THE NEW POSTMASTER
Politics had little hold in Elmerton. When any question of public
interest was to be settled, the elders of the village met and settled
it; if they disagreed among themselves, they went to Mrs. Tree, and she
told them what to do. People sometimes wondered what would happen when
Mrs. Tree died, but there seemed no immediate danger of this.
"Truth and Trees live forever!" was the saying in the village.
When Israel Nudd, the postmaster, died, Elmerton found little difficulty
in recommending his successor. The day after his funeral, the elders
assembled at the usual place of meeting, the post-office piazza. This
was a narrow platform running along one side of the post-office
building, and commanding a view of the sea. A row of chairs stood along
the wall on their hind legs. They might be supposed to have lost the use
of their fore legs, simply because they never were used. In these chairs
the elders sat, and surveyed the prospect.
"Tide's makin'," said John Peavey.
No one seemed inclined to contradict this statement.
"Water looks rily," John Peavey continued. "Goin' to be a change o'
weather."
"I never see no sense in that," remarked Seth Weaver. "Why should a
change of weather make the water rily beforehand? Besides, it ain't."
"My Uncle Ammi lived to a hundred and two," said John Peavey, slowly,
"and he never doubted it. You're allers contrary, Seth. If I said I had
a nose on my face, you'd say it warn't so."
"Wal, some might call it one," rejoined Seth, with a cautious glance. "I
ain't fond of committin' myself."
"Meetin' come to order!" said Salem Rock, interrupting this preliminary
badinage.
"Brether--I--I would say, gentlemen, we have met to recommend a
postmaster for this village, in the room of Israel Nudd, diseased. What
is your pleasure in this matter? I s'pose Homer'd ought to have it,
hadn't he?"
The conclave meditated. No one had the smallest doubt that Homer ought
to have it, but it was not well to decide matters too hastily.
"Homer's none too speedy," said Abram Cutter. "He gets to moonin' over
the mail sometimes, and it seems as if you'd git Kingdom Come before you
got the paper. But I never see no harm in Home."
"Not a mite," was the general verdict.
"Homer's as good as gingerbread," said Salem Rock, heartily. "He knows
the business, ben in it sence he was a boy, and there's no one else
doos. My 'pinion, he'd oughter have the job."
He spoke emphatically, and all the others glanced at him with approval;
but there was no hurry. The mail would not be in for half an hour yet.
"There's the _Fidely_," said Seth Weaver. "Goin' up river for logs, I
expect."
A dingy tug came puffing by. As she passed, a sooty figure waved a
salutation, and the whistle screeched thrice. Seth Weaver swung his hat
in acknowledgment.
"Joe Derrick," he said. "Him and me run her a spell together last year."
"How did she run?" inquired John Peavey.
"Like a wu'm with the rheumatiz," was the reply. "The logs in the river
used to roll over and groan, to see lumber put together in such shape.
She ain't safe, neither. I told Joe so when I got out. I says, 'It's
time she was to her long home,' I says, 'but I don't feel no call to be
one of the bearers,' I says. Joe's reckless. I expect he'll keep right
on till she founders under him, and then walk ashore on his feet. They
are bigger than some rafts I've seen, I tell him."
"Speaking of bearers," said Abram Cutter, "hadn't we ought to pass a
vote of thanks to Isr'el, or something?"
"What for? turnin' up his toes?" inquired the irrepressible Seth. "I
dono as he did it to obleege us, did he?"
"I didn't mean that," said Abram, patiently. "But he was postmaster here
twenty-five years, and seems's though we'd ought to take some notice of
it."
"That's so!" said Salem Rock. "You're right, Abram. What we want is
some resolutions of sympathy for the widder. That's what's usual in such
cases."
"Humph!" said Seth Weaver.
The others looked thoughtful.
"How would you propose to word them resolutions, Brother Rock?" asked
Enoch Peterson, cautiously. "I understand Mis' Nudd accepts her lot.
Isr'el warn't an easy man to live with, I'm told by them as was neighbor
to him."
He glanced at Seth Weaver, who cleared his throat and gazed seaward. The
others waited. Presently--
"If I was drawin' up them resolutions," Weaver said, slowly, "'pears to
me I should say something like this:
"'Resolved, that Isr'el Nudd was a good postmaster, and done his work
faithful; and resolved, that we tender his widder all the respeckful
sympathy she requires.' And a peanut-shell to put it in!" he added, in
a lower tone.
Salem Rock pulled out a massive silver watch and looked at it.
"I got to go!" he said. "Let's boil this down! All present who want
Homer Hollopeter for postmaster, say so; contrary-minded? It's a vote!
We'll send the petition to Washin'ton. Next question is, who'll he have
for an assistant?"
There was a movement of chairs, as with fresh interest in the new topic.
"I was intendin' to speak on that p'int!" piped up a little man at the
end of the row, who had not spoken before.
"What do we need of an assistant? Homer Hollopeter could do the work
with one hand, except Christmas and New Years. There ain't room enough
in there to set a hen, anyway."
"Who wants to set hens in the post-office?" demanded Seth Weaver.
"There's cacklin' enough goes on there without that. I expect about the
size of it is, you'd like more room to set by the stove, without no eggs
to set on."
"I was only thinkin' of savin' the gov'ment!" said the little man,
uneasily.
