The Postmaster Part 11

And besides-well, you see, the old man-dad, I mean-has got a notion about settin' me up in business here. And I don't want to be set up-not in his kind of business. I know the kind of business I want to go into, and ... but never mind that part," he adds, in a hurry.

I smiled. I remembered what old Ebenezer had said about the "Palace"

buildin' not bein' empty on his hands very long and about somethin' he knew. It was all plain enough now. He intended openin' some sort of a store there with his son as boss. I almost wished he would. 'Twould be as good as a three-ring circus, that store would, if I knew Ratty. But I was mad, just the same, and when Jim Henry spoke, I was ready for him.

"Well, Skipper," says Jacobs, "what do you think of the plan?"

"Think it's a good one, if you're willin' to heave morals and common honesty overboard-otherwise no. To put up a trick like that on an old widow woman like Aunt Hannah Watson-to land a billiard room on her property, when she'd rather die than have it there, is too close to robbin' the Old Ladies' Home to suit me. I wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole. So good day to you, Rat Taylor," says I, and walked out.

But Jim Henry Jacobs didn't walk out. No, sir! him and that young Taylor scamp stayed in that back room for another half hour and left it whisperin' in each other's ears and actin' thicker than thieves. I wondered what was up, but I was too put-out and mad to ask.

"I'll look it over right after dinner to-morrer," says Jacobs, as they shook hands at the front door.

"Sure you will, now?" asks Ratty, anxious. "Don't put it off, 'cause it may be too late."

"At one o'clock to-morrer I'll be there," says Jim Henry, and Rat went away lookin' pretty average happy.

Jacobs scarcely spoke to me all the rest of that day nor the next mornin'. As we got up from the boardin' house table the follerin' noon he says, without lookin' me in the face, "I ain't goin' back to the store now. I've got an errand somewheres else."

"Yes," says I, "I imagined you had. You're goin' down to look at that buildin' of poor old Aunt Hannah's. That's where you're goin'. Ain't you ashamed of yourself, Jim Jacobs?"

"Oh, cut it out!" he snaps, savage. "You make me tired, Skipper. You and your backwoods scruples give me a pain. I've lived where people aren't so narrow and bigoted and I don't consider a billiard room an annex to the hot place. If, by a business deal, I can get that buildin' next door to add to our establishment, I'm goin' to do it, if I have to use my own money and not a cent of yours. Yes, I _am_ goin' to look at that Watson property. Now, what have you got to say about it?"

"Why, just this," says I; "I cal'late I'll go with you."

"You will?" he sings out. "_You?_"

"Yes," says I, "me. Not that I feel any different about skinnin' Aunt Hannah than I ever did, but because there's a bare chance that her place may be big enough for us to move the store and post-office to, after all. With that idea and no other, I'll go with you, Jim."

So we went together, though we never spoke more than two words on the way down. We got the key at the jewelry and hardware shop next door and went in. The Watson place was an old-fas.h.i.+oned tumble-down buildin' with a big open lower floor and two or three rooms overhead. I saw right off 'twouldn't do for us to move into, but likewise I saw that the lower floor _might_ do for Foster, though 'twa'n't as good as where he was, by consider'ble.

Jim Henry looked the place over.

"No good for us," he snapped.

"None at all," says I.

"Humph!" says he, and we locked up and came down the steps together. As we did so I noticed someone watchin' us from acrost the road.

"There's our friend, Jim Henry," says I. "And, judgin' by the way he's starin', he's got on his fur-off gla.s.ses and knows who we are."

He looked across. "Old Taylor, by thunder!" says he. "Well, if my deal goes through we'll jolt the old tight-wad yet."

"Do you mean you're goin' on with that low-down billiard-room game?" I asked.

"Of course I do," he snapped.

"Then you'll do it on your own hook. _I_ won't be part or parcel of it."

"Who asked you to?" he wanted to know. And we didn't speak again for the rest of that day. It made me feel bad, because he and I had been mighty friendly, as well as partners together. The only comfort I got out of it was that, judgin' by the way he kept from lookin' at me or speakin', he didn't feel any too good himself.

But that evenin' Ratty drifted in and the pair of 'em had another confab. And next day, after the mail had gone, Jacobs got me alone and says he:

"Well," he says, "I think I ought to tell you that I've written that nephew in Wareham and made an offer on the Watson property. I did it on my own responsibility and I'll pay the freight. But I thought perhaps I ought to tell you."

"What did you offer?" I asked. He told me.

"I'll take half," says I, "because I consider it a good investment at that figger. But only with the agreement that the billiard saloon sha'n't go there."

"Then you can keep your money," he says, short. And there was another long spell of not speakin' between the two of us.

Mary noticed that there was somethin' wrong, and it worried her. She spoke to me about it.

"Cap'n Zeb," she says, "what's the trouble between you and Mr. Jacobs?

Of course it isn't my business, and you mustn't tell me unless you wish to."

I thought it over. "Well," says I, "I can't tell you just now, Mary.

It's a business matter we don't agree on and it's kind of private. I'll tell you some day, but just now I can't. It ain't all my secret, you see."

"I see," says she. "I shouldn't have asked. I beg your pardon. I wasn't curious, but I do hate to see any trouble between you two. I like you both."

I nodded. I was feelin' pretty blue. "Jim's a mighty good chap at heart," I says. "I owe him a lot and he's consider'ble more than just a partner to me."

"He thinks the world of you, too," says she. "He's told me so a great many times. That is why I can't bear to see you disagree."

I couldn't bear it none too well, either, but Jim Henry showed no signs of givin' in and I wouldn't. So we moped around, keepin' out of each other's way, and actin' for all the world like a couple of young-ones in bad need of a switch.

A couple more days went by afore the answer came from Wareham. When I saw the envelope on the desk, with the Watson man's name in the corner, I knew what it meant and I was on hand when Jim Henry opened it. He was ugly and scowlin' when he ripped off the envelope. Then I heard him swear. I was dyin' to know what the letter said, but I wouldn't have asked him for no money. I walked out to the front of the store. Five minutes later I felt his hand on my shoulder. He had a curious expression on his face, sort of a mixture of mad and glad.

"Skipper," he says, "we're buncoed again. We don't get the Watson place."

"Don't, hey?" says I. "All right, I sha'n't shed any tears. I wa'n't after it, and you know it. But I'm surprised that your offer wa'n't accepted. Why wa'n't it?"

"Because somebody got ahead of me. Here's the letter. Listen to this: 'Your offer for my aunt's property in Ostable came a day too late.

Yesterday I gave a year's option on that property, for five hundred dollars cash, to-'"

"Land of love!" I interrupted. "Only yesterday! That was close haulin', I must say."

"Wait," says he, "you haven't heard the whole of it. 'A year's option ... for five hundred dollars cash, to Mr. Taylor of your town.'"

"Taylor!" says I. "_Taylor!_ My soul and body! The old skinflint beat us again! Well, I swan!"

"Um-hm," says he. "I size it up like this. He saw us come out of there the other day and guessed that we thought of buyin' and movin'. So, as he owed us a grudge, and because the Watson property is, as you said, a good investment anyhow, he makes his option offer on the jump, and beat me to it."

I whistled. "I cal'late you've hit the nailhead, Jim," says I. "Well, to be free and frank, I'm glad of it."

"So am I," says he.

_That_ was a staggerer. I whirled round and looked at him.