What a world this is for plots! And there is no escaping them. If we
are not the originators of them, we are the victims--more or less. If
we don't originate them designedly we do so accidentally.
We have seen how Abel Bones set himself deliberately to hatch one plot.
Let us now turn to old Fred Blurt, and see how that invalid, with the
help of his brother Enoch, unwittingly sowed the seeds of another.
"Dear Enoch," said Fred one day, turning on his pillow, "I should have
died but for you."
"And Miss Lillycrop, Fred. Don't be ungrateful. If Miss Lillycrop had
not come to my assistance, it's little I could have done for you."
"Well, yes, I ought to have mentioned her in the same breath with
yourself, Enoch, for she has been kind--very kind and patient. Now, I
want to know if that snake has come."
"Are you sure you've recovered enough to attend to business?" asked the
brother.
"Yes, quite sure. Besides, a snake is not business--it is pleasure. I
mean to send it to my old friend Balls, who has been long anxious to get
a specimen. I had asked a friend long ago to procure one for me, and
now that it has come I want you to pack it to go by post."
"By post!" echoed the brother.
"Yes, why not?"
"Because I fear that live snakes are prohibited articles."
"Get the Post-Office Directory and see for yourself," said the invalid.
The enormous volume, full six inches thick, which records the abodes and
places of business of all noteworthy Londoners, was fetched.
"Nothing about snakes here," said Enoch, running his eye over the
paragraph referring to the articles in question,--"`Glass bottles,
leeches, game, fish,' (but that refers to dead ones, I suppose) `flesh,
fruit, vegetables, or other perishable substances' (a snake ain't
perishable, at least not during a brief post-journey)--`nor any bladder
or other vessel containing liquid,' (ha! that touches him: a snake
contains blood, don't it?)--`or anything whatsoever which might by
pressure or otherwise be rendered injurious to the contents of the
mail-bags or to the officers of the Post-Office.'--Well, brother,"
continued Enoch, "I'm not quite sure that it comes within the forbidden
degrees, so we'll give it the benefit of the doubt and pack it. How
d'you propose doing it up? In a letter?"
"No, I had a box made for it before I was taken ill. You'll find it in
the shop, on the upper shelf, beside the northern diver."
The little box was brought, and the snake, which had been temporarily
consigned to an empty glass aquarium, was put into it.
"You're sure he don't bite, Fred, and isn't poisonous?"
"Quite sure."
"Then here goes--whew! what a lively fellow he is!"
This was indeed true. The animal, upwards of a yard in length, somewhat
resembled the eel in his efforts to elude the grasp of man, but Mr
Blurt fixed him, coiled him firmly down on his bed of straw and wadding,
pressed a similar bed on the top of him to keep him quiet, and shut the
lid.
"There; I've got him in all right. Now for the screws. He can't move
easily, and even if he could he wouldn't make much noise."
The box was finally secured with a piece of string, a label with the
address and the proper number of stamps was affixed, and then it was
committed to the care of George Aspel to post, in time for the evening
mail.
It was five minutes to six when Aspel ascended the steps of St.
Martin's-le-Grand. The usual rush was in progress. There was a
considerable crowd in front of the letter-box. Instead of pushing
through, George took advantage of his height, stretched his long arm
over the heads of the people, and, with a good aim, pitched the box into
the postal jaws.
For a few seconds he stood still, meditating a call on Phil Maylands.
But he was not now as eager to meet his friend as he used to be. He had
begun a course of dissipation, and, superior though he was in years,
physique, and knowledge to his friend, he felt a new and uncomfortable
sense of inferiority when in the presence of the straightforward, steady
boy.
At seventeen a year adds much to the manhood of a youth. Phil's powers
of perception had been greatly quickened by his residence in London.
Although he regarded Aspel with as warm affection as ever, he could not
avoid seeing the change for the worse in him, and a new feeling of deep
anxiety and profound but respectful pity filled his heart. He prayed
for him also, but did not quite believe that his prayers would be heard,
for as yet he did not fully realise or comprehend the grand truths of
the religion in which his mother had faithfully trained him. He did not
at that time understand, as he afterwards came to understand, that the
prayer of faith--however weak and fluttering--is surely answered,
whether we see the answer or not, and whether the answer be immediate or
long delayed.
On one occasion, with feelings of timorous self-abasement, he ventured
to remonstrate with his friend, but the effort was repelled. Possibly
the thought of another reproof from Phil was the cause of Aspel's
decision not to look him up on the present occasion.
