Post Haste by R. M. Ballantyne (mystery books to read .txt) 📕

“No, she don’t, but it’s all the same if she did. Whatever I say about the Post-Office I can give chapter and verse for. The way of it was this. The letter-carrier was a friend o’ mine. He was goin’ his rounds at Kelvedon, in Essex, when a tame raven seized a money letter he had in his hand and flew away with it. After circlin’ round the town he alighted, and, before he could be prevented, tore the letter to pieces. On puttin’ the bits together the contents o’ the letter was found to be a cheque for thirty pounds, and of course, when the particulars o’ the strange case were made known the cheque was renewed!—There now,” concluded Solomon, “if you don’t believe that story, you’ve only got to turn up the Postmaster-General’s Report for 1862, and you’ll find it there on page 24.”

“How curious!” said Miss Lillycrop. “There’s another thing I want to know,” she added, looking with deep interest into the countenance of her host, while that stalwart man continued to stow incredible quantities of sausages and crumpets into his capacious mouth. “Is it really true that people post letters without addresses?”

“True, ma’am? why, of course it’s true. Thousands of people do. The average number of letters posted without addresses is about eighty a day.”

“How strange! I wonder what causes this?”

Miss Lillycrop gazed contemplatively into her teacup, and Solomon became suddenly aware that Grannie’s plate was empty. Having replenished it, he ordered Dollops to bring more crumpets, and then turned to his guest.

“I’ll tell you what it is, ma’am, that causes this—it’s forgetfulness, or rather, what we call absence of mind. It’s my solemn belief, ma’am, that if our heads warn’t screwed on pretty tight you’d see some hundreds of people walkin’ about London of a mornin’ with nothin’ whatever on their shoulders. Why, there was one man actually posted a cheque for 9 pounds, 15 shillings loose, in a pillar letter-box in Liverpool, without even an envelope on it. The owner was easily traced through the bank, but was unable to explain how the cheque got out of his possession or into the pillar.—Just listen to this, ma’am,” he added, rising and taking down a pamphlet from a bookshelf, “this is last year’s Report. Hear what it says:—

“‘Nearly 28,500 letters were posted this year without addresses. 757 of these letters were found to contain, in the aggregate, about 214 pounds in cash and bank-notes, and about 9088 pounds in bills of exchange, cheques, etcetera.’—Of course,” said the letter-carrier, refreshing himself with a mouthful of tea, “the money and bills were returned to the senders, but it warn’t possible to do the same with 52,856 postage-stamps which were found knocking about loose in the bottom of the mail-bags.”

“How many?” cried Miss Lillycrop, in amazement.

“Fifty-two thousand eight hundred and fifty-six,” repeated Solomon with deliberation. “No doubt,” he continued, “some of these stamps had bin carelessly stuck on the envelopes, and some of ’em p’r’aps had come out of busted letters which contained stamps sent in payment of small accounts. You’ve no idea, ma’am, what a lot o’ queer things get mixed up in the mail-bags out of bust letters and packages—all along of people puttin’ things into flimsy covers not fit to hold ’em. Last year no fewer than 12,525 miscellaneous articles reached the Returned Letter Office (we used to call it the Dead Letter Office) without covers or addresses, and the number of inquiries dealt with in regard to these things and missing letters by that Office was over 91,000.

“We’re very partickler, Miss Lillycrop, in regard to these things,” continued Solomon, with a touch of pride. “We keep books in which every stray article, unaddressed, is entered and described minutely, so that when people come howlin’ at us for our carelessness in non-delivery, we ask ’em to describe their missing property, and in hundreds of cases prove to them their own carelessness in makin’ up parcels by handin’ the wrecks over to ’em!”

“But what sort of things are they that break loose?” asked Miss Lillycrop.

“Oh, many sorts. Anything may break loose if it’s ill packed, and, as almost every sort of thing passes through the post, it would be difficult to describe ’em all. Here is a list, however, that may give you an idea of what kind of things the public sent through our mail-bags last year. A packet of pudding, a steam-gauge, a tin of cream, a bird’s wing, a musical box, packet of snowdrops, fruit sweets, shrimps, and sample potatoes; a dormouse, four white mice, two goldfinches, a lizard and a blind-worm, all alive; besides cutlery, medicines, varnish, ointments, perfumery, articles of dress; a stoat, a squirrel, fish, leeches, frogs, beetles, caterpillars, and vegetables. Of course, many of these, such as live animals, being prohibited articles, were stopped and sent to the Returned Letter Office, but were restored, on application, to the senders.”

Observing Miss Lillycrop’s surprised expression of face, the old woman’s curiosity was roused. “What’s he haverin’ aboot, my dear?” she asked of May.

“About the many strange things that are sent through the post, Grannie.”