The Postmaster Part 8

"The dear land knows," says I. To tell you the truth I was a little conscience-struck and worried. My idea had been to play a joke on Clark-tantalize him by eatin' a square meal that he couldn't touch-and get even for some of the names he'd called me. But now I wa'n't sure that my fun wouldn't turn out serious. When a man with a lame digestion eats enough to satisfy an elephant n.o.body can be sure what'll come of it.

The Congressman and I washed the dishes and 'twas a pretty average sorrowful job. Only once, when I happened to glance at him and caught a queer look in his eyes, was the ceremony any more joyful than a funeral.

Then the funny side of it struck me and I commenced to laugh. He joined in and the pair of us haw-hawed like loons. Then we was sorry for it.

Shelton went out when the dish-was.h.i.+n' was over. I cleaned up everything, left a note and some money on Jonathan's table and locked up the house. When I got outside there was a fair to middlin' breeze springin' up. Shelton was settin' on the hummock waitin' for me.

"Where-where's the Major?" I asked, pretty fearful.

"He's over there in the shade-asleep," he whispered.

"Asleep!" says I. "Sure he ain't dead?"

"Listen," says he.

I listened. If the Major was dead he was a mighty noisy remains.

He woke up, after an hour or so, and come trampin' over to where we was.

"Well," he snaps, "it's blowin' hard enough now, ain't it? Why don't you take us home?"

"How about the auto?" I asked.

The auto could stay where it was until the horses came to pull it out.

As for him he wanted to be took home.

"But-but are you able to go?" asked Shelton, anxious.

What in the sulphur blazes did we mean by that? Course he was able to go! And had Shelton got another cigar in his clothes?

All of the sail home I was expectin' to see that military man keel over and begin his digestion torments. But he didn't keel. He smoked and talked and was better-natured than ever I'd seen him. He didn't mention his stomach once and you can be sure and sartin that I didn't. As we was comin' up to the moorin's in Ostable I'm blessed if he didn't begin to sing, a kind of a fool tune about "Down where the somethin'-or-other runs." Then I _was_ scared, because I judged that his attack had started and delirium was settin' in.

Shelton shook hands with me at the landin'.

"You're all right, Cap'n Snow," he says. "That was the best meal I ever tasted and n.o.body but you could have conjured it up in the middle of a howlin' wilderness. If there's anything I can do for you at any time just let me know."

There was one thing he could do, of course, but I wouldn't be mean enough to mention it then. The Major and I had, generally speakin', fought fair, and I wouldn't take advantage of a delirious invalid. And just then up comes the invalid himself.

"See here, Snow," says he, pretty gruff; "I'll probably be dead afore mornin', but afore I die I want to tell you that I'm much obliged to you for bringin' us home. Yes, and-and, by the great and mighty, I'm obliged to you for that chowder and the rest of it! It'll be my death, but nothin' ever tasted so good to me afore. There!"

"That's all right," says I.

"No, it ain't all right. I'm much obliged, I tell you. You're a stubborn, obstinate, unreasonable old hayseed, but you're the most competent person in this town just the same. Of course though," he adds, sharp, "you understand that this don't affect our post-office fight in the least. That Blaisdell woman don't get it."

"Who said it did affect it?" I asked, just as snappy as he was. That's the way we parted and I wondered if I'd ever see him alive again.

I didn't see him for quite a spell, but I heard about him. I woke up nights expectin' to be jailed for murder, but I wa'n't; and when, three days later, Shelton started for Was.h.i.+n'ton, the Major went away on the train with him. Abubus and his wife shut up the house and went off, too, and n.o.body seemed to know where they'd gone. All's could be found out was that Abubus acted pretty ugly and wouldn't talk to anybody. This was comfortin' in a way, though, most likely, it didn't mean anything at all.

But at the end of two weeks a thing happened that meant somethin'. I got two letters in the mail, one in a big, long envelope postmarked from the Post-Office Department at Was.h.i.+ngton and the other a letter from Shelton himself. I don't suppose I'll ever forget that letter to my dyin' day.

