The Postmaster Part 12

"You _are_?" I sung out.

"Yes," says he, "I am. Of course I had my heart set on gettin' that 'Palace' for an addition that would give more room and extry s.p.a.ce to our place here; and the only way I could see to get it was to take up with that Rat's proposition. I haven't any prejudice against billiards-"

"Neither have I, but-"

"I know. And you're right. Old lady Watson has, and to run Foster's establishment in on her would have been a low-down mean trick. I've felt like a thief, but I was so pig-headed I wouldn't back down. Now that I've got it where the chicken got his, I'm glad of it, I really am.

Partner, will you forget my meanness and shake hands?"

Would I? I was as tickled as a youngster with a new tin whistle. And so was he.

"There's only one thing that keeps me mad," he says, "and that is that old Ebenezer's got the laugh on us again. As for more room for the store-well, we'll have to think that out."

We thought, but it wa'n't us that got the answer. 'Twas Mary Blaisdell.

I told her what our fuss had been about, and she agreed that I was right and that Jim Henry's sharp business sense had sort of run away with him for the time bein'.

"But," says she, "we certainly do need more room, both in the mail department and the store. I've had an idea for some time. Let _me_ think a while."

Next day she told Jacobs and me what her idea was. 'Twas that we should build an addition on to our own buildin'. Run it two stories high and right out into the back yard. 'Twas just the thing and the wonder is that we hadn't thought of it ourselves.

"She's a wonder, Jim, ain't she?" says I, when we was alone together.

"_You_ think so, don't you, Skipper," says he, smilin'.

I flared up. "Sartin I do," I says. "Don't you?"

"Indeed I do."

"Then what do you mean?"

"Oh, nothin', nothin'. Say, have you seen old Taylor lately? I suppose he's crowin' like a Shanghai rooster. I do hate for that old skinflint to have the joke always on his side."

"I know," says I. "So do I. But some day, if we wait long enough, we may have a chance to laugh at him. I've lived a good many year and I've seen it work that way pretty often. We'll wait-and when we do laugh, we'll laugh hard."

And we didn't have to wait so turrible long neither. We got a carpenter in, told him to keep it a secret, but to plan how we could build the backyard extension. The plannin' and estimatin' kept us busy and we forgot about everything else. Fust along I expected young Taylor would pester us with more schemes, but he didn't. He never came nigh us once, fact is he seemed mighty anxious to keep out of our way, and so long as he did we didn't complain. His dad come crowin' and chucklin' around a couple of times and finally Jacobs lost his temper and told him if he ever showed his face on our premises again he was liable to be put to the expense of havin' it repaired by the doctor. Ebenezer vowed vengeance and law suits, but he went, and after that he sent a boy for his mail instead of comin' to fetch it himself.

One forenoon, about eleven o'clock 'twas, I was standin' on the store platform, when I heard the Old Harry's own row in the "Palace Billiard, Pool and Sipio Parlors." Loud voices, all goin' at once, and two or three different a.s.sortments of language. Jim Henry heard it, too, and come out to listen.

"Skipper," he says, sudden; "what day is this?"

"Why, Thursday," says I, "ain't it? Oh, you mean what day of the month.

Hey? By the everlastin'! I declare if it ain't the fust of June!"

"The day Foster's mortgage falls due," he says, excited. "I wonder....

You don't suppose-"

He didn't have to suppose, for inside of the next two minutes we both knew. Three men came bustin' out of the billiard room door. One was Philander himself, the other was Ezra Colcord, the lawyer, and the third was our old shipmate and bosom friend, Ebenezer Taylor. The old man was fairly frothin' at the mouth.

"You-you-" he sputtered, "you've deceived me. You've lied to me. You led me to think-"

"I don't see as you've got any kick, Mr. Taylor," purrs Philander, smilin'. "You've got your money. What more can you ask?"

"But-but I don't want the money. I want this property, and I'll have it."

"Oh, no, you won't, Mr. Taylor," says Colcord, the lawyer. "This property belongs to Foster now. He's paid your mortgage in full. You have no rights here whatever and I advise you to go before you are arrested for trespa.s.sin'."

Well, the old man went, but he was still talkin' and threatenin' when he turned the corner. Colcord laughed and shook hands with Philander.

"Don't mind him, Foster," he says. "He's sore, that's all, but he has no claim whatever. You've paid off your mortgage and the property is yours absolutely. As for the other matter, the papers will be ready for signature this afternoon. Ha, ha! I imagine they won't add to our friend's joy."

"Cal'late not," says Philander, grinnin'. "This'll be his day for surprises, hey?"

They shook hands again and Colcord left. Soon's he'd gone, Jim Henry grabbed me by the arm. He didn't even wait for the lawyer to get out of sight.

"Come on," he says. "This is too good to be true. We must find out about this, Skipper."

So over to the "Parlors" we hurried. Philander looked sort of queer when he saw us comin', but he didn't run away. We commenced to ask questions, both of us together. After we'd asked a dozen or so, he held up his hand.

"Come inside," he says, "and I'll tell you about it. The secret'll be out in a little while, anyhow, and maybe we do owe you fellers a little mite of explanation."

We went in, wonderin'. Philander set up the cigars, ten-centers at that, and then he says: "Yes, I've paid off my mortgage and I cal'late you wonder where the money came from. Five hundred of it I had myself. You knew that."

"Yes," says Jacobs, and I nodded.

"Um-hm," says he. "Well, I loaned the five hundred to Ratty and he bought the option on Aunt Hannah's buildin' with it."

We fairly jumped off our pins.

"What?" says I.

"_Rat_ bought that option?" gasped Jim Henry. "Nonsense! his dad bought it."

"No-o," says Philander, solemn, "'twas Rat that bought it at fust. The whole scheme was his and I give him credit for it. After Mr. Jacobs here had agreed to look at the Watson place, Ratty got Ed. Holmes to take him over to Wareham in his auto. There he see this nephew of Aunt Hannah's, paid down his five hundred and got the option."

"But that letter I got said-" began Jim Henry, and then he pulled up short. "No," says he, "it said 'Mr. Taylor' had secured the option; I remember now. But, of course, we supposed it was Ebenezer."

"And Ebenezer did have it," I put in. "He told me so himself. I met him on the road and he-"

"Hold on, Cap'n," cuts in Philander, "no use goin' through all that.

Ebenezer _has_ got it now. Ratty decoyed his dad down abreast the Watson place while you and Mr. Jacobs was inside lookin' it over, and the old man see you two come out."

"I know he did," says I. "I saw him peekin' at us from behind a tree."

"Yes," goes on Foster, "he was there. And, naturally, he jedged you was cal'latin' to buy that buildin' and move into it. Fact is, he'd been intendin' to buy it himself as an investment, and, now that there was a chance to spite you fellers hove in for good measure, he was more anxious to get it than ever. Then Rat broke the news that he had the option and was willin' to sell it to the highest bidder. Ha! ha! I guess there was a lively session, but the upshot of it was that Ebenezer bought that option off his boy for a thousand dollars. That's how _he_ got it."

"Well, I'll be hanged!" says Jim Henry. I was way past sayin' anything.

"And so," continues Philander, "the five hundred dollars' profit on the option and the five hundred dollars I lent Rat to start with made just the amount needful to pay off my mortgage. And, Squire Colcord and me paid it off this mornin'. You fellers heard the concludin' section of the ceremonies. Ebenezer's benediction was some spicy, hey!"

"But-but-why, look here, Philander," says I. "I don't understand this at all. Five hundred of that thousand was Rat's. He ain't no philanthropist; he wouldn't _give_ it to you, unless miracles are comin'