“If we could only keep the post office, mother, we should be all right,”
said Herbert Carr, as he and his mother sat together in the little
sitting room of the plain cottage which the two had occupied ever since
he was a boy of five.
“Yes, Herbert, but I am afraid there won't be much chance of it.”
“Who would want to take it from you, mother?”
“Men are selfish, Herbert, and there is no office, however small, that
is not sought after.”
“What was the income last year?” inquired Herbert.
Mrs. Carr referred to a blank book lying on the table in which the
post-office accounts were kept, and answered:
“Three hundred and ninety-eight dollars and fifty cents.”
“I shouldn't think that would be much of an inducement to an able-bodied
man, who could work at any business.”
“Your father was glad to have it.”
“Yes, mother, but he had lost an arm in the war, and could not engage in
any business that required both hands.”
“That is true, Herbert, but I am afraid there will be more than one who
will be willing to relieve me of the duties. Old Mrs. Allen called at
the office to-day, and told me she understood that there was a movement
on foot to have Ebenezer Graham appointed.”
“Squire Walsingham's nephew?”
“Yes; it is understood that the squire will throw his influence into the
scale, and that will probably decide the matter.”
“Then it's very mean of Squire Walsingham,” said Herbert, indignantly.
“He knows that you depend on the office for a living.”
“Most men are selfish, my dear Herbert.”
“But he was an old schoolfellow of father's, and it was as his
substitute that father went to the war where he was wounded.”
“True, Herbert, but I am afraid that consideration won't weigh much with
John Walsingham.”
“I have a great mind to go and see him, mother. Have you any
objections?”
“I have no objections, but I am afraid it will do no good.”
“Mr. Graham ought to be ashamed, with the profits of his store, to want
the post office also. His store alone pays him handsomely.”
“Mr. Graham is fond of money. He means to be a rich man.”
“That is true enough. He is about the meanest man in town.”
A few words are needed in explanation, though the conversation explains
itself pretty well.
Herbert's father, returning from the war with the loss of an arm, was
fortunate enough to receive the appointment of postmaster, and thus
earn a small, but, with strict economy, adequate income, until a fever
terminated his earthly career at middle age. Mr. Graham was a rival
applicant for the office, but Mr. Carr's services in the war were
thought to give him superior claims, and he secured it. During the month
that had elapsed since his death, Mrs. Carr had carried on the post
office under a temporary appointment. She was a woman of good business
capacity, and already familiar with the duties of the office, having
assisted her husband, especially during his sickness, when nearly the
whole work devolved upon her. Most of the village people were in favor
of having her retained, but the local influence of Squire Walsingham and
his nephew was so great that a petition in favor of the latter secured
numerous signatures, and was already on file at the department in
Washington, and backed by the congressman of the district, who was
a political friend of the squire. Mrs. Carr was not aware that the
movement for her displacement had gone so far.
It was already nine o'clock when Herbert's conversation with his mother
ended, and he resolved to defer his call upon Squire Walsingham till the
next morning.
About nine o'clock in the forenoon our young hero rang the bell of
the village magnate, and with but little delay was ushered into his
presence.
Squire Walsingham was a tall, portly man of fifty, sleek and evidently
on excellent terms with himself. Indeed, he was but five years older
than his nephew, Ebenezer Graham, and looked the younger of the two,
despite the relationship. If he had been a United States Senator he
could not have been more dignified in his deportment, or esteemed
himself of greater consequence. He was a selfish man, but he was free
from the mean traits that characterized his nephew.
“You are the Carr boy,” said the squire, pompously, looking over his
spectacles at Herbert, as he entered the door.
“My name is Herbert Carr,” said Herbert, shortly. “You have known me all
my life.”
“Certainly,” said the squire, a little ruffled at the failure of his
grand manner to impose upon his young visitor. “Did I not call you the
Carr boy?”
Herbert did not fancy being called the Carr boy, but he was there to ask
a favor, and he thought it prudent not to show his dissatisfaction. He
resolved to come to the point at once.
“I have called, Squire Walsingham,” he commenced, “to ask if you will
use your influence to have my mother retained in charge of the post
office.”
