Post Haste - Robert Michael Ballantyne (little red riding hood ebook .txt) 📗

alacrity to the Report. "Would you like to hear what some people think it's our dooty to attend to? I'll give you a letter or two received by our various departments."

Here the letter-carrier began to read the following letters, which we give from the same Report, some being addressed to the "Chief of the Dead Office," others to the Postmaster-General, etcetera.

"_May_ 18--.

"DEAR SIR,--I write to ask you for some information about finding out persons who are missing--I want to find out my mother and sisters who are in Melbourne in Australia i believe--if you would find out for me please let me know by return of post, and also your charge at the lowest, yours," etcetera.

"_Nov_. 8, 18--.

"Sir,--Not having received the live bullfinch mentioned by you as having arrived at the Returned Letter Office two days ago, having been posted as a letter contrary to the regulations of the Postal system, I now write to ask you to have the bird fed and forwarded at once to ---, and to apply for all fines and expenses to ---. If this is not done, and I do not receive the bird before the end of the week, I shall write to the Postmaster-General, who is a very intimate friend of my father's, and ask him to see that measures are taken against you for neglect.

"This is not an idle threat, so you will oblige by following the above instructions."

"Wales, _Nov_. 12, 18--.

"DEAR SIR,--I am taking the liberty of writeing you those few lines as I am given to understand that you do want men in New South Wales, and I am a Smith by Trade; a single man. My age is 24 next birthday. I shood be verry thankful if you would be so kind and send all the particulars by return."

"London, _Nov_. 5, 18--.

"Sir,--i right to you and request of you sinsearly for to help me to find out my husband. I ham quite a stranger in London, only two months left Ireland--i can find know trace of my husband--your the only gentleman that I know that can help me to find him. Thears is letters goes to him to --- in his name and thears is letters comes to him to the --- Post-Office for him.--Sir you may be sure that i ham low in spirit in a strange contry without a friend. I hope you will be so kind as not to forget me. Sir, I would never find --- for I would go astray, besides i have no money."

"So you see, ma'am," continued Solomon, closing the Report, "much though we do, more is expected of us. But although we can't exactly comply with such requests as these, we do a pretty stroke of business in other ways besides letter-distributin'. For instance, we are bankers on a considerable scale. Through our money-order agency the sum we transmitted last year was a trifle over 27,870,000 pounds, while the deposits in our Savings-Banks amounted to over 9,166,000 pounds. Then as to telegraphs: there were--But I forgot," said Solomon, checking himself, "Miss May is the proper authority on that subject.--How many words was it you sent last year?"

"I won't tell you," said May, with a toss of her little head. "You have already driven my cousin distracted. She won't be able to walk home."

"My dear, I don't intend to walk home; I shall take a cab," said the mild little woman. "_Do_ tell me something about your department."

"No, cousin, I won't."

"Sure, if ye don't, I will," said Phil.

"Well then, I will tell you a very little just to save you from Phil, who, if he once begins, will kill you with his calculations. But you can't appreciate what I say. Let me see. The total number of telegraphic messages forwarded by our offices in the United Kingdom during the last twelve months amounted to a little more than twenty-two millions."

"Dear me!" said Miss Lillycrop, with that look and tone which showed that if May had said twenty-two quintillions it would have had no greater effect.

"There, that's enough," said May, laughing. "I knew it was useless to tell you."

"Ah, May!" said Phil, "that's because you don't know how to tell her.-- See here now, cousin Sarah. The average length of a message is thirty words. Well, that gives 660 millions of words. Now, a good average story-book of 400 pages contains about ninety-six thousand words. Divide the one by the other, and that gives you a magnificent library of 6875 volumes as the work done by the Postal Telegraphs every year. All these telegrams are kept for a certain period in case of inquiry, and then destroyed."

"Phil, I must put on my things and go," exclaimed Miss Lillycrop, rising. "I've had quite as much as I can stand."

"Just cap it all with this, ma'am, to keep you steady," interposed Solomon Flint;--"the total revenue of the Post-Office for the year was six millions and forty-seven thousand pounds; and the expenditure three millions nine hundred and ninety-one thousand. Now, you may consider yourself pretty well up in the affairs of the Post-Office."

The old 'ooman, awaking at this point with a start, hurled the cat under the grate, and May laughingly led Miss Lillycrop into her little boudoir.


CHAPTER TWELVE.


IN WHICH A BOSOM FRIEND IS INTRODUCED, RURAL FELICITY IS ENLARGED ON, AND DEEP PLANS ARE LAID.

A bosom friend is a pleasant possession. Miss Lillycrop had one. She was a strong-minded woman. We do not say this to her disparagement. A strong mind is as admirable in woman as in man. It is only when woman indicates the strength of her mind by unfeminine self-assertion that we shrink from her in alarm. Miss Lillycrop's bosom friend was a warm-hearted, charitable, generous, hard-featured, square-shouldered, deep-chested, large-boned lady of middle age and quick temper. She was also in what is styled comfortable circumstances, and dwelt in a pretty suburban cottage. Her name was Maria Stivergill.

