The Postmaster Part 22

I didn't answer.

"Isn't it so?" he asked again.

"Maybe," I said; "but it may be a fatal disease next time; and it's better to keep well than to be cured-and a lot cheaper."

He said I was a reg'lar bullfrog for croakin', and hinted that I was in the back row of the primer cla.s.s so fur's business instinct went. I had a feelin' that he was right, but I had another feelin' that _I_ was right, too. However, there was nothin' to do but keep quiet and wait the next development. Afore Christmas the development landed with both feet.

I'd heard the news twice already that mornin'. Fust at the Poquit House breakfast table, where 'twas served along with the chopped hay cereal and warmed over and picked to pieces, as you might say, all through the b'iled eggs and spider-bread, plumb down to the doughnuts and imitation coffee. Then I'd no sooner got outdoor than Solon Saunders sighted me, and he 'bout ship and beat acrost the road like a porgie-boat bearin'

down on a school of fish. He was so excited that he couldn't wait to get alongside, but commenced heavin' overboard his cargo of information while he was in mid-channel.

"Did you hear about the Higgins Place bein' rented, Cap'n Snow?" he sung out. "It's been took for next summer and-"

"Yes, yes, I heard it," says I. "Fine seasonable weather we're havin'

these days. Don't see any signs of snow yet, do you?"

If he'd been skipper of a pleasure boat with a picnic party aboard he couldn't have paid less attention to my weather signals.

"It's been hired for an eatin'-house," he says, puffin' and out of breath. "A man by the name of Fred from Buffalo, has hired it, and-"

"Fred, hey?" I interrupted. "Humph! 'Cordin' to the proclamations _I_ heard he cruises under the name of George-Eben George-and he hails from Bangor."

"No, no!" he says, emphatic. "His name's Edgar Fred and it's Buffalo he comes from. Henry Williams told me and he got it from his wife's aunt, Mrs. Debby Baker, and her cousin by marriage told her. She is a Knowles-the cousin is-married one of the Denboro Knowleses-and _she_ got it from Peleg Kendrick's nephew whose stepmother is related to the woman that used to do old Judge Higgins's cookin' when he was alive. So it come straight, you see."

"Yes," I says, "about as straight as the eel went through the snarled fish net. All right. I don't care. How's your rheumatiz gettin' on, Solon?"

I thought that would fetch him, but it didn't. Gen'rally speakin', he'd talk for an hour about his rheumatiz and never skip an ache; but now he was too much interested in the Higgins Place even to catalogue his symptoms.

"It's some better," he says, "since I tried the Electric Ointment out of the newspaper. But, Cap'n Zeb, did you know that this Fred man was goin'

to start a swell dinin'-room for automobile folks? He is. He's had all kinds of experience in them lines. He's goin' to have foreign help and a chief Frenchman to do the cookin' and-and I don't know what all."

"I guess that's right," says I. "Well, I don't know what all, either, and I ain't goin' to worry. We'll see what we shall see, as the blind feller said. h.e.l.lo! there's the minister over there and I'll bet he ain't heard a word about it."

That done the trick. Away he put, all sail set, to give the minister the earache, and I went on down to the store. And there was Jacobs talkin'

to a man I'd never seen afore and both of 'em so interested they scarcely noticed me when I come in.

He was a kind of ordinary-lookin' feller at fust sight, the stranger was, sort of a cross between a parson and a circus agent, judgin' by his get-up. Pretty thin, with black hair and a black beard, and dressed all in black except his vest, which was thunder-storm plaid. I'd have cal'lated he was in mournin' if it hadn't been for that vest. As 'twas he looked like a hea.r.s.e with a bra.s.s band aboard. Both him and Jacobs was smokin' cigars, the best ten-centers we carried in stock.

"Mornin'," says I, pa.s.sin' by 'em. Jim Henry looked up and saw me.

"Ah, Skipper," says he; "glad to see you. Come here. I want to make you acquainted with Mr. Edwin Frank, who is intendin' to locate here in Ostable. Mr. Frank, shake hands with my partner, Cap'n Zebulon Snow."

We shook, the band wagon hea.r.s.e and me, and I felt as if I was back aboard the old _Fair Breeze_, handlin' cold fish. Jim Henry went right along explainin' matters.

"Mr. Frank," he says, "has had a long experience in the restaurant and hotel line and he believes there is an openin' for a first-cla.s.s road-house in this town. He has leased the-"

Then I understood. "Why, yes, yes!" I interrupted. "I know now. You're Mr. Eben Edgar Fred George from Buffalo and Bangor, ain't you?"

Then _they_ didn't understand. When I explained about the boardin'-house talk and Solon Saunders' "straight" news, Jacobs laughed fit to kill and even Mr. Fred George Frank pumped up a smile. But his pumps was out of gear, or somethin', for the smile looked more like a crack in an ice chest than anything human. However, he said he was glad to see me and I strained the truth enough to say I was glad to meet him.

"So you've hired the Higgins Place, Mr. Frank," I went on. "Well, well!

And you're goin' to make a hotel of it. If old Judge Higgins don't turn over in his grave at that, he's fast moored, that's all."

