The Postmaster

by Joseph Crosby Lincoln

  CHAPTER XV--HOW IKE'S LOSS TURNED OUT TO BE MY GAIN

  There's no use dwelling on unpleasantness. And there's no use tellin'what Ike Hamilton said. I'd be liable to the law, if I did tell it, and,besides, I've been away from seafarin' so long that my memory for suchlanguage ain't as good as 'twas. Ike wa'n't only mad now: he was ha'fcrazy, and pale and scared-lookin' besides. The interview ended by mytakin' him by the arm and leadin' him to the door.

  "You get out of here," I told him, "and I'll leave this door open so'sto sweeten the air after you. That letter of yours has turned up missin'and I'm mighty sorry. I'll find it, though, or die a-tryin'. Meanwhile,unless you can behave like a decent human bein'--which I doubt--you'llfind it turrible unhealthy for you on these premises. Understand?"

  I cal'late he understood, for he waited till he was out of reach aforehe answered. Then he turned and snarled at me like a kicked dog.

  "By the Almighty, Zeb Snow," he says, "this is the wust day's work _you_ever did! That letter's wuth hundreds of dollars to me and I'll sue youfor every cent. And, more'n that," he says, "this is the last strawthat'll break your back as postmaster of this town. _You're_ done! anddon't you forget it!"

  I wa'n't likely to forget it--not to any consider'ble extent.

  Well, all the rest of that day and for the next two days, Mary andPeters and I hunted high and low for that letter; but we couldn't findit. I was worried, Peters was worried, and Mary Blaisdell seemed themost worried of any of us. Ike Hamilton come in every few hours, and,though he blustered and threatened a whole lot, he kept a civil tonguein his head, rememberin', I cal'late, what I said to him when I showedhim the door. Apparently he hadn't told any of his cronies about hisloss, for nobody else said a word about it to me. This was queer, for Iexpected the news would be all over town by this time.

  Peters asked a lot of questions and I done my best to satisfy him. Ishowed him the exact place where I laid the letter down afore I went tothe front of the store to meet him, and he remembered, same as I did,that the door to the mail room was locked when we come back to it. Andwe'd stayed in that room together until Mary came and we went to dinner.Nobody but Mary and I had keys to the room, either.

  Course I thought of Sim Kelley and how mad he was because I took theletter away from him, and Peters and I cross-questioned him prettysharp. But he told a straight yarn and stuck to it. He hadn't seen theletter since I took it. He'd delivered the notice to Ike and Ike hadsaid he'd call and get the letter that afternoon. Well, all that seemedto be true, and, besides, there was no way Sim could have got hold ofthe thing if he'd wanted to.

  "No use," says I, when the questionin' was over and Sim had cleared out,protestin' injured innocence and almost cryin'. "No use," says I, "Ical'late he's tellin' the truth for once in his life. I guess his skirtsare clear."

  "Maybe so," says Peters. "His story is straight enough; but he don'tlook you in the face; I don't like that."

  "That's nothin'," I said. "He'd have to get 'round the corner to look abody in the face, as cross-eyed as he is."

  Mary Blaisdell spoke up then. "If this letter shouldn't be found at all,Mr. Peters," says she, "what effect would it have on Cap'n Zeb'sposition as postmaster?"

  Peters was pretty solemn, and he shook his head.

  "Well," he says, "to be perfectly frank with you, Cap'n, it might haveconsider'ble effect. From what I've seen of you and this office,generally speakin', my report to headquarters would be a very favorableone. Your records and accounts are straight and the place is neat andwell kept. But your opponent's petition charges that several lettershave been lost already. This loss comes at a very bad time and it_might_ be considered serious."

  I'd realized all this, but it didn't help me much to hear him say it. Ididn't make any answer, but Mary asked another question.

  "But if," she says, slow, "it should turn out that the Cap'n was not toblame at all? If someone else had lost that letter? He wouldn't beremoved _then_?"

  "No, certainly not. That is, not if my report counted for anything."

  "I see," says she; and she didn't speak to us again that afternoon.Peters, though, had more questions to ask. What sort of a letter wasthis, anyhow? And did I have any idea what was in it?