“Ahem!” said the squire, somewhat embarrassed. “I am not in charge of
the post-office department.”
“No, sir, I am aware of that; but the postmaster general will be
influenced by the recommendations of people in the village.”
“Very true!” said the squire, complacently. “Very true, and very proper.
I do not pretend to say that my recommendation would not weigh with the
authorities at Washington. Indeed, the member from our district is a
personal friend of mine.”
“You know how we are situated,” continued Herbert, who thought it best
to state his case as briefly as possible. “Father was unable to save
anything, and we have no money ahead. If mother can keep the post
office, we shall get along nicely, but if she loses it, we shall have a
hard time.”
“I am surprised that in your father's long tenure of office he did not
save something,” said the squire, in a tone which indicated not only
surprise but reproof.
“There was not much chance to save on a salary of four hundred dollars a
year,” said Herbert, soberly, “after supporting a family of three.”
“Ahem!” said the squire, sagely; “where there's a will there's a way.
Improvidence is the great fault of the lower classes.”
“We don't belong to the lower classes,” said Herbert, flushing with
indignation.
Squire Walmsgham was secretly ambitious of representing his district
some day in Congress, and he felt that he had made a mistake. It won't
do for an aspirant to office to speak of the lower classes, and the
squire hastened to repair his error.
“That was not the term I intended to imply,” he condescended to explain.
“I meant to say that improvidence is the prevailing fault of those whose
income is small.”
“We haven't had much chance to be improvident!” said Herbert “We have
had to spend all our income, but we are not in debt--that is, we have no
debts that we are unable to pay.”
“That is well,” said Squire Walsingham, “but, my young constituent--I
mean my young friend--I apprehend that you do not take a right view
of public office. It is not designed to support a privileged class in
luxury.”
“Luxury, on four hundred a year!” replied Herbert.
“I am speaking in general terms,” said the squire, hastily. “I mean to
say that I cannot recommend a person to office simply because he or she
needs the income.”
“No, sir, I know that; but my mother understands the duties of the
office, and no complaint has been made that she does not make a good
postmaster.”
“Possibly,” said the squire, non-commitally; “but I am opposed upon
principle to conferring offices upon women. Men are more efficient, and
better qualified to discharge responsible duties.”
“Then, sir,” said Herbert, his heart sinking, “I am to understand that
you do not favor the appointment of my mother?”
“I should be glad to hear that your mother was doing well,” said the
squire, “but I cannot conscientiously favor the appointment of a woman
to be postmaster of Wayneboro.”
“That means that he prefers the appointment should go to his nephew,”
thought Herbert.
“If my mother were not competent to discharge the duties,” he said, his
face showing his disappointment in spite of himself, “I would not ask
your influence, notwithstanding you were a schoolmate of father's, and
he lost his arm while acting as your substitute.”
“I have already said that I wish your mother well,” said the squire,
coloring, “and in any other way I am ready to help her and you. Indeed,
I may be able to secure you a situation.”
“Where, sir?”
“Mr. Graham needs a boy in his store, and I think he will take you on my
recommendation.”
“Is Tom Tripp going away?” asked Herbert.
“The Tripp boy is unsatisfactory, so Mr. Graham tells me.”
Herbert knew something of what it would be to be employed by Mr. Graham.
Tom Tripp worked early and late for a dollar and a half per week,
without board, for a hard and suspicious taskmaster, who was continually
finding fault with him. But for sheer necessity, he would have left
Mr. Graham's store long ago. He had confided the unpleasantness of
his position to Herbert more than once, and enlisted his sympathy and
indignation. Herbert felt that he would not like to work for Mr. Graham
at any price, more especially as it seemed likely that the storekeeper
was likely to deprive his mother of her office and income.
“I should not like to work for Mr. Graham, sir,” he said.
“It appears to me that you are very particular, young man,” said Squire
Walsingham.
“I would be willing to work for you, sir, but not for him.”
“Ahem!” said the squire, somewhat mollified, “I will think of your
case.”
Herbert left the house, feeling that his mother's removal was only a
matter of time.