Ten Years Among the Mail Bags: Or, Notes from the Diary of a Special Agent of the Post-Office DepartmentHolbrook, James
History
Ten Years Among the Mail Bags: Or, Notes from the Diary of a Special Agent of the Post-Office Department
Holbrook, James
Postal service -- United States
"I was just going to the hotel for my dinner," said I. "Government
officers must eat, you know, as well as other people, and for a while
after dinner I shall be engaged; but if what you have to communicate
is of importance, I will endeavor to confer with you before I leave
town."
"I hope you will; and allow me one word now. I understand that you
have been closeted with Squire W., and I want you to know something
about his position in this matter. Everybody allows him to be an
honest and a sincere man, but the fact is, he has been very active in
effecting the removal of the site of the post-office from the other
side of the river to its present location, and could hardly be called
a disinterested witness in such an investigation as you no doubt
intend to give the subject."
How far this dig at the Squire was just, I could not then certainly
know; but a glance at his law dispensary and the post-office, distant
from each other only a few rods, both being a good quarter of a mile
from the old post-office site, gave some plausibility to the
intimation that the Squire's interest and love for justice, happened
in this instance, to run in the same direction.
My presence in the village had become pretty generally known, as
appeared by various unmistakable indications, particularly some not
very flattering remarks which I overheard at the dinner-table, such as
"a one-sided affair," "consulting interested persons," "don't know how
he expects to find out the truth," and the like; all of which I
pretended neither to hear nor to notice. It was very evident that our
man of letters hadn't many friends in _that_ house, for those of its
inmates and frequenters who were not in some way influenced by rival
interests, were no doubt more or less disaffected by the removal of
the post office from that immediate neighborhood.
As I was one of the last to leave the table, the usual cloud of
tobacco smoke had taken possession of the bar-room, and was enveloping
its occupants in an atmosphere
"Darkly, deeply, beautifully blue,"
when I entered the apartment devoted to the production of this
mollifying vapor. The narcotic herb seemed to have lost its ordinary
soothing power, for the company then and there present bestowed upon
me glances cool and scrutinizing enough to dispel effectually any
inclination I might have had for indulging a short time in the
delights of social intercourse. So I seized my over-coat, and passed
out; and this movement was the signal for a spasmodic giggle by the
entire assemblage, in which the landlord joined, as I supposed, for I
distinctly recognised his grum voice just as I closed the door,
uttering, in a contemptuous tone, the following remark, "I guess the
Agent don't like tobacco smoke!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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