"Come with me, child," said Miss Stivergill to Miss Lillycrop one day, "and spend a week at The Rosebud."

It must not be supposed that the good lady had given this romantic name to her cottage. No, when Miss Stivergill bought it, she found the name on the two gate-posts; found that all the tradespeople in the vicinity had imbibed it, and therefore quietly accepted it, as she did all the ordinary affairs of life.

"Impossible, dear Maria," said her friend, with a perplexed look, "I have so many engagements, at least so many duties, that--"

"Pooh!" interrupted Miss Stivergill. "Put 'em off. Fulfil 'em when you come back. At all events," she continued, seeing that Miss Lillycrop still hesitated, "come for a night or two."

"But--"

"Come now, Lilly"--thus she styled her friend--"but give me no _buts_. You know that you've no good reason for refusing."

"Indeed I have," pleaded Miss Lillycrop; "my little servant--"

"What, the infant who opened the door to me?"

"Yes, Tottie Bones; she is obliged to stay at nights with me just now, owing to her mother, poor thing, being under the necessity of shutting up her house while she goes to look after a drunken husband, who has forsaken her."

"Hah!" exclaimed Miss Stivergill, giving a nervous pull at her left glove, which produced a wide rent between the wrist and the thumb. "I wonder why women marry!"

"Don't you think it's a sort of--of--unavoidable necessity?" suggested Miss Lillycrop, with a faint smile.

"Not at all, my dear, not at all. I have avoided it. So have you. If I had my way, I'd put a stop to marriage altogether, and bring this miserable world to an abrupt close.--But little Bones is no difficulty: we'll take her along with us."

"But, dear Maria--"

"Well, what further objections, Lilly?"

"Tottie has charge of a baby, and--"

"What! one baby in charge of another?"

"Indeed it is too true; and, you know, you couldn't stand a baby."

"Couldn't I?" said Miss Stivergill sharply. "How d'you know that? Let me see it."

Tottie being summoned with the baby, entered the room staggering with the rotund mountain of good-natured self-will entirely concealing her person, with exception of her feet and the pretty little coal-dusted arms with which she clasped it to her heaving breast.

"Ha! I suppose little Bones is behind it," said Miss Stivergill.--"Set the baby down, child, and let me see you."

Tottie obeyed. The baby, true to his principles, refused to stand. He sat down and stared at those around him in jovial defiance.

"What is your age, little Bones?"

"Just turned six, m'm," replied Tottie, with a courtesy, which Miss Lillycrop had taught her with great pains.

"You're sixty-six, at the least, compared with male creatures of the same age," observed her interrogator.

"Thank you, m'm," replied Tottie, with another dip.

"Have you a bonnet and shawl, little Bones?"

Tottie, in a state of considerable surprise, replied that she had.

"Go and put 'em on then, and get that thing also ready to go out."

Miss Stivergill pointed to the baby contemptuously, as it were, with her nose.

"He's a very good bybie"--so the child pronounced it--"on'y rather self-willed at times, m'm," said Tottie, going through the athletic feat of lifting her charge.

"Just so. True to your woman's nature. Always ready to apologise for the male monster that tyrannises over you. I suppose, now, you'd say that your drunken father was a good man?"

Miss Stivergill repented of the speech instantly on seeing the tears start into Tottie's large eyes as she replied quickly--"Indeed I would, m'm. Oh! you've no notion 'ow kind father is w'en 'e's not in liquor."

"There, there. Of course he is. I didn't mean to say he wasn't, little Bones. It's a curious fact that many drun--, I mean people given to drink, _are_ kind and amiable. It's a disease. Go now, and get your things on, and do you likewise, Lilly. My cab is at the door. Be quick."

In a few minutes the whole party descended to the street. Miss Stivergill locked the door with her own hand, and put the key in her pocket. As she turned round, Tottie's tawdry bonnet had fallen off in her efforts to raise the baby towards the outstretched hands of her mistress, while the cabman stood looking on with amiable interest.

Catching up the bonnet, Miss Stivergill placed it on the child's head, back to the front, twisted the strings round her head and face--anyhow-- lifted her and her charge into the cab, and followed them.

"Where to, ma'am?" said the amiable cabman.

"Charing Cross,--you idiot."

"Yes, ma'am," replied the man, with a broad grin, touching his hat and bestowing a wink on a passing policeman as he mounted the box.

On their way to the station the good lady put out her head and shouted "Stop!"

The maligned man obeyed.

"Stay here, Lilly, with the baby.--Jump out, little Bones. Come with me."

She took the child's bonnet off and flung it under the cab, then grasped Tottie's hand and led her into a shop.

"A