As he descended the steps, a man as tall and powerful as himself met him
and stared him in the face. Aspel fired up at once and returned the
stare. It was Abel Bones, on his way to post a letter. The glare
intensified, and for a moment it seemed as if the two giants were about
to fight. A small street boy, observing the pair, was transfixed with
ardent hope, but he was doomed to disappointment. Bones had clenched
his right hand. If he had advanced another inch the blood of the
sea-kings would have declared for war on the spot, regardless of
consequences. But Bones was too old a bird thus to come within reach of
his great enemy, the law. Besides, a deeper though not immediate plan
of revenge flashed into his mind. Relaxing the hand and frown
simultaneously, he held out the former.
"Come," he said, in a hearty tone, "I don't bear you no ill-will for the
crack on the nut you gave me, and you've surely no occasion to bear
ill-will to a man you floored so neatly. Shake hands."
The familiarity, not to say insolence, of this proposal, from one so
much beneath him, would probably have induced the youth to turn aside
with scorn, but the flattering reference to his pugilistic powers from
one who was no mean antagonist softened his feelings.
"Well, I'm sure that I bear _you_ no ill-will," he said, with a smile,
extending his hand.
"Bah! chicken-livers," exclaimed the small boy, turning away in supreme
contempt.
"And I assure you," continued Aspel, "I had no intention of doing you
injury. But no doubt a stout fellow like you didn't let a knock-down
blow interfere with his next day's work."
"His next day's work!" repeated Mr Bones, with a chuckle. "It would be
a queer blow as would interfere with my work. Why, guv'nor, I hain't
got no work at all" Here he put on a very lugubrious expression.
"P'r'aps you won't believe it, sir, but I do assure you that I haven't,
in them hard times, had a full day's work for ever so long. And I
haven't earned a rap this day, except the penny I got for postin' this
here letter."
George Aspel, besides being, as we have said, a kind-hearted man, was
unusually ignorant of the ways of the world, especially the world of
London. He believed Abel Bones at once, and spoke in quite a softened,
friendly tone as he replied--
"I'm sorry to hear that, and would gladly help you if I could, but, to
tell you the truth, Mr Bones, I'm not in flourishing circumstances
myself. Still, I may perhaps think of some way of helping you. Post
your letter, and I'll walk with you while we talk over it."
The man ran up the steps, posted his letter, which had missed the mail--
though he did not appear to care for that--and returned.
Although we have spoken of this man as a confirmed drunkard, it must not
be supposed that he had reached the lowest state of degradation. Like
George Aspel, he had descended from a higher level in the social scale.
Of course, his language proved that he had never been in the rank of a
gentleman, but in manners and appearance he was much above the unhappy
outcasts amongst whom he dwelt. Moreover, he had scarcely reached
middle life, and was, or had been, a handsome man, so that, when he
chose to dress decently and put on a sanctimonious look (which he could
do with much facility), he seemed quite a respectable personage.
"Now, guv'nor, I'm at your sarvice," he said. "This is my way. Is it
yours?"
"Yes--any way will do," continued Aspel. "Now let me hear about you. I
owe you some sort of reparation for that blow. Have you dined?--will
you eat?"
"Well, no; thank 'ee all the same, but I've no objection to drink."
They chanced to be near a public-house as he spoke. It would be
difficult in some thoroughfares of London to stop _without_ chancing to
be near a public-house!
They entered, and Aspel, resolving to treat the man handsomely, called
for brandy and soda. It need scarcely be said that at that hour the
brandy and soda was by no means the first of its kind that either of the
men had imbibed that day. Over it they became extremely confidential
and chatty. Mr Bones was a lively and sensible fellow. It was
noticeable, too, that his language improved and his demeanour became
more respectful as the acquaintance progressed. After a time they rose.
Aspel paid for the brandy and soda, and they left the place in company.
Leaving them, we shall return to St. Martin's-le-Grand, and follow the
footsteps of no less a personage than Miss Lillycrop, for it so happened
that that enthusiastic lady, having obtained permission to view the
interior of the Post-Office, had fixed on that evening for her visit.
But we must go back a little in time--to that period when the postal
jaws were about to open for the reception of the evening mail.
Ever since Miss Lillycrop's visit to the abode of Solomon Flint, she had
felt an increasing desire to see the inside and the working of that
mighty engine of State about which she had heard so much. A permit had
been procured for her, and her cousin, May Maylands, being off duty at
that hour, was able to accompany her.
