The Postmaster Part 26

n.o.body backed. The two waiters went on with their table settin' and we set and watched 'em. 'Twas the queerest Sunday mornin' ever I put in. By and by Alpheus got uneasy and wandered away out towards the kitchen. In a few minutes back he comes, b'ilin' mad.

"Say, fellers," he sung out. "Do you know what's goin' on here? There's a party of thirty folks comin' in automobiles for dinner. They're gettin' the dinner ready now. And if we don't stop 'em, they'll be fed with our stuff, the grub we've never got a cent for. I don't know how you feel, but _I've_ got ten dollar's wuth of clams and lobsters in this eatin'-house that ain't goin' to be used unless I get my pay for 'em.

You can do as you please, but I'm goin' to stay in that kitchen and watch them lobsters and things."

And out he put, headed for the kitchen. The rest of us looked at each other. Then Caleb Bea.r.s.e rose to his feet.

"Well," says he, determined, "there's a lot of chops and roastin' beef and steaks out aft here that belong to me. None of _them_ go to feed auto folks unless I get my pay fust."

And _he_ started for the kitchen. Then up gets Ed Cahoon and follers suit.

"I've got six or eight fowl and some eggs aboard this craft," he says.

"I cal'late I'll keep 'em company."

The rest of us never said nothin', but I presume likely we all thought alike. Anyhow, inside of three minutes we was all out in that kitchen and facin' as mad a chief cook and bottle washer as ever hailed from France or anywheres else. You see, 'twas time to put the lobsters and clams and all the rest of the truck on the fire and we wa'n't willin' to see 'em put there.

The chief or "chef," or whatever they called him, fairly hopped up and down. The madder he got the less English he talked and the less everybody else understood. Bill Bangs done most of the talkin' for our side and he had the common idea that to make foreigners understand you must holler at 'em. Some of the other fellers put in their remarks to help along, all hollerin' too, and such a riot you never heard outside of a darky camp-meetin'. While the exercises was at their liveliest the telephone bell rung. After it had rung five times I went into the other room to answer it. When I got back to that kitchen I got Alpheus to one side and says I:

"Al," I says, "this thing's gettin' more interestin' every minute. That telephone call was from the man that's ordered the big dinner here to-day. There's thirty-two in his party and they've got as far as Coha.s.set Narrows already. They'll be here in an hour and a half. He 'phoned just to let me know they was on the way."

"Humph!" says he. "What did he say when you told him there wouldn't be no dinner?"

"He didn't say nothin'," says I, "because I didn't tell him. The wire was a bad one and he couldn't hear plain, so he lost patience and rung off. Said I could tell him whatever I wanted to say when him and his party got here. _I_ don't want to tell him anything. You can explain to thirty-two hungry folks that there's nothin' doin' in the grub line, if you want to-I don't."

"Humph!" he says again. "I ain't hankerin' for the job. What had we better do, Cap'n Zeb, do you think?"

"Well," says I, "I cal'late we'd better shorten sail and haul out of the race, for a spell, anyhow. At any rate we'd better clear out of this kitchen and leave that chef and the rest to get the dinner. I know it's our stuff that'll go to make that dinner, but I don't see's we can help it. A few dollars more won't break us more'n we're cracked already."

But he waved his hand for me to stop. "No question of a few dollars is in it. It's no use," he says, solemn; "you're too late. The Frenchman's quit."

"Quit?" says I.

"Um-hm," says he. "Bill Bangs told him that we fellers had took charge of this road-house and he and the rest of the kitchen help quit right then and there. They're out in the barn now, holdin' counsel of war, I shouldn't wonder. Bill seems to think he's done a great piece of work, but I don't."

I didn't either; and, after I'd hot-footed it to the barn and tried to pump some reason and sense into that chef and his gang, I was surer of it than ever. They wouldn't listen to reason, not from us. They wanted to see the boss, meanin' Mr. Frank. He was the one that had hired 'em and they wouldn't have anything to say to anybody else.

I come back to the kitchen and found the boys all settin' round lookin'

pretty solemn. My joke about the jail wa'n't half so funny as it had been. Bill Bangs, who'd been the most savage outlaw of us all, was the meekest now.

"Say, Cap'n," he says to me, nervous like, "hadn't we better clear out and go home? I don't want to see them auto people when they get here.

And-and I'm scared that that stewardess has gone after the sheriff."

"I presume likely that's just where she's gone," says I.

"Wh-what'll we do?" says he.

