The Postmaster Part 38

"Oh, no!" says she. "I-I didn't sleep well, that's all. I'm all right."

"But, Mary," I says, "I-"

"Please excuse me, Cap'n Zeb," she cut in. "I'm very busy."

She'd never used that tone to me afore, and I was set back about forty mile. Why she should be so frosty I couldn't see. I went out to the platform and paced the quarter deck, thinkin'. I was down at the heel anyway, and I thought a whole lot of fool things. I was goin' to lose my job and so I s'posed that, after all, I'd ought to expect my friends to shake me. There's a proverb about rats leavin' a leaky vessel. But Mary Blaisdell!! I cal'late I come as nigh wishin' I was dead as ever I did in my life.

'Twas almost eleven afore the Peters man showed up. He was walkin' brisk and smilin' a little.

"Well," says I, "you're lookin' a heap more chipper than I feel. What are you grinnin' about?"

"Oh, just for instance," he says. "Is Miss Blaisdell in the office?"

"Guess so. She was awhile ago. Yes, she's there. Why?"

"I want to see her-and you, too. Come on."

He led the way to the mail room. Mary was there, workin' at her books.

She looked up when we come in, and her face was whiter than ever. I forgot all about my "rat" thoughts and the rest of it.

"Mary," says I, anxious, "you _are_ under the weather. Why don't you go home?"

She held up her hand and stopped me.

"Please don't," she says.

Then, turnin' to Peters: "Mr. Peters, I want to speak to you. And to you, too, Cap'n Zeb. I-I've got somethin' that I must tell you."

'Twa'n't so much what she said as the way she said it. I looked at Peters and he looked at me. I cal'late we was both wonderin' what sort of lightnin' was goin' to strike now.

She didn't leave us to wonder long. She went right on, speakin' quick, as if she wanted to get it over with.

"Mr. Peters," she says, "last night you told me that, if it should be proved that Cap'n Zeb had no part in losin' that letter, if it wasn't his fault at all, the postmastership wouldn't be taken from him. You meant that, didn't you?"

Peters looked queer enough. "Why, yes," he says, "I did. But how-"

"Mr. Peters," she went on, in the same hurried way, "_I_ lost that letter."

I don't know what Peters did then, but I know that my knees give from under me and I flopped down in the armchair.

"You? _You_, Mary!" says I.

Peters seemed to be as much flabbergasted as I was. He rubbed his forehead.

"_You_ lost it?" he says, slow.

"Yes," says she. "That is, I-I destroyed it by accident. It was while you two were at dinner. I was clearin' up the sortin' table and-and puttin' the waste paper in the stove. I-I must have taken the letter with the other things."

"Nonsense!" I sung out. Peters didn't say nothin'.

"Nonsense!" I said again. "You don't know that 'twas-"

"But I do," she interrupted. "I-I saw it burnin' and-and it was too late to get it out. It was my fault altogether. No one else is to blame at all."

If I hadn't been settin' down already you could have knocked me over with a feather. 'Twas an accident, of course; anybody might have done such a thing; but what I couldn't understand was why she hadn't told me of it afore. That didn't seem like her at all.

"Well!" I says; "_well_!"

Peters had transferred his rubbin' from his forehead to his chin.

"Miss Blaisdell," says he, quiet, "why didn't you tell us sooner?"

"That's all right," I cut in, quick. "I don't blame her for not tellin'.

I cal'late that she felt so bad about it that she couldn't make up her mind to tell right off. That was it, wa'n't it, Mary?"

She didn't look up, but sat playin' with a pen-holder.

"Yes," she says, "that was it."

"All right then," says I. "It was an accident, and if anybody's to blame it's me. I shouldn't have left the letter there."

_Then_ she looked up. "Of course you're not to blame," she says, awful earnest. "It was my fault entirely. You know it was, Mr. Peters. It was my fault and I must take the consequences. I will resign my place as a.s.sistant and-"

"Resign!" I sung out. "Resign! Well, I guess not!"

"But I shall. Of course I shall. Mr. Peters, you see that it wasn't Cap'n Snow's fault, don't you? _Don't_ you?"

"Yes," says Peters, short.

"Nonsense!" I roared. "He don't see no such thing. Mary, I don't care-"

She held up her hand. "Please don't talk to me now," she begged.

"Please-not now."

I looked at Peters. There was a look in his eyes, almost as if he was smilin' inside. I could have punched his head for it.

"But, Mary-" I begun.

"Please don't talk to me," she begged, almost cryin'. "Please go away and leave me now. Please."

I cal'late I shouldn't have gone; fact is, I know I shouldn't; but that government investigator put his hand on my arm.

"Cap'n," he says, "come with me."

"With you?" I snapped. "Why?"

"Because I want you to. It's important. I won't keep you long."