They were handed over to the care of a polite and intelligent
letter-sorter named Bright. The sorter seemed fully to appreciate and
enter into Miss Lillycrop's spirit of inquiry. He led her and May to
the inside--the throat, as it were--of those postal jaws, the exterior
aspect of which we have already described. On the way thither they had
to pass through part of the great letter-sorting hall. It seemed to
Miss Lillycrop's excited imagination as if she had been suddenly plunged
over head and ears into a very ocean of letters. From that moment
onwards, during her two hours' visit, she swam, as it were, among snowy
billows of literature.
"This is the receiving-box--the inside of it," said Mr Bright, as he
led the way through a glass door into a species of closet or compartment
about six feet by ten in dimension, or thereabouts, with a low roof.
"This way ladies. Stand here on one side. They are just going to open
it."
The visitors saw in front of them a recess, divided by a partition, in
which were two large baskets. A few letters were falling into these as
they entered. Glancing upwards, they saw a long slit, through which a
number of curious human eyes peeped for a moment, and disappeared, to be
replaced by other eyes. Little spurts of letters came intermittently
through the slit and fell into the baskets. These, when full, were
seized by two attendants, dragged away, and replaced by empty ones.
Suddenly the upper lip of the slit, or postal mouth, rose.
"Oh, May, look!" exclaimed Miss Lillycrop eagerly.
Not only the eyes but the heads and shoulders of the moving public now
became visible to those inside, while the intermittent spurts became
gradually a continuous shower of letters. The full significance of the
old superscription, "Haste, post haste, for thy life," now began to dawn
on Miss Lillycrop. The hurry, mentioned elsewhere in our description of
the outside view, increased as the minutes of grace flew by, and the
visitors fairly laughed aloud when they saw the cataract of
correspondence--the absolute waterfall, with, now and then, a bag or an
entire bandboxful of letters, like a loosened boulder--that tumbled into
the baskets below.
From this letter-fall Miss Lillycrop was led, speechless, by her
cicerone, followed by May, to whom the scene was not quite new, and
whose chief enjoyment of it consisted in observing her interested and
excitable friend's surprise.
Mr Bright led them back to the great sorting-room, where the energetic
labour of hundreds of men and boys--facing, carrying, stamping,
distributing, sorting, etcetera--was going on full swing. Everywhere
there was rapid work, but no hurry; busy and varied action, but no
confusion; a hum of mingled voice and footfall, but no unnecessary
noise. It was a splendid example of the power of orderly and united
action. To Miss Lillycrop it conveyed the idea of hopeless and
irretrievable confusion!
Mounting a staircase, Mr Bright conducted the ladies to a gallery from
which they had a bird's-eye view of the entire hall. It was, in truth,
a series of rooms, connected with the great central apartment by
archways. Through these--extending away in far perspective, so that the
busy workers in the distance became like miniature men--could be seen
rows on rows of facing and sorting-tables, covered, heaped up, and
almost hidden, by the snows of the evening mail. Here the chaos of
letters, books, papers, etcetera, was being reduced to order--the whole
under the superintendence of a watchful gentleman, on a raised platform
in the centre, who took good care that England should not only _expect_,
but also be _assured_, that every man and boy did his duty.
Miss Lillycrop glanced at the clock opposite. It was a quarter to
seven.
"Do you mean to tell me," she said, turning full on Mr Bright, and
pointing downwards, "that that ocean of letters will be gone, and these
tables emptied by eight o'clock?"
"Indeed I do, ma'am; and more than what you see there, for the district
bags have not all come in yet. By eight o'clock these tables will be as
bare as the palm of my hand."
Mr Bright extended a large and manly palm by way of emphasising his
remark.
Miss Lillycrop was too polite to say, "That's a lie!" but she firmly,
though mutely, declined to believe it.
"D'you observe the tables just below us, ma'am?"
He pointed to what might have been six large board-room tables,
surrounded by boys and men as close as they could stand. As, however,
the tables in question were covered more than a foot deep with letters,
Miss Lillycrop only saw their legs.
"These are the facing-tables," continued Mr Bright. "All that the men
and lads round 'em have got to do with the letters there is to arrange
them for the stampers, with their backs and stamps all turned one way.
We call that facing the letters. They have also to pick out and pitch
into baskets, as you see, all book-packets, parcels, and newspapers that
may have been posted by mistake in the letter-box."
