The Postmaster Part 21

"Guess not. You the sick man?"

"No; mine brudder."

"Your brother, hey? Let's see. I wonder if I don't know him. Kind of tall and thin, ain't he?"

He sniffed contemptuous.

"No," says he, "he's short and fat."

"Beg your pardon," says I, "guess I was mistook. Well, I must be gettin'

back to the buggy; the doctor's prob'ly waitin' for me. Good day, mister."

He never said good-by; but I saw him watchin' me all the way to the gate. I climbed into the buggy, and set there till he went back into the barn; then I got down and hurried to the front of the house. The door wa'n't fastened, and I went in. I met the doctor in the hall. He was some surprised to see me there.

"h.e.l.lo, Doc!" says I. "Where's your patient?"

"In there," says he, pointin' to the door astern of him. "But-"

"How's he gettin' along?" I wanted to know.

"Why, he's better," he says. "He's practically all right. I wanted him to get up and walk, but he wouldn't."

"Wouldn't, hey?" says I. "Humph! Well, maybe he wouldn't walk for you; but I'll bet _I_ can make him _fly_."

Before he could stop me, I flung that door open and walked into that room. The sufferer from fallin' packin' boxes was settin' in one chair with his foot in another. I drew off, and slapped him on the shoulder hard as I could.

"h.e.l.lo, Sol Uncas Mohicans!" I sung out. "How's genuine antique lamp mats these days?"

For about two seconds he just set there and looked at me, set and glared, with his mouth open. Then he let out a scream like a scared woman, jumped out of that chair, and made for the kitchen door, lame foot and all. I headed him off, and he turned and set sail for the one I'd come in at. He reached the front hall just ahead of me; but my boot caught him at the top step and helped him _some_. He never stopped at the gate, but went head-first into the woods whoopin' anthems.

The sandpaperin' chap came runnin' out of the barn, and I took after him; but he didn't wait to see what I had to say. He dove for the woods on his side. We had the premises to ourselves, and I went back and picked up the doctor, who'd been upset by the "child of the forest" on his way to the ancestral tall timber.

"What-what-what?" gasps the medical man. "For Heaven sakes! Why, he wouldn't _try_ to walk when I asked him to. _How_ did you do that?"

"Easy enough," says I. "'Twas an old-fashioned treatment, but it helps-in some cases. Just layin' on of hands, that's all. Now, Doc, afore you ask another question, let me ask you one. Ain't that critter's name Rose?"

He was consider'ble shook, but he managed to grin a little.

"No," says he, "but you've guessed pretty near it."

Then he told me what the name was.

I rode back to West Ostable with that doctor and took the evenin' train home. Jim Henry was waitin' for me on the store platform when I got out of the depot wagon.

"Well?" he wanted to know. "Did you find him?"

"Humph!" says I. "I did find the lost tribes, a couple of members of 'em, anyway."

"What do you mean by that?" says he.

"Come somewheres where 'tain't so public and I'll tell you."

So we went back into the back room and I told him my yarn. He listened, with his mouth open, gettin' madder and madder all the time.

"Now," says I, endin' up, "the way I look at it is this. I've been thinkin' it out on the cars and I cal'late we'll have to do this way. We ain't crooks-that is, we didn't mean to be-and now we know all our 'antiques' are frauds and our 'Injun curios' made up to Boston, we must either shut up the 'Exchange' or go back to home products. We'll have to keep mum about those we have sold, because most of 'em have been carted out of town and we don't know where to locate the buyers. But, for my part, bein' average honest and meanin' to be square, I feel mighty bad.

What do you say?"

He said enough. He felt as bad as I did about stickin' our customers, but what seemed to cut him the most was that somebody had got ahead of him in business.

"Think of it!" says he. "Skipper, we're gold-bricked! Cheated! Faked!

Done! Think of it! If I could only get my hands on that-"

"Hold on a minute," says I. "Better think the whole of it while you're about it. We set out to drive those peddlers out of what was _their_ trade. If they was smart enough to turn the tables and make a good profit out of sellin' us the stuff, I don't know as I blame 'em much. It was just t.i.t for tat-or so it seems to me now that I've cooled off."

"Maybe so," says he; "but it hurts my pride just the same. James Henry Jacobs, doctor of sick businesses, beat by a couple of peddlers from Armenia!"

"Hold on again," I says. "I ain't told you their real name yet."

"Their name?" he says. "I know it already. It's Rose."

"Not accordin' to that West Ostable doctor, it ain't. The name they give _him_ was Rosenstein."

He looked at me for a spell without speakin'. Then he smiled, heaved a long breath, and reached over and shook my hand.

"Whew!" says he. "Skipper, I feel better. Richard's himself again. To be beat in a business deal by Roses is one thing-but by Rosensteins is another. You can't beat the Rosensteins in business."

"Not in the secondhand and by-productin' business you can't," says I.

"Them lines belong to 'em. We hadn't any right to b.u.t.t in."

And we both laughed, good and hearty.

"But," says I, after a little, "what'll we do with that curio room, anyway? Give it up?"

"Not much!" says he, emphatic. "I guess we'll have to give up the antiques; but we've got the winter ahead of us, Skipper, and the Ostable County embroidery crop flourishes best in cold weather. We'll start the old ladies knittin' again and have a fairly good-sized stock when the autos commence runnin' once more. Give up the Colonial Pilgrim Mothers?

I should say not!"

"All right," I says, dubious. "You may be right, Jim; you generally are.

But I'm a little scary of this by-product game. It'll get us into serious trouble, I'm afraid, some day. It's easier to steer one big craft, than 'tis to maneuver a fleet of little ones."

He sniffed, scornful. "As I understand it, Cap'n Zeb," he says, "this business of yours was in a pretty feeble condition when you called me in to prescribe."

"No doubt of that, Jim, but-"

"Yes. And it's a healthy, growin' child now."

"Yes. It sartin is."

"Then, if I was you, I'd take my medicine and be thankful. Time enough to complain when you commence to go into another decline. Ain't that so?"