in nothin'.

  Ike Hamilton's registered letter was _gone_!