The Launch Boys' Adventures in Northern Waters, Edward Sylvester Ellis [red white royal blue txt] 📗

with samples of what were for sale at the store.

Entering the open door, he asked in his most suave manner if there was a letter for "Michael Murphy, lately from Tipperary." The thin old lady in spectacles behind the counter, at the front, pulled the half dozen missives from the pigeon hole over which the letter "M" showed and slowly inspected each. She gently shook her head:

"It doesn't seem to have arrived; probably it will come in the next mail."

Mike's genial face became the picture of disappointment.

"That's mighty qu'ar. The Duke promised he would write me two waaks ago from his castle and return the five pounds I loaned him. Ye can't thrust the nobility."

"I am sorry," said the sympathetic postmistress, "but I don't see how I can help you. Have patience and all will come right."

"Don't think it's yersilf I'm blaming, though onraisoning folks are inclined that way. The matter of a little money doesn't consarn me, but it's the aboose of me confidence."

Just then a man came in to inquire for a letter, and the sweet looking old lady was obliged to withdraw her attention from the freckled face before her.

During this brief interview a girl not yet out of short dresses stood behind the counter, measuring out some calico for a woman in a scoop shovel-bonnet. The girl's face was as mirthful as Mike's, and her black eyes twinkled with mischief. She heard all that was said, and read the youth like a book. He looked more at her than at her mother, and could not help being pleased with the lively young lady. Never at loss for an excuse in such circumstances, he waited at the front of the store, sighing as if greatly depressed, until the woman customer paid her bill, accepted the roll and walked out. Then Mike, blushing so far as it was possible to do so, moved respectfully toward the smiling attraction.

"I lost me wheelbarrer in coming up from me launch; have ye anything of the kind ye would be willing to sell to a poor orphan?"

"Will one be all you want?" asked the miss. "We can furnish you with a dozen as well as a single barrow. How much would you like to pay?"

Mike was caught. He had taken a comprehensive survey of the display outside the store before entering, and was sure that only the simplest agricultural implements were on sale. Furthermore, he had less than a silver dollar in his pockets.

"I'll have to wait to consoolt me partners," he replied, while nature did her best to deepen the blush on his broad countenance. "Ye see it's them that has to do the work fur me, and it's only fair on me side to let them have something to say about the ch'ice of tools. What do ye think yersilf?"

"I think you haven't any wish to buy a wheelbarrow, that you haven't the money to pay for it, and I know we haven't one in the store--so I think further that there won't be any sale so far as wheelbarrows are concerned."


CHAPTER XI

AT THE POST OFFICE IN BEARTOWN

Although Mike Murphy rarely got the worst of it in a bout at repartee, he had the true sporting instinct and liked the winner because of his victory. It took a bright person to beat him, but it did happen now and then, and he enjoyed a clash of wits with one who proved his master, though in the long run the youth generally came out ahead.

When, therefore, the girl in the post office at Beartown snapped out the remark just printed, he was roused to admiration. He threw back his head and the store rang with his infectious laughter.

"Begorra! ye were too much for me that time. If ye'll not think me impudent, I beg the privilege of shaking hands wid ye."

The merry sprite, laughing almost as heartily as he, though with less noise, reached a dainty hand across the counter and he grasped it. From behind the rack at the front of the store, the gentle mother beamed with a smile. She had heard and understood it all.

"I am afraid, Nora, you were rude to the gentleman," she said in her silvery voice.

"Not a bit!" was the hearty response of Mike. "I got it that time where the chicken got the axe--which the same is in the neck. It was a fair hit and I desarved more, though no one could give it to me."

It may be said that this little incident fixed Mike in the favor of mother and daughter. It was hard to resist the rollicking good nature of the Irish youth, who was equally impressed by the gentle goodness of the mother and the sprightly wit of the daughter. He now called a halt with his nonsense and gave a true account of the situation. His two companions were the sons of wealthy parents and one of them owned a beautiful motor launch which broke down while descending the river from Wiscasset. He had left the two trying to tinker it in shape, but had doubts of their success. In case they failed, it would be very pleasing to them if they could get supper and lodging in Beartown. Would the good woman advise them where to apply?

She replied that she would be glad to meet their wants, though they would be disappointed with the poor meals and lodging, for she knew they must be accustomed to much better. This was the invitation for which Mike was angling and he promptly accepted, assuring the woman that it was a fine piece of good fortune which more than repaid them for the disabling of their engine.