While the sorter went on expounding matters, one of the tables had begun
to show its wooden surface as its "faced" letters were being rapidly
removed, but just then a man with a bag on his shoulder came up, sent a
fresh cataract of letters on the blank spot, and re-covered it.
Presently a stream of men with bags on their backs came in.
"These are the district mails, ma'am," explained Mr Bright; "during the
last half-hour and more they have been hurrying towards us from all
quarters of London; the nearest being brought by men on foot, the more
distant bags by vans. Some are still on their way; all will concentrate
here at last, in time for sorting."
The contents of these bags as they came in were shot out, and the
facing-tables--all of which had begun to show symptoms of the flood
going down and dry land appearing--were flooded and reflooded again and
again to a greater depth than before.
"The mail will be late to-night," observed Miss Lillycrop, with an
assured nod.
"O no, ma'am, it won't," replied Bright, with an easy smile, and May
laughed as they returned to the hall to inspect the work in detail.
"Here, you see, we stamp the letters."
Mr Bright stopped in front of a long table, at which was standing a row
of stampers, who passed letters under the stamps with amazing rapidity.
Each man or youth grasped a stamp, which was connected with a machine on
a sort of universal joint. It was a miniature printing-machine, with a
little inking-roller, which was moved over the types each time by the
mere process of stamping, so the stamper had only to pass the letters
under the die with the one hand and stamp with the other as fast as he
could. The rate varied, of course, considerably. Nervous and anxious
stampers illustrated more or less the truth of the proverb, "The more
hurry the less speed," while quiet, steady hands made good progress.
They stamped on the average from 100 to 150 letters in the minute, each
man.
"You see, ma'am," remarked Mr Bright, "it's the way all the world over:
cool-headed men who know their powers always get on best. The
stamping-machine is a great improvement on the old system, where you had
to strike the inker first, and then the letter. It just doubled the
action and the time. We have another ingeniously contrived stamp in the
office. It might not occur to you that stamping parcels and other
articles of irregular shape is rather difficult, owing to the stamper
not striking flatly on them. To obviate this, one of our own men
invented a stamp with an india-rubber neck, so that, no matter how
irregular the surface of the article may be, the face of the stamp is
forced flat upon it by one blow."
"When stamped," continued Mr Bright, moving on, "the letters are taken
by boys, as you see, to the sorters. You observe that each sorter has a
compartment or frame before him, with separate divisions in it for the
great towns only, such as Manchester, Liverpool, Birmingham, Brighton,
etcetera. Now, you know"--here he stopped and assumed an impressive
explanatory tone--"you couldn't expect any single man to sort the
letters for every town and village in the kingdom--could you, ma'am?"
Miss Lillycrop admitted that she could not indulge such an expectation,
and further expressed her belief that any man who could must be little
better than a lunatic.
"But every man you see here," continued Mr Bright, "has batch after
batch of letters put before him, which may contain letters from anywhere
to everywhere. So, you see, we subdivide the work. The sorters you are
now looking at sort the letters for the large towns into separate
sections, and all the rest into divisions representing the various parts
of the country, such as northern, southern, etcetera. The letters are
then collected by the boys you see going up and down the hall."
"I don't see them," interrupted Miss Lillycrop.
"There, that's a northern division boy who has just backed against you,
ma'am."
The boy referred to turned, apologised, and gathering the letters for
the northern division from the sorter at their elbow, moved on to gather
more from others.
"The division letters," continued Bright, "are then conveyed to other
sorters, who subdivide them into roads, and then the final sorting takes
place for the various towns. We have a staff of about a thousand
sorters, assistant sorters, and boy-sorters in this (Inland) office
alone, who have been, or are being, carefully trained for the work.
Some are smart, and some of course are slow. They are tested
occasionally. When a sorter is tested he is given a pack of five
hundred cards--dummies--to represent letters. A good man will sort
these in thirteen or fifteen minutes. There are always sure to be a few
mis-sorts, even in _our_ well-regulated family--that is, letters sorted
to the wrong sections or divisions. Forty mis-sorts in the five hundred
is considered very bad work."
"But what if a sorter does not happen to know the division to which any
particular letter belongs?" asked Miss Lillycrop.
"He ought to know," replied her guide, "because all the sorters have to
undergo a strict examination once a year as to their knowledge of towns
and villages throughout England."