  I told him that I didn't really know much, but, bein' a Yankee, I wassubject to the guessin' habit. Ike Hamilton had been buyin' stocks up toBoston and this letter had a broker firm's name printed on the envelope.My guess was that there was some certificates, or such, inside.

  "I see," he says. "That would explain what he said about its value. Sohe's been speculatin', hey?"

  "So Sim Kelley hinted. But where the money comes from I don't see. OldIchabod don't furnish it, I'll bet a dollar. The old critter's gotcramps in the pocketbook worse than he has in his back."

  "That was the old feller you pointed out to me the other day," he says."I haven't seen him since. Where is he?"

  "Back in bed with the rheumatiz, so I hear. Guess his cruise down townwas too much for him."

  Well, the rest of our talk didn't amount to much and I went home thatnight pretty blue and discouraged. I didn't care so much about bein'postmaster, but it hurt my pride to be bounced for bad seamanship. I'dnever wrecked a craft afore in my life.

  Next mornin' I come to the store at my usual time, but Mary was late,for a wonder. When she did come she looked so pale and used up that Iwas troubled.

  "Mary," says I, "what's the matter? Ain't sick, are you?"

  "Oh, no!" says she. "I--I didn't sleep well, that's all. I'm all right."

  "But, Mary," I says, "I--"

  "Please excuse me, Cap'n Zeb," she cut in. "I'm very busy."

  She'd never used that tone to me afore, and I was set back about fortymile. Why she should be so frosty I couldn't see. I went out to theplatform and paced the quarter deck, thinkin'. I was down at the heelanyway, and I thought a whole lot of fool things. I was goin' to lose myjob and so I s'posed that, after all, I'd ought to expect my friends toshake me. There's a proverb about rats leavin' a leaky vessel. But MaryBlaisdell!! I cal'late I come as nigh wishin' I was dead as ever I didin my life.

  'Twas almost eleven afore the Peters man showed up. He was walkin' briskand smilin' a little.

  "Well," says I, "you're lookin' a heap more chipper than I feel. Whatare you grinnin' about?"

  "Oh, just for instance," he says. "Is Miss Blaisdell in the office?"

  "Guess so. She was awhile ago. Yes, she's there. Why?"

  "I want to see her--and you, too. Come on."

  He led the way to the mail room. Mary was there, workin' at her books.She looked up when we come in, and her face was whiter than ever. Iforgot all about my "rat" thoughts and the rest of it.

  "Mary," says I, anxious, "you _are_ under the weather. Why don't you gohome?"

  She held up her hand and stopped me.

  "Please don't," she says.

  Then, turnin' to Peters: "Mr. Peters, I want to speak to you. And toyou, too, Cap'n Zeb. I--I've got somethin' that I must tell you."

  'Twa'n't so much what she said as the way she said it. I looked atPeters and he looked at me. I cal'late we was both wonderin' what sortof lightnin' was goin' to strike now.

  She didn't leave us to wonder long. She went right on, speakin' quick,as if she wanted to get it over with.

  "Mr. Peters," she says, "last night you told me that, if it should beproved that Cap'n Zeb had no part in losin' that letter, if it wasn'this fault at all, the postmastership wouldn't be taken from him. Youmeant that, didn't you?"

  Peters looked queer enough. "Why, yes," he says, "I did. But how--"

  "Mr. Peters," she went on, in the same hurried way, "_I_ lost thatletter."

  I don't know what Peters did then, but I know that my knees give fromunder me and I flopped down in the armchair.

  "You? _You_, Mary!" says I.

  Peters seemed to be as much flabbergasted as I was. He rubbed hisforehead.

  "_You_ lost it?" he says, slow.

  "Yes," says she. "Tha
t is, I--I destroyed it by accident. It was whileyou two were at dinner. I was clearin' up the sortin' table and--andputtin' the waste paper in the stove. I--I must have taken the letterwith the other things."

  "Nonsense!" I sung out. Peters didn't say nothin'.

  "Nonsense!" I said again. "You don't know that 'twas--"

  "But I do," she interrupted. "I--I saw it burnin' and--and it was toolate to get it out. It was my fault altogether. No one else is to blameat all."

