The Postmaster Part 16

"Yes," says I, "I agree with you."

"She calls me by my Christian name!" he says, pantin', "and I never saw her before in my life! And it-it didn't seem to occur to her that I was not fully dressed. What shall I do?"

"Well," says I, "if you asked me I should say you better make believe eat somethin'. What _I_ can't eat I'm goin' to heave out of the back window. I'd ruther satisfy that woman than explain to her, enough sight."

But he wouldn't eat, seemed to be in a sort of daze, as you might say, and went flappin' back to his own room. I tackled the breakfast.

It would take a week to tell you all that happened that forenoon. My time's limited, so I'll only tell a little of it. When Aunt Lucindy come upstairs again and see his tray, not a thing on it touched, she wanted to know why. I done my best to explain, tellin' her Cousin Lemuel was afflicted in the nerves, and about his tea and toast, and his diff'rent kinds of medicines, and his doctors, and so on, but she wouldn't listen to more'n half of it.

"The poor thing!" she says, "Lot told me some about him. He's in error, ain't he. Horatio, my husband that was, was in error, too, but he died of it. That was afore I got enlightened. And you're in error with your foot, Cap'n Snow, so Lot says. Well, it's a mercy I'm here. The first thing I'll do for you is to give you a cheerful thought. 'All's right in the world.' You keep thinkin' that this forenoon and I'll give you another after dinner. I must get a thought for poor Lemuel, but he needs a stronger one. I'll have one ready for him pretty soon. Now I must do my dishes."

Soon's she cleared out this time I locked my door. An hour or so later there was a snappish kind of knock on it.

"Cap'n Snow! I say, Cap'n Snow," whispers Lemuel, pretty average testy, "where is my tea and toast? Did you tell that woman about my tea and toast? I'm hungry."

"I told her," says I. "If you ain't got it, you better tell her yourself."

"But I don't want to see the creature," he says.

"Neither do I; that is, I ain't partic'lar about it. And I couldn't hop down-stairs if I was. You'll have to do your own tellin'. I'm goin' to read a spell."

My readin' didn't amount to much. He went grumblin' back to his room, but I judge his longin' for tea and toast got the better of his dread for the "creature," 'cause pretty soon I heard him go down-stairs. Aunt Lucindy's singin' and dish-clatterin' stopped, and I heard consider'ble pow-wow goin' on. Cousin Lemuel's voice kept gettin' higher and shriller, but Aunt Lucindy's was just the same even cheerfulness all the time. Then the ex-insect man comes up the stairs again. I was curious, so I unlocked the door.

"How was the toast?" I asked. His usual pale face was bright red and he was a heap more energetic than I'd ever seen him.

"She-she-that woman's crazy!" he sputters. "She's insane; I told her so.

I-"

"Hold on!" I interrupted. "Did you get the toast?"

"I did not. She refused to give it to me. Actually refused! She-she had that dreadful fried breakfast on the back of the stove and told me to sit right down and eat it-like a good fellow. A good fellow-to me!-as if I was a dog! A dog, by Jove! I explained-in spite of my just resentment I endeavored to reason with her. I told her the doctor had forbidden my eatin' a heavy breakfast. I said that my nerves were shattered and so on. And what do you suppose she said to me? She had the brazen effrontery to tell me that I had no nerves. Nerves were 'errors,'

whatever that means. All I had to do was to think that-that those fried outrages were all right and they would be. And when I-you'll admit I had a good reason-when I lost my temper and expressed my opinion of her she began to sing. And she kept on singin'. _Such_ singin'! Good heavens!

Horrible!"

"Then you ain't had any breakfast?"

"I have not. But I will have it! I will! You mark my words, I-"

He stopped. "The Sweet By and By" had swung into the lower entry and was movin' up the stairs. I expected to see Cousin Lemuel beat for snug harbor, but no sir-ee! he stayed right where he was, settin' up in his chair as straight as a ramrod. Aunt Lucindy's treatment might not be workin' exactly as she intended, the patient's nerves might not be any better, but his _nerve_ was improvin' fast.

In she swept, smilin' like clockwork, as smooth and as serene as a flat calm in Ostable cove. She paid no attention to the way the little man glared at her, but turned to me and says: "Well, Cap'n," she says, "have you cherished the thought I gave you?"