"I reckon gov'ment's big enough to take care of itself!" said Seth
Weaver.
"There's allers been an assistant," said Salem Rock, briefly. "Question
is, who to have?"
At this moment a window-blind was drawn up, and the meek head of Mr.
Homer Hollopeter appeared at the open window.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen!" he said, nervously. A great content shone
in his mild brown eyes,--indeed, he must have heard every word that had
been spoken,--but he shuffled his feet and twitched the blind uneasily
after he had spoken.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Postmaster!" said Salem Rock, heartily.
"Congratulations, Home!" said Seth Weaver. The others nodded and grunted
approvingly.
"There's nothing official yet, you understand," Salem Rock added,
kindly; "but we've passed a vote, and the rest is only a question of
time."
"Only a question of time!" echoed Abram Cutter and John Peavey.
Mr. Homer drew himself up and settled his sky-blue necktie.
"Gentlemen," he said, his voice faltering a little at first, but gaining
strength as he went on, "I thank you for the honor you do me. I am
deeply sensible of it, and of the responsibility of the position I am
called upon to fill; to--occupy;--to--a--become a holder of."
"Have a lozenger, Home!" said Seth Weaver, encouragingly.
"I--am obliged to you, Seth; not any!" said Mr. Homer, slightly
flustered. "I was about to say that my abilities, such as they are,
shall be henceforth devoted to the service--to the--amelioration; to
the--mental, moral, and physical well-being--of my country and my fellow
citizens. Ahem! I suppose--I believe it is the custom--a--in short, am I
at liberty to choose an assistant?"
"We were just talkin' about that," said Salem Rock.
"Yes, you choose your own assistant, of course; but--well, it's usual to
choose someone that's agreeable to folks. I believe the village has
generally had some say in the matter; not officially, you understand,
just kind of complimentary. We nominate you, and you kind o' consult us
about who you'll have in to help. That seems about square, don't it?
Doctor Stedman recommended you to Isr'el, I remember."
There was an assenting hum.
Mr. Homer leaned out of the window, all his self-consciousness gone.
"Mr. Rock," he said, eagerly, "I wish most earnestly--I am greatly
desirous of having William Jaquith as my assistant. I--he appears to me
a most suitable person. I beg, gentlemen--I hope, boys, that you will
agree with me. The only son of his mother, and she is a widow."
He paused, and looked anxiously at the elders.
They had all turned toward him when he appeared, some even going so far
as to set their chairs on four legs, and hitching them forward so that
they might command a view of their beneficiary.
But now, with one accord, they turned their faces seaward, and became to
all appearance deeply interested in a passing sail.
"The only son of his mother, and she is a widow!" Mr. Homer repeated,
earnestly.
Salem Rock crossed and recrossed his legs uneasily.
"That's all very well, Homer," he said. "No man thinks more of Scripture
than what I do, in its place; but this ain't its place. This ain't a
question of widders, it's a question of the village. Will Jaquith is a
crooked stick, and you know it."
"He has been, Brother Rock, he has been!" said Mr. Homer, eagerly. "I
grant you the past; but William is a changed man, he is, indeed. He has
suffered much, and a new spirit is born in him. His one wish is to be
his mother's stay and support. If you were to see him, Brother Rock, and
talk with him, I am sure you would feel as I do. Consider what the poet
says: 'The quality of mercy is not strained!'"
"Mebbe it ain't, so fur!" said Seth Weaver; "question is, how strong its
back is. If I was Mercy, I should consider Willy Jaquith quite a lug.
Old man Butters used to say:
"'Rollin' stones you keep your eyes on!
Some on 'em's pie, and some on 'em's pison.'"
"--His appointment would be acceptable to the ladies of the village, I
have reason to think," persisted Mr. Homer. "My venerable relative, Mrs.
Tree, expressed herself strongly--" (Mr. Homer blinked two or three
times, as if recalling something of an agitating nature)--"I may say
_very_ strongly, in favor of it; in fact, the suggestion came in the
first place from her, though I had also had it in mind."
There was a change in the atmosphere; a certain rigidity of neck and set
of chin gradually softened and disappeared. The elders shuffled their
feet, and glanced one at another.
"It mightn't do no harm to give him a try," said Abram Cutter. "Homer's
ben clerk himself fifteen year, and he knows what's wanted."
"That's so," said the elders.
"After all," said Salem Rock, "it's Homer has the appointin'; all we
can do is advise. If you're set on givin' Will Jaquith a chance, Homer,
and if Mis' Tree answers for him--why, I dono as we'd ought to oppose
it. Only, you keep your eye on him! Meetin's adjourned."
The elders strolled away by ones and twos, each with his word of
congratulation or advice to the new postmaster. Seth Weaver alone
lingered, leaning on the window-ledge. His eyes--shrewd blue eyes, with
a twinkle in them--roamed over the rather squalid little room, with its
two yellow chairs, its painted pine table and rusty stove.
"Seems curus without Isr'el," he said, meditatively. "Seems kind o'
peaceful and empty, like the hole in your jaw where you've had a tooth
hauled; or like stoppin' off takin' physic."
"Israel was an excellent postmaster," said Mr. Homer, gently. "I thought
your resolutions were severe, Seth, though I am aware that they were
offered partly in jest."
"You never lived next door to him!" said Seth.