  If I hadn't been settin' down already you could have knocked me overwith a feather. 'Twas an accident, of course; anybody might have donesuch a thing; but what I couldn't understand was why she hadn't told meof it afore. That didn't seem like her at all.

  "Well!" I says; "_well_!"

  Peters had transferred his rubbin' from his forehead to his chin.

  "Miss Blaisdell," says he, quiet, "why didn't you tell us sooner?"

  "That's all right," I cut in, quick. "I don't blame her for not tellin'.I cal'late that she felt so bad about it that she couldn't make up hermind to tell right off. That was it, wa'n't it, Mary?"

  She didn't look up, but sat playin' with a pen-holder.

  "Yes," she says, "that was it."

  "All right then," says I. "It was an accident, and if anybody's to blameit's me. I shouldn't have left the letter there."

  _Then_ she looked up. "Of course you're not to blame," she says, awfulearnest. "It was my fault entirely. You know it was, Mr. Peters. It wasmy fault and I must take the consequences. I will resign my place asassistant and--"

  "Resign!" I sung out. "Resign! Well, I guess not!"

  "But I shall. Of course I shall. Mr. Peters, you see that it wasn'tCap'n Snow's fault, don't you? _Don't_ you?"

  "Yes," says Peters, short.

  "Nonsense!" I roared. "He don't see no such thing. Mary, I don't care--"

  She held up her hand. "Please don't talk to me now," she begged."Please--not now."

  I looked at Peters. There was a look in his eyes, almost as if he wassmilin' inside. I could have punched his head for it.

  "But, Mary--" I begun.

  "Please don't talk to me," she begged, almost cryin'. "Please go awayand leave me now. Please."

  I cal'late I shouldn't have gone; fact is, I know I shouldn't; but thatgovernment investigator put his hand on my arm.

  "Cap'n," he says, "come with me."

  "With you?" I snapped. "Why?"

  "Because I want you to. It's important. I won't keep you long."

  I went, but he'll never know how much I wanted to kick him. As I shutthe door of the mail room I saw poor Mary's head go down on her arms onthe desk.

  Peters led me out to the front of the store, where he come to anchor ona shoe-case.

  "Set down," says he, pattin' the case alongside of him.

  "I don't feel like settin'," I says, ugly. "And I tell you, Mr.Peters--"

  "No," says he, "I'm goin' to tell _you_ this time. Or, if I'm not, thefeller I told to be here at half past eleven will. Yes ... here he comesnow."

  In at the door comes Sim Kelley, and, if ever a chap looked as if he wasmarchin' to be hung, he did. His eyes was red and his face was whiteunder the freckles.

  "Here--here I be, Mr. Peters," he stammered.

  "Yes, I see you 'be,'" says Peters, dry as a chip. "All right. Now youcan tell Cap'n Snow what you told me this mornin'."

  Sim looked at me, and at the government man. He was shakin' all over.

  "Aw, Cap'n Zeb," he bust out, "don't be too hard on me. Don't put me injail! I know I hadn't ought to have taken that letter, but you riled meup when you told me I couldn't be trusted with it. Ike pays me to fetchthe mail. And he told me he was expectin' an important letter from themstockbrokers. So I--"

  Well, there's no use tryin' to spin the yarn the way he did. 'Twas allmixed up with prayers about not puttin' him in jail, and what would hisma say, and "pleases" and "oh, dont's" and such. B'iled down and skimmedit amounted to this: He'd seen me lay that Hamilton letter on thesortin' table, saw it when he come back to tell me that Peters hadarrived. After I'd gone out to the platform he was struck with an idea.He _would_ take that letter to Ike, just to show that he could betrusted, and, besides Ike had promised him fifty cents for lookin' outfor it and fetchin' it to him direct. He had a key to the Hamilton boxand the letter laid right back of that box. All he had to do was toreach through the box to the table, take the letter, and lock up again.So he did it, and put the letter in his overcoat inside pocket.

  "And--and--" he finished up, almost blubberin', "there was a great bighole in that pocket and I didn't know it."

