Post Haste. Robert Michael Ballantyne

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ It is true Miss Lillycrop would have gladly furnished May with board and lodging free, but her house was in the neighbourhood of Pimlico, and May’s duties made it necessary that she should live within a short distance of the General Post-Office. Miss Lillycrop had heard of the Flints as being good-hearted and trusty people, and advised her cousin to board with them, at least until some better arrangement could be made for her. Meanwhile May was to go and spend part of every Sunday with Miss Lillycrop at Number 9 Purr Street.

      “Well, Grannie,” said May, returning to the front room, where the sausages were already hissing deliciously, “what news have you for me to-night?”

      She sat down beside the old woman, took her hand and spoke in that cheery, cosy, confidential way which renders some women so attractive.

      “Deed, May, there’s little but the auld story—Mercies, mornin’, noon, and night. But, oo ay, I was maist forgettin’; Miss Lillycrap was here, an left ye a message o’ some sort.”

      “And what was the message, Grannie?”

      “She’s gone and forgot it,” said Solomon Flint, putting the sausages on the table, which had already been spread for supper by a stout little girl who was the sole domestic of the house and attendant on Mrs Flint. “You’ve no chance of getting it now, Miss May, for I’ve noticed that when the old ’ooman once forgets a thing it don’t come back to her—except, p’r’aps, a week or two afterwards. Come now, draw in and go to work. But, p’r’aps, Dollops may have heard the message. Hallo! Dollops! come here, and bring the kettle with you.”

      Dollops—the little girl above referred to—was particularly small and shy, ineffably stupid, and remarkably fat. It was the last quality which induced Solomon to call her Dollops. Her hair and garments stuck out from her in wild dishevelment, but she was not dirty. Nothing belonging to Mrs Flint was allowed to become dirty.

      “Did you see Miss Lillycrop, Dollops?” asked Solomon, as the child emerged from some sort of back kitchen.

      “Yes, sir, I did; I saw’d ’er a-goin’ hout.”

      “Did you hear her leave a message?”

      “Yes, sir, I did. I ’eard ’er say to missis, ‘Be sure that you give May Maylands my love, an tell ’er wotever she do to keep ’er feet dry, an’ don’t forgit the message, an’ say I’m so glad about it, though it’s not much to speak of arter all!’”

      “What was she so glad about?” demanded Solomon.

      “I dun know, sir. She said no more in my ’earin’ than that. I only comed in w’en she was a-goin’ hout. P’r’aps it was about the findin’ of ’er gloves in ’er pocket w’en she was a talkin’ to missis, which she thought she’d lost, though they wasn’t wuth pickin’ up out of the—”

      “Pooh! be off to your pots an’ pans, child,” said Flint, turning to his grandmother, who sat staring at the sausages with a blank expression. “You can’t remember it, I s’pose, eh?”

      Mrs Flint shook her head and began to eat.

      “That’s right, old ’ooman,” said her grandson, patting her shoulder; “heap up the coals, mayhap it’ll revive the memory.”

      But Mrs Flint’s memory was not so easily revived. She became more abstracted than usual in her efforts to recover it. Supper passed and was cleared away. The old woman was placed in her easy chair in front of the fire with the cat—her chief evening amusement—on her knee; the letter-carrier went out for his evening walk; Dollops proceeded miscellaneously to clean up and smash the crockery, and May sat down to indite an epistle to the inmates of Rocky Cottage.

      Suddenly Mrs Flint uttered an exclamation.

      “May!” she cried, and hit the cat an involuntary slap on the face which sent it with a caterwaul of indignant surprise from her knee, “it wasn’t a message, it was a letter!”

      Having thus unburdened her mind the old woman relapsed into the previous century, from which she could not be recalled. May, therefore, made a diligent search for the letter, and found it at last under a cracked teapot on the mantelpiece, where Mrs Flint had told Miss Lillycrop to place it for safety.

      It was short but satisfactory, and ran thus:—

      “Dearest May,—I’ve been to see my friend ‘in power,’ and he says it’s ‘all right,’ that you’ve only to get your brother over as soon as possible, and he’ll see to getting him a situation. The enclosed paper is for his and your guidance. Excuse haste.—Your affectionate coz, Sarah Lillycrop.”

      It need hardly be said that May Maylands finished her letter with increased satisfaction, and posted it that night.

      Next morning she wrote out a telegram as follows:– “Let Phil come here at once. The application has been successful. Never mind clothes. Everything arranged. Best love to all.”

      The last clause was added in order to get the full value for her money. She naturally underscored the words “at once,” forgetting for the moment that, in telegraphy, a word underlined counts as two words. She was therefore compelled to forego the emphasis.

      This message she did not transmit through her own professional instrument, but gave it in at the nearest district office. It was at once shot bodily, with a bundle of other telegrams, through a pneumatic tube, and thus reached St. Martin’s-le-Grand in one minute thirty-five seconds, or about twenty minutes before herself. Chancing to be the uppermost message, it was flashed off without delay, crossed the Irish Channel, and entered the office at Cork in about six minutes. Here there was a short delay of half-an-hour, owing to other telegrams which had prior claim to attention. Then it was flashed to the west coast, which it reached long before the letter posted on the previous night, and not long after May had seated herself at her own three-keyed instrument. But there, telegraphic speed was thwarted by unavoidable circumstances, the post-runner having already started on his morning rounds, and it was afternoon before the telegram was delivered at Rocky Cottage.

      This was the telegram which had caused Philip Maylands so much anxiety. He read it at last with great relief, and at the same time with some degree of sadness, when he thought of leaving his mother “unprotected” in her lonely cottage by the sea.

      Chapter Three.

      Brilliant Prospects

      Madge—whose proper name was Marjory Stevens—was absent when May’s letter arrived the following day. On her return to the cottage she was taken into the committee which sat upon the subject of Phil’s appointment.

      “It’s not a very grand appointment,” said Mrs Maylands, with a sigh.

      “Sure it’s not an appointment at all yet, mother,” returned Phil, who held in his hand the paper of instructions enclosed in May’s letter. “Beggars, you know, mustn’t be choosers; an’ if I’m not a beggar, it’s next thing to it I am. Besides, if the position of a boy-telegraph-messenger isn’t very exalted in itself, it’s the first step to better things. Isn’t the first round of a ladder connected with the top round?”

      “That’s true, Phil,” said Madge; “there’s nothing to prevent your becoming Postmaster-General in course of time.”

      “Nothing whatever, that I know of,” returned Phil.

      “Perhaps somebody else knows of something that may prevent it,” said СКАЧАТЬ