I meant what I said, almost. Judge Higgins, in his day, had been one of the big-bugs of the town and his place on the hill was one of the best on the main road. It set 'way back from the street and the view from under the two big silver-leaf trees by the front door took in all creation and part of Ostable Neck, as the sayin' is. The Judge had been dead most eight year now, and, bein' a three times widower without chick nor child, the estate was all tied up amongst the heirs of the three wives and was fast tumblin' to pieces. It couldn't be sold, on account of the row between the owners, but it had been let once or twice to summer folks. To turn it into a tavern was pretty nigh the final come-down, seemed to me.

But Jim Henry Jacobs wa'n't worryin' about come-downs. He never let dead dignity interfere with live business. He didn't shed a tear over the old place, or lay a wreath on Judge Higgins's tomb. No, sir! he got down to the keelson of things in a jiffy.

"Skipper," he says, sweet and plausible as a dose of sugared soothin'-syrup. "Skipper," he says, "Mr. Frank's proposition is to open, not a hotel exactly, but a first-cla.s.s, up-to-date road-house and restaurant. As progressive citizens of Ostable, as business men, wide-awake to the town's welfare, that ought to interest you and me, on general principles, hadn't it?"

I judged that this was only Genesis, and that Revelation would come later, so I nodded and said I cal'lated that it had-on general principles.

"You bet!" he goes on. "It does interest us. Speakin' personally, I've long felt that there was a place in Ostable for a dinin'-room, run to bag-to attract, I mean-the wealthy, the well-to-do transient trade. Why, just think of it!" he says, warmin' up, "it's winter now. By May or June there'll be a steady string of autos runnin' along this road here, every one of 'em solid full of city people and all hungry. Now, it's a shame to let those good things-I mean hungry gents and ladies, go by without givin' 'em what they want. If I hadn't had so many things on my mind, if the Ostable Store's large and growin' business hadn't took my attention exclusive, I should have ventured a flyer in that direction myself. But never mind that; Mr. Frank here has got ahead of me and the job's in better hands. Mr. Frank is right up to the minute; he's abreast of the times and he-by the way, Mr. Frank, perhaps you wouldn't mind tellin' my partner here somethin' about your plans. Just give him the line of talk you've been givin' me, say."

Mr. Frank didn't mind. He had the line over in a minute and if I'd been cal'latin' that he was a frosty specimen with the water in his talk-b'iler froze, I got rid of the notion in a hurry. He smiled, polite, and begun slow and deliberate, but pretty soon he was runnin'

twenty knots an hour. He told about his experience in the eatin'-house line-he'd been everything from hotel manager to club steward-and about how successful he'd been and how big the profits was, and what his customers said about him, and so on. Afore a body had a chance to think this over-or to digest it, long's we're talkin' about eatin'-he was under full steam through Ostable with the Higgins Place loaded to the guards and beatin' all entries two mile to the lap. He'd never seen a better openin'; his experience backed his judgment in callin' it the ideal location and opportunity, and the like of that. He talked his throat dry and wound up, husky but hurrahin', with somethin' like this:

"Cap'n Snow," he says, "you and Mr. Jacobs must understand that I know what I'm talkin' about. This enterprise of mine will be the very highest cla.s.s. French chef, French waiters, all the delicacies and game in season. A country Delmonico's, that's the dope-ahem! I mean that is the reputation this establishment of ours will have; yes."

I judged that the "dope" had slipped out unexpected and that the miscue jarred him a little mite, for he colored up and wiped his forehead with a red and yellow bordered handkerchief. I was jarred, too, but not by that.

"Establishment of _ours_?" I says, slow. "You mean yours, of course."

He was goin' to answer, but Jim Henry got ahead of him.

"Sure! of course, Skipper," he says. "That's all right. There!" he went on, gettin' up and takin' me by the arm. "Mr. Frank's got to be trottin'

along and we mustn't detain him. So long, Mr. Frank. My partner and I will have some conversation and we'll meet again. Drop in any time. Good day."

I hadn't noticed any signs of Frank's impatience to trot along, but he took the hint all right and got up to go. He said good-by and I was turnin' away, when I see Jim Henry wink at him when they thought I wa'n't lookin'. I was suspicious afore; that wink made me uneasy as a spring pullet tied to the choppin'-block.

CHAPTER X-THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL

Eben George Edgar Edwin Delmonico Frank went out, dabbin' at his forehead with the red and yellow handkerchief. Jacobs kept his clove hitch on my arm and led me out to the settee on the front platform.

"Set down, Skipper," he says, cheerful and more'n extra friendly, seemed to me. "Set down," he says, "and enjoy the December ozone."

We come to anchor on the settee and there we set and shivered for much as five minutes, each of us waitin' for the other to begin. Finally Jim Henry says, without lookin' at me:

"Well, Skipper," he says, "that chap's sharp all right, ain't he?"

"Seems to be," says I, not too enthusiastic.

"Yes, he is. If I'm any judge of human nature-and I hand myself _that_ bouquet any day in the week-he knows his business. Don't you think so?"

"Maybe," I says. "But what business of ours his business is I don't see-yet. If you do, bein' as you and me are supposed to be partners, perhaps you wouldn't mind soundin' the fog whistle for my benefit. I seem to have lost my reckonin' on this v'yage. Why should we be interested in this Frank man and his eatin'-house?"

He laughed, louder'n was necessary, I thought, and slapped me on the shoulder.