  "I did," says I, involuntary, so to speak. "Never mind. Heave ahead."

  "And the letter must have dropped out of it. When I got a little ways upthe road I found 'twas gone. I didn't dast tell Ike or you. I--I didn't_dast_ to. Ike would kill me if I told him, and--and--Oh, please, Cap'nZeb, don't put me in jail! I don't know where the letter is. Honest, Idon't! _Please_ ..." and so on.

  Peters cut him short. "There!" says he, "that'll do. Kelley, you go outon the platform and wait till we need you. Go ahead! Shut up--and go."

  Sim went, but I cal'late if we'd listened we could have heard theplatform boards tremblin' underneath where he was standin'.

  Peters looked at me and grinned. 'Twas my time to rub my forehead.

  "Well!" says I. "Well, I--I.... Is he lyin'?"

  "Didn't act like it, did he?"

  "No-o, he didn't. But--but, if he took that letter, how did it get backonto that sortin' table?"

  "How do you know it did?"

  "How do I know! Course it got back there! Didn't Mary say--"

  "Wait a minute," he put in. "How do you explain that, Cap'n?"

  He was holdin' out somethin' that he'd took from his pocket. I grabbedit. 'Twas the regular receipt for that registered letter, and 'twassigned by Ichabod Hamilton, Junior.

  I looked at that receipt and then at him. The paddin' in my head that,up to then, I'd complimented by callin' brains was whirlin' as ifsomebody was stirrin' it. I couldn't say a word. He laughed out loud.

  "Don't have a fit, Cap'n Snow," he says. "It's simple enough. What youtold me yesterday about the firm of Hamilton and Co. put me wise to thereal answer to the riddle. I remembered that you pointed out Hamilton tome on the street when you and I were on the way to that hotel where wedined the noon of my arrival. He was on his way home then and he hadbeen somewhere in this vicinity. There was a chance that he had beenhere at the office. This mornin' I went to his house and found him inbed. He was full of rheumatism and groans, but fuller still of the EvilOne. I told him I knew he'd got his partner's registered letter--a bluffof course--and he didn't take the trouble to deny it. Seems Sim Kelley,with the mail box, passed him right here by the store platform. As theypassed each other the letter fell from Kelley's overcoat pocket. The oldman picked it up, intendin' to call to Kelley and give it back to him.When he saw the address he didn't."

  He stopped then, waitin' for me to say somethin', I s'pose. But Icouldn't say anything. My head was fuller of stir-about than ever, and Ijust stared at him with my mouth open.

  "When he saw the address--and the name of the brokerage firm--he didn't.He took that letter home and opened it. You see, the old feller isnobody's fool, even if his rheumatism has kept him from active businessfor the last few months. He had suspected his nephew of speculatin' andhere was the proof, a hundred shares of cheap minin' stock, and a lettersayin' that two hundred more had been bought on a margin. Young Hamiltonhad been stockjobbin' with the firm's money."

  "My--soul!" was all I could say.

  "Yes; well, old Ichabod is--ha! ha!--a queer character. His rheumatismhad come back and he was waitin' to get better afore he took the matterup with his partner. 'What I'll say and do to that young pup is a wellman's job,' he told me. We had a long talk and it ended in his sendin'for Ike. As soon as the young chap came I cleared out--that is, after Igot this receipt signed. That bedroom was too sulphurous for me. I couldsmel
l brimstone even in the front yard. Cap'n, I guess you needn't worryabout your rival candidate for postmaster. He's got troubles enough ofhis own."

  I got up, slow and deliberate, from that shoe-case.

  "But--but--" I stuttered.

  "Yes? Anything that I haven't made clear?"

  "Anything? Why! if all this yarn of yours is so--.... But it _can't_ beso! Why did Mary burn that letter?"

  "She didn't."

  "But she said she did."

  "I know. Well, Cap'n, if you'll remember when we talked, the three ofus, yesterday, I hinted that unless you were cleared of blame in thisaffair you might be removed from office."

  "I know, but.... Hey? You mean that she lied and put the blame onherself, so as to save _me_? So's I'd keep my job?"

  "Looks that way to a man up a tree, doesn't it?"