"Indeed! but," persisted Miss Lillycrop, "what does he do with a letter
if he chances to forget?"
"Why, he must get other sorters to help him."
"And what happens if he finds a letter so badly addressed that he cannot
read it?"
"Sends it to the blind division; we shall come to that presently," said
Mr Bright. "Meanwhile we shall visit the hospital I need scarcely
explain to you that the hospital is the place to which wounded letters
and packages are taken to be healed. Here it is."
The party now stood beside a table, at which several clerks--we might
almost say surgeons--were at work, busy with sealing-wax and string.
The patients were a wondrous lot, and told eloquently of human
carelessness. Here were found letters containing articles that no
envelope of mere paper could be expected to hold--such as bunches of
heavy keys, articles of jewellery, etcetera, which had already more than
half escaped from their covers. There were also frail cardboard boxes,
so squeezed and burst that their contents were protruding, and parcels
containing worsted and articles of wearing apparel, which had been so
carelessly put up as to have come undone in the mail-bags. All these
things were being re-tied, re-folded, patched up here and there with
sealing-wax, or put into new covers, by the postal surgeons, and done
with as much care, too, as though the damage had been caused by the
Post-Office rather than by carelessness in the public.
But among these invalided articles were a few whose condition
accidentally revealed attempts to contravene the postal laws. One
letter which had burst completely open revealed a pill-box inside, with
"Dinner Pills" on the outside. On examination, the pills turned out to
be two sixpences wrapped up in a scrap of paper, on which was
written--"Thought you had no money to get a stamp with, so sent you
some." It is contrary to regulations to send coin by post without
registering the letter. The unfortunate receiver would have to pay
eightpence, as a registration fee, for this shilling!
While the party was looking at the hospital work another case was
discovered. A book-packet came open and revealed a letter inside. But
still further, the letter was found to contain sixpence in silver, sent
to defray postage when the book should be returned. Here was a double
sin! No letter, or writing of the nature of a letter, is allowed to go
by book post, and coin may not be sent unregistered. In this case the
book would be forwarded at letter-rate, and the 8 pence registration fee
would be charged for the coin--the whole amounting to 6 shillings, 6
pence.
"If the public would only attend," observed Mr Bright, in commenting on
these facts, "to the regulations laid down for their guidance by the
Post-Office--as detailed in our Directories and Postal Guides--such
errors would seldom occur, for I believe that things of this sort are
the result of ignorance rather than dishonesty."
"Now, ma'am," he continued, "we come to the blind officers."
There were several of those gentlemen, whose title, we presume, was
satirically expressive of the extraordinary sharpness of their eyes and
intellects. They were seated at a table, engaged in examining addresses
so illegible, so crabbed, so incomplete, and so ineffably ridiculous,
that no man of ordinary mental capacity could make head or tail of them.
All the principal London and Provincial Directories, Guides, and
Gazetteers were ranged in front of the blind officers, to assist them in
their arduous labours, and by the aid of these, and their own extensive
knowledge of men and places, they managed to dispose of letters for
which a stranger would think it impossible to find owners.
"What would you make of that address, now?" said Mr Bright, presenting
a letter to Miss Lillycrop for inspection.
"It looks like Cop--Cup--no--it begins with a C at all events.--What
think you of it, May?" said the puzzled lady.
"It seems to me something like Captain Troller of Rittler Bunch," said
May, laughing. "It is quite illegible."
"Not _quite_," said one of the blind officers, with a smile. "It is--
Comptroller of the Returned Letter Branch. Some one making inquiries,
no doubt, after a lost letter addressed as badly as this one."
Having looked at a few more of the letters that were then passing under
examination, Mr Bright showed them a book in which were copied
facsimiles of addresses which had passed through the post. Some of
these were pictorial--embracing quaint devices and caricatures, most of
them in ink, and some in colours, all of which had been traced by a
gentleman in the office with great skill. One that struck May as being
very original was the representation of an artist painting the portrait
of the Queen. Her Majesty was depicted as sitting for her portrait, and
the canvas on the easel before which the artist stood was made the exact
size of the postage-stamp.
While the ladies were examining this book of literary curiosities, Mr
Bright took occasion to comment with pardonable pride on the working of
the Post-Office.
"You see, ma'am," he said, "we do our best for the public--though many
of 'em have no idea of it. We don't send letters to the Returned Letter
Branch till we've tried, as you see, to get the correct addresses, and
until two separate letter-carriers have attempted to deliver them.