"They may repair it and go home," suggested Nora.

"That will make no difference, for I sha'n't return to them till night comes and then they'll have no ch'ice."

"They may not wait for you," said Nora.

"Little fear of their laving widout me, so nothing will be done till I arrive, as Brian O'Lynn said when he was walking forth to be hanged."

With no other purpose in mind than to force his friends to stay over night in the village, Mike Murphy loitered. When the mother and daughter were not engaged with customers he entertained them by his quaint remarks, which kept the smile on their faces. He had seated himself, on the invitation of Nora, in a chair at the rear of the store, where he was in no one's way and where he could make use of his eyes. Thus it came about that he observed several interesting facts.

Mrs. Friestone and Nora made up the whole force of the store, which did a considerable trade in groceries and articles such as a village community needs. Furthermore, the abundant and excellent stock showed that the owner was not only enterprising but understood her business. The other store in Beartown hardly rose to the dignity of a rival.

It may as well be said at this point that her husband, who had been dead six years, went through the whole war for the Union and was badly wounded several times. President Grant personally complimented Captain Friestone for his bravery in battle, and when he became President appointed him as postmaster at Beartown. He suffered so grievously from his old wounds that the small post office and his pension were all that saved him and his young wife from actual want. He took up storekeeping in a small way, gradually branching out until he had established a flourishing business, whereupon he did an almost unheard of thing. As soon as he knew his future was secure, he notified the government that he would no longer accept a pension and he stuck to the resolution.

The veteran was retained in office by the successors of President Grant until his death, when the appointment was given to his widow, not a member of the community asking for a change. The income was meagre, but the widow had become accustomed to the duties, having performed them during the last years of her husband's life, and she liked the work. The store paid so well that it more than met the wants of the two.

When the cheering thousands welcomed the soldiers returning from the war, a proud father held his little girl on his shoulder and she waved her hand joyously to the bronzed heroes some of whom were still little more than boys. One laughing soldier snatched away the child and kissed her. He was Captain Friestone and the girl was Bessie Elton. The acquaintance thus begun ripened until the time arrived for her to put on long dresses, and by and by she became the happy bride of the officer, and never a shadow darkened their hearthstone until Death called and took away the brave husband and father.

Mike noticed that a massive safe stood behind the counter in a corner at the rear of the store. The ponderous door was open, for mother and daughter had frequent cause to use the repository. Within the steel structure all the stamps, government funds and daily cash receipts were deposited at the close of the day's business. The value of these was slight, but the safe contained a great deal more. While Nora was lighting the five kerosene lamps, suspended on brackets at favorable points in the store, a middle aged and somewhat corpulent man bustled in, nodded to the widow and handed her a large sealed envelope. Mike heard him say, "Twenty-five hundred," and she replied "Very well." It was evident that he had brought in that amount of money and left if for security with her. On the back of the envelope--though of course the youth did not see this--was written in a large, round hand, "C. Jasper, $2500."

The widow walked to the rear of the store, drew out one of the small central drawers of the safe and placed the big envelope in it, still leaving the heavy door open, though the little drawer was locked with a tiny key.

Five minutes later, a second man, thin, nervous and alert, stepped through the door, glanced sharply around and passed a similar envelope to the woman. On the back of it was written, "G. H. Kupfer--$1250."

"You will please give me a receipt," he said in his brisk fashion. The reply was gentle:

"I cannot do that."

"Why not? It's simple business."

"Mr. Kupfer, because you have more faith in my safe than in your small one, you bring your money to me. I have not asked it; I should rather not have it, and I do it only to accommodate you, besides which I charge you nothing. If burglars should break in and steal your money, I cannot be responsible. Do I make that clear to you?"

"Why, Mrs. Friestone, I have no fear of that sort; I only ask that you give me a receipt merely as a matter of record and to save you possible annoyance. Suppose anything should happen to me--such as my death--my folks would be put to great trouble to get this money."

"That cannot possibly occur, for your name and the amount are written on the sealed envelope; I know every member of your family, and in the event you speak of I should hand it personally to some one of them. On no other condition will I take your money for safe keeping. Follow your own pleasure."

"Oh, well," replied the caller, with a nervous laugh, "have it as you please. I have left money with you