"Don't know," says I. "But I do know that the time for backin' out is past and gone. We started out to be pirates and now it's too late to haul down the skull and cross-bones. We've got to stand by our guns and fight to the finish, that's all I see. If the rest of you have got anything better to offer, I, for one, would be mighty glad to hear it."

Everybody looked at everybody else, but n.o.body said anything. 'Twas a glum creditors' meetin', now I tell you. We set and stood around that kitchen for ten minutes; then we heard voices in the dinin'-room.

"Heavens and earth!" sings out Ed Cahoon. "Who's that? It can't be the automobile gang so soon!"

It wa'n't. 'Twas a parcel of women. You see, some of the crowd had told their wives about the counsel at the store and that, more'n likely, we'd pay a visit to the "Sign of the Windmill." Church bein' over, they'd come to hunt us up. There was Alpheus's wife, and Cahoon's, and Bangs's, and Bea.r.s.e's, and Jerry Doane's daughter, and Mary Blaisdell. They was mighty excited and wanted to know what was up. We told 'em, but we didn't hurrah none while we was doin' it.

"Well," says Matildy Bangs, "I must say you men folks have made a nice mess of it all. William Bangs, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.

What'll I do when you're in state's prison? How'm I goin' to get along, I'd like to know! You never think of n.o.body but yourself."

Poor Bill was about ready to cry, but this made him mad. "Who would I think of, for thunder sakes!" he sung out. "I'm the one that's goin' to be jailed, ain't I?"

Then Mary Blaisdell took me by the arm. Her eyes were sparklin' and she looked excited.

"Cap'n Snow," she whispered, "come here a minute. I want to speak to you. I have an idea."

"Lord!" says I, groanin', "I wish _I_ had. What is it?"

What do you suppose 'twas? Why, that we, ourselves, should get up the dinner for the auto folks. Every woman there could cook, she said, and so could some of the men. We'd seized the stuff for the dinner already.

It was ours, or, at any rate, it hadn't been paid for.

"We can get 'em a good dinner," says she. "I know we can. And, if that Frank doesn't come back until you have been paid, you can take that much out of his bills. If he does come no one will be any worse off, not even he. Let's do it."

I looked at her. As she said, we wouldn't be any worse off, and we might as well be hung for old sheep as lamb. The auto folks would be better off; they'd have some kind of a meal, anyhow.

We had a grand confab, but, in the end, that's what we done. Every one of them women could cook plain food, and Mrs. Cahoon was the best cake and pie maker in the county. We divided up the job. All hands had somethin' to do, includin' me, who undertook a clam chowder, and Bill Bangs, who split wood and lugged water and cussed and groaned about state's prison while he was doin' it.

The last thing was ready and the last plate set when the autos, six of 'em, purred and chugged up to the front door. We expected Frank, or the stewardess, or the constable, or all three of 'em, any minute, but they hadn't showed up. The dinner crowd piled in and set down at the tables and the head man of 'em, the one who was givin' the party, come over to see me. And who should he turn out to be but the stout man I'd met at the store. The one who had told me he'd been waitin' for a chance to get even with Frank. I don't know which was the most surprised to meet each other in that place, he or I.

"h.e.l.lo!" says he. "What are you doin' here? You joined the Forty Thieves? Where's the boss robber?"

I told him the boss was out; that there was some complications that would take too long to explain.

"But, at any rate," says I, "you're meal's ready and that's the main thing, ain't it?"

"Yes," says he, "it is. I've got a crowd of New York men-business a.s.sociates of mine and their wives-down for the week end and I wanted to give 'em a Cape dinner. I never would have come here, but the Denboro place is full up and couldn't take us in. I hope the dinner is a better one than the last I had in this place."

I told him not to expect too much, but to set and be thankful for whatever he got. He didn't understand, of course, but he set down and we commenced servin' the dinner.

We started in with Little Neck quahaugs and followed them up with my clam chowder. Then we jogged along with bluefish and hot biscuit and creamed potatoes. After them come the lobsters and corn and such. Eat!

You never see anybody stow food the way those New Yorkers did.

In the middle of the lobster doin's I bent over my fleshy friend and asked him if things was satisfactory. He looked up with his mouth full.

"Great Scott!" says he. "Cap'n, this is the best feed I've had since I first struck the Cape, and that was ten years ago. What's happened to this hotel? Is it under new management?"

I didn't feel like grinnin', but I couldn't help it.

"Yes," says I, "it is-for the time bein'."

The final layer we loaded that crowd up with was blueberry dumplin' and they washed it down with coffee. Then the fat man-his name was Johnson-hauled out cigars and the males lit and started puffin'. I went out to the kitchen to see how things was goin' there.