  "But why? Why should she sacrifice herself for--for me?"

  Peters bit the end off of a cigar. "That," says he, "don't come underthe head of government business."

  ----

  Mary was still at her desk when I walked into the mail room. I put myhand on her shoulder.

  "Mary," says I, "I know all about it."

  She looked at me. Her eyes were wet, and I cal'late mine wa'n't as dryas a sand bank in July.

  "You know?" she says.

  "Yes," says I. And I told her the yarn. Afore I got through the colorhad come back to her cheeks.

  "Then you did leave it on the sortin' table after all," she says, almostin a whisper.

  "Course I did! Didn't I say so?"

  "Yes; but Cap'n Zeb, I saw you put that letter in your overcoat pocket.I saw you do it, myself."

  So there 'twas. I'd forgot to tell her about my mistake in the overcoatsand she thought I'd lost the letter and didn't know it.

  "And so," says I, after I'd explained, "you thought I'd lost it and yetyou took the blame all on yourself. You risked your place and told a liejust to save me, Mary. Why did you do it?"

  "How could I help it?" she says. "You've been so good to me and sokind."

  "Good and kind be keelhauled!" I sung out. "Mary, my goodness andkindness wouldn't explain a thing like that. Oh, Mary, don't let's haveanother misunderstandin'. I'm crazy maybe to think of such a thing, andI'm ten years older than you, and you'll be throwin' yourself away, but,_do_ you care enough for me to--"

  She got up from her desk, all flustered like.

  "It's mail time," she says. "I--I must--"

  But 'twa'n't mail I was interested in just then. I caught her afore shecould get away.

  "Could you, Mary?" I pleaded. She wouldn't look at me, so I put my handunder her chin and tipped her head back so I could see her face. 'Twasas red as a spring peony, and her eyes were wetter than ever. But theywere shinin' behind the fog.

  Well, about three that afternoon, we were alone together in the mailroom. Peters, who had as much common sense as anybody ever I see, hadgone for a walk.

  Mary was thinkin' things over and says she, "But it was too bad," shesays, "that all the worry and trouble had to come on you just because ofthat foolish Sim Kelley. I'm so sorry."

  "Sorry!" says I. "I'm goin' to give Sim a ten-dollar bill next time Isee him. If I gave him a million 'twould be a cheap price for what I'vegot by his buttin' in. Sorry! _I_ ain't sorry, I tell you that!"

  And I've never been sorry since, either.

  CHAPTER XVI--I PAY MY OTHER BET

  'Twas June, and Mary and I were in New York together, on _our_honeymoon. We'd been married, quietly, by the same parson that tied theknot for Jim and Georgianna, and Georgianna and Jim had been on hand atthe ceremony. We was cal'latin' to stop in New York a few days, then goto Washington, and from there to Chicago, and from there to Californiaor the Yellerstone, or anywhere that seemed good to us at the time. I'dwaited fifty years for my weddin' tour and I didn't intend to letdollars and cents cut much figger, so far as regulatin' the limits ofthe cruise was concerned. Jim Henry and the clerk, who'd been swore inas substitute assistant, believed they could run the store andpost-office while we were gone.

  Mary and I were walkin' down Broadway together. I'd told her I had anerrand to do and asked her if she wanted to come along. She said she didand we were walkin' down Broadway, as I said, when all at once I pulledup short.

  "What is it?" asked Mary, lookin' to see what had run across my bows tobring me up into the wind so sudden.

  "Nothin' serious," says I; "but, unless my eyesight is goin' back on me,this shop we're in front of is what I've been huntin' for."

  She looked at the shop I was p'intin' at. The window was full of hats,straw ones mainly.

  "Why!" says she, "it's a hat store, isn't it? You don't need a new hat,Zebulon, do you?"

  "You bet I do!" says I, chucklin'. "I need just as much hat as there is.Come in and watch me buy it."

  I could see she was puzzled, but she was more so after I got into thestore. A slick-lookin', but pretty condescendin' young clerk marched upto us and says he:

  "Somethin' in a hat, sir?"

  "Yes, sir," says I; "_everything_ in a hat."

  He didn't know what to make of that, so he tried again.