"Um-hm," says I, "I've put it on ice. I cal'late 'twill keep over Sunday."

"I've thought up one for you, Lemuel, you poor thing," she says, turnin'

to the insect chaser. "It is-"

"Woman," broke in Cousin Lemuel, "I'll trouble you not to call me a poor thing. Where is my tea and toast?"

She smiled at him, condescendin' but pitiful, same as a cow might smile at a kitten that tried to scratch it-if a cow could smile.

"Your breakfast is on the stove, all nice and warm," she says. "You don't really want tea and toast; you only think so. Cap'n Snow will tell you how nice those fried potatoes are, and the codfish and-"

"Confound your codfish, madam! I shall have that tea and toast. I-I _must_ have it. My system demands it."

She shook her head. "Oh, no, it doesn't," says she. "It will demand all the nice things I've cooked for you if you only think so. Thought is all. Now let me give you your cheerful thought for the day. It is-"

"Confound your thoughts!" yells the nerve sufferer, jumpin' out of his chair and makin' for the door. "I always have tea and toast for breakfast, and I intend to have it now."

I hate a fuss, so I tried to pour a little ile on the troubled waters.

"Now, Lemuel," says I, "don't let's be stubborn. You-"

He whirled on me like a teetotum. "Stubborn!" he snaps, "I was never stubborn in my life. This is a matter of principle with me. That woman shall give me my tea and toast."

Aunt Lucindy smiled, same as ever. "Oh, no, I sha'n't," says she, "it would only encourage you in your error and that I shall not permit.

Please listen to the thought I have for you. It is _such_ a nice one.

'Be true to your higher self and'-"

"Madam," shrieks Lemuel, "my thought about you is that you're an old fat fool! There!" And he rushed into the hall and the next second his door slammed so it shook the house.

For just one minute I thought Aunt Lucindy was goin' after him. Her smile stopped, her teeth snapped together, she took one step towards the door, and her big hands opened and shut. But that one step was all she took. When she turned back to me her face was red, but the smile had got busy once more. She set down in the cane rocker-it cracked, but it held-and says she:

"He's a little mite antagonistic, don't you think so, Cap'n Snow?"

"Well," says I, "I should think you might call it that without exaggeratin' much."

"Yes," says she, "but I don't mind. There was a time when if anybody'd called me an old fat fool I'd have-well, never mind. I'm above such things now. Nothin' can make me cross any more. Not even a sa.s.sy little, long-nosed shrimp like.... Ahem. Cap'n Snow, have you read 'The Soarin'

of Self'? It's a lovely book, an upliftin' book."

I said I hadn't read it and she commenced to tell me about it, repeatin'

it by chapters, so to speak. I couldn't make much out of it but a whirligig of words, and when she was just beginnin' I thought I heard Lemuel's door creak. However, I didn't hear anything more, and she strung along and strung along, about "soul" and "mental uplift" and "high alt.i.tude of spirit" and a lot more. By and by I commenced to sniff.

"Excuse me, marm," I says, "but seems to me I smell somethin' burnin'.

Have you got anything on cookin'?"

_She_ sniffed then. "No," says she, wonderin'. "I can't remember anything." Then, with another sniff, "But seems as if I smelt it, too.

Like-like bread burnin'. Hey? You don't s'pose-"

She put for down-stairs. Next thing I knew there was the greatest hullabaloo below decks that you ever heard. Then up the stairs comes Cousin Lemuel, two steps at a jump, which, considerin' that his usual gait had been a crawl, was surprisin' enough of itself. He had a scorched slice of bread in each hand and he stopped on the upper landin'

and waved 'em.

"I've got the toast," he yells, triumphant, "and I'm goin' to have the tea." Then he bolts into his room and locked the door.

Up the stairs comes Aunt Lucindy. Her face was so red that it looked as if somebody'd lit a fire inside it, and her big hands was shut tight.

She marched straight to that locked door and hollers through the keyhole.

"You-you little, dried-up critter!" she pants. "Humph! I s'pose you've been sent to try my faith, but you sha'n't shake it. No, sir! you nor n.o.body else can shake it or make me lose my temper. I'm perfectly calm and cheerful this minute. I am! Ha, ha! Ha, ha!"

"I got my toast," hollers Cousin Lemuel from inside. "And I'll have my tea, in spite of all the New Thought cranks in this horrible hole!"