"Dear Captain Snow," it begun. "You may be interested to know that our mutual friend, Major Clark, has suffered no ill effects from our picnic at the beach. In fact, he is better than he ever was and has been enjoying the comforts of city life to an extent which I should not dare attempt. Whether his long respite from such comforts helped, or whether the celebrated Doctor Conquest was responsible, I know not. The Major, however, declares Doctor Payne to be a fraud and to have been, as he says, 'working him for a sucker.' Therefore he has discharged the doctor and discharged the cousin with the odd name-your fellow townsman, Abubus Payne. The mishap with the auto was the beginning of Abubus's finish and the fact that no indigestion followed our chowder party completed it. And also-which may interest you still more-Major Clark has withdrawn his support of Payne's candidacy for the post-office and urged the appointment of another person, one whom he declares to be the only able, common-sense, honest _man_ in the village. As I have long felt the appointment of a compromise candidate to be the sole solution of the problem, I was very happy to agree with him, particularly as I thoroughly approve of his choice. When you learn the new postmaster's name I trust you may agree with us both. I know the citizens of Ostable will do so.

"Yours sincerely,

"_William A. Shelton._

"P.S. I am coming down next summer and shall expect another one of your chowders."

My hands shook as I ripped open the other envelope. I knew what was comin'-somethin' inside me warned me what to expect. And there it was.

Me-_me_-Zebulon Snow, was app'inted postmaster of Ostable!

Was I mad? I was crazy! I fairly hopped up and down. What in thunder did I want of the postmasters.h.i.+p? And if I wanted it ever so much did they think I was a traitor? Was it likely that I'd take it, after workin'

tooth and nail for Mary Blaisdell? What would Mary say to me? By time, _I'd_ show 'em! It should go back that minute and my free and frank opinion with it. I'd kicked one chair to pieces already, and was beginnin' on another, when Jim Henry Jacobs come runnin' in and stopped me.

No use to goin' into particulars of the argument we had. It lasted till after one o'clock next mornin'. Jim Henry argued and coaxed and proved and I ripped and vowed I wouldn't. He was tickled to death. The post-office was the greatest thing to bring trade that the store could have, and so on. I _must_ take the job. If I didn't somebody else would, somebody that, more'n likely, we wouldn't like any better than we did Abubus.

"No," says I. "_No!_ Mary Blaisdell shall have-"

"She won't get it anyway," says he. "She's out of it-Shelton as much as says so-whatever happens. And she don't want the t.i.tle anyway. All she needs or cares for is the pay and I've thought of a way to fix that. You listen."

I listened-under protest, and the upshot of it was that the next day I went up to see Mary. She'd heard that I was likely to get the appointment-old Clark had been doin' some hintin' afore he left town, I cal'late-and she congratulated me as hearty as if 'twas what she'd wanted all along. But I wa'n't huntin' congratulations. I felt as mean as if I'd been took up by the constable for bein' a chicken thief, and I told her so.

"Mary," says I, "I wa'n't after the postmasters.h.i.+p. I swear by all that is good and great I wa'n't. I don't know what you must think of me."

"What I've always thought," says she, "and what poor Henry thought before he died. My opinion is like Major Clark's," with a kind of half smile, "that the appointment has gone to the best man in Ostable."

"My, my!" says I. "_Your_ digestion ain't given you delirium, has it? No sir-ee! I'm no more fit to be postmaster than a s.h.i.+p's goat is to teach school."

"You mustn't talk so," she says, earnest. "You will take the position, won't you?"

"I'll take it," says I, "under one condition." Then I told her what the condition was. She argued against it at fust, but after I'd said flat-footed that 'twas either that or the government could take its appointment and make paper boats of it, and she'd seen that I meant it, she give in.

"But," says she, chokin' up a little, "I know you're doin' this just to help me. How I can ever repay your kindness I don't-"

I cut in quick. My deadlights was more misty than I like to have 'em.

"Rubbis.h.!.+" says I, "I'm doin' it to win my bet with old Clark. I'd do anything to beat out that old critter."

So it happened that when, along in November, the Major came back to Ostable to look over his place, afore leavin' for Florida, and come into the store, I was ready for him. He grinned and asked me if he had any mail.

"While you're about it," he says, chucklin', "you can pay me that bet."

Now the very sound of the word "bet" hit me on a sore place. I'd lost one hat to Mr. Pike and the letter I'd got from him rubbed me across the grain every time I thought of it.

"What bet?" says I.

"Why, the bet you made that the Blaisdell woman would be postmistress here."

"I didn't bet that," I says.

"You didn't?" he roared. "You did, too! You bet-"