  "One of our new straws, perhaps?" he asks. "The fifteenth is almosthere, you know."

  "Maybe so," I told him, "but I don't want any straw, the fifteenth orthe sixteenth either. I want a plug hat, a beaver hat--that's what Iwant."

  The clerk was a little set back, I guess, but poor Mary was all at sea.

  "Why, Zebulon!" she whispers, grabbin' me by the arm, "what are youdoin'? You're not goin' to buy a silk hat!"

  "Yes, I am," says I.

  "But you aren't goin' to _wear_ it."

  To save me, when I looked at her face I couldn't help laughin'.

  "Ain't I?" says I. "Why, I think I'd look too cute for anything in atall hat. What's your opinion?" turnin' to the clerk.

  He coughed behind his hand and then made proclamation that a silk hatwould become me very well, he was sure.

  "Then you're a whole lot surer than I am," says I. "However, trot oneout, the best article you've got in stock."

  That clerk's back was gettin' limberer every second. "Yes, sir," sayshe, bowin'. "Our imported hat at ten dollars is the finest in New York.If you and the lady will step this way, please."

  We stepped; that is, I did. I pretty nigh had to _drag_ Mary.

  "What size, sir?" asked the clerk.

  "Oh, I don't know," says I. "Any nice genteel size will do, I guess."

  I had consider'ble fun with that clerk, fust and last, and when we cameout of that store I was luggin' a fine leather box with the importedtall hat inside it. I'd made arrangements that, if the size shouldn't beright, it could be exchanged.

  "And now, Mary," says I, "I cal'late you're wonderin' where we'll gonext, ain't you?"

  She looked at me and shook her head.

  "Zeb," she says, half laughin', "I--I'm almost afraid we ought to go tothe insane asylum."

  I laughed out loud then. "Not just yet," I told her. "We're goin' on acruise down South Street fust."

  So I hired a hack--street cars ain't good enough for a man on hisweddin' trip--and the feller drove us to the number I give him on SouthStreet. The old place looked mighty familiar.

  "Is Mr. Pike in?" I asked the bookkeeper, who had hollered my name outas if he was glad to see me.

  "Why, yes, Cap'n Snow, he's in. I'll tell him you're here."

  "Wait a minute," says I. "Is he alone? Good! Then I'll tell him myself.Come, Mary."

  Pike was in his private office, not lookin' a day older than when I lefthim four years and a half ago. He looked up, jumped, and then grabbed meby both hands. "Why, Cap'n Zeb!" he sung out. "If this isn't good forsore eyes. How are you? What are you doin' here in New York? By George,I'm glad to see you! What--"

  "Wait!" I interrupted. "Business fust, and pleasure afterwards. I'm hereto pay my debts."

  "Debts?" says he, wonderin'.

  "Yes," I says.
"Did you get a hat from me four year or so ago?"

  He laughed. "Yes, I did," he says. "I wrote you that I did. I knew Ishould win that bet. You couldn't stay idle to save your soul."

  "There was another bet, too, if you recollect. A bet with a five-yearlimit on it. The limit won't be up till next fall, so here I am--andhere's the other hat."

  I set the leather box on the table. He stared at it and then at me.

  "What do you mean?" he says, slow. "I don't remember.... Why, yes--I do!You don't mean to tell me that you're--"

  "That's the hat, ain't it?" I cut in. "You're a man of judgment, Mr.Pike, and any time you want to set up professionally as a prophet I'dlike to take stock in the company."

  He was beginnin' to smile.

  "Then--" says he--"Why, then this must be--"

  I cut in and stopped him.

  "Hold on," says I. "Hold on! I'm prouder to be able to say it than Iever was of anything else in this world, and I sha'n't let you say itfust. Mr. Pike, let me introduce you to my wife--Mrs. Zebulon Snow."

  About half an hour afterwards he found time to look at the hat.

  "Whew!" says he. "Cap'n, this is much too good a hat for you to buy forme. I'm mighty glad, for your sake, that I won the bet, but--"

  "Ssh-h! shh!" says I. "Don't say another word. Think of what _I_ won!Hey, Mary?"

  THE END