After leaving the letter-carriers' hands, the address of every
undelivered letter, and the indorsement it bears, are carefully examined
by a superior officer, who is held responsible for discovering any wrong
treatment it may have undergone, and for having recourse to any further
available means of finding the owner. It is considered better that the
sender of a letter should know as soon as possible of its non-delivery,
than that it should travel about with little prospect of its owner being
found. We therefore send it to the Returned Branch without further
delay, where it is carefully examined by a superior officer, to see that
it has actually been presented as addressed, and that the reasons
assigned for its non-delivery are sufficient. In doubtful cases the
Directories and other books of reference in the branch are consulted,
and should it be found that there has been any oversight or neglect, the
letter is immediately re-issued. After all has been done that can be to
deliver such letters, they are opened, and returned the same day to the
senders. If valuables are enclosed, the address and contents are
recorded in case of inquiry. When senders fail to give their addresses,
sometimes these are discovered by bills of exchange, cheques, or
money-orders, which happen to be enclosed. When addresses of senders
can be discovered by information on the outside of covers, the letters
are returned without passing through the Returned Letter Branch, and are
not opened. When all efforts have failed, and the letters do not
contain property, they are not preserved."
"Do many letters come into the Returned Letter Offices in this way?"
asked Miss Lillycrop.
"Ay; over the whole kingdom, including the letters sent direct to the
senders last year, there were above four millions eight hundred
thousand, and of these we managed to return nine-tenths to the writers,
or re-issued them to corrected addresses."
"Oh, indeed!" said Miss Lillycrop, utterly bewildered.
"A large proportion of the letters passing through this office," said
Mr Bright, "consists of circulars. An account of these was once taken,
and the number was found to be nearly twenty millions a year, and of
these circulars it was ascertained that--"
"Stop! pray, sir, stop!" exclaimed Miss Lillycrop, pressing her hand to
her forehead; "I am lost in admiration of your amazing memory, but I--I
have no head for figures. Indeed, what I have already heard and seen in
this place has produced such confusion in my poor brain that I cannot
perceive any difference whatever between millions, billions, and
trillions!"
"Well, come, we will continue our round," said Mr Bright, laughing.
Now, while all this was going on in the hall, there was a restive
creature inside of a box which did not relish its confinement. This was
Mr Fred Blurt's snake.
That sagacious animal discovered that there was a knot in the side of
his pine-wood box. Now, knots are sometimes loose. Whether the snake
found this out, and wrought at the knot intentionally, or forced it out
accidentally during its struggles, we cannot tell, but certain it is
that it got it out somehow, made its escape, and glided away into the
darkest corner it could find.
Meanwhile its box was treated after the manner of parcels, and put
safely into one of the mail-bags.
As the mass of letters began to diminish in bulk the snake began to feel
uncomfortably exposed. At the same time Miss Lillycrop, with that
wicked delight in evil prophecy which is peculiar to mankind, began to
feel comfortably exultant.
"You see I was right!" she said to her guide, glancing at the clock,
which now indicated ten minutes to eight; "the confusion is almost as
great as ever."
"We shall see," replied Mr Bright, quietly, as he led the way back to
the gallery.
From this point it could be seen, even by unpractised eyes, that,
although the confusion of letters all over the place was still
considerable, there were huge gaps on the sorting-tables everywhere,
while the facing-tables were of course empty. There was a push and
energy also which had not prevailed at first. Men seemed as though they
really were in considerable haste. Letters were being bundled up and
tied with string and thrust into bags, and the bags sealed with a degree
of celerity that transfixed Miss Lillycrop and silenced her. A few
minutes more and the tables were cleared. Another minute, and the bags
were being carried out. Thirty red vans outside gaped to receive them.
Eight o'clock struck, whips cracked, wheels rattled, the eight o'clock
mail was gone, and there was not a single letter left in the great
sorting-room of St. Martin's-le-Grand!
"I was right, you see," said Mr Bright.
"You were right," responded Miss Lillycrop.
They descended and crossed the now unencumbered floor. The snake took
it into its mottled head at that moment to do the same. Miss Lillycrop
saw it, shrieked, sprang to get out of its way, fell, and sprained her
ankle!
There was a rush of sorters, letter-carriers, boy-sorters, and
messengers; the snake was captured, and Miss Lillycrop was tenderly
borne from the General Post-Office in a state of mental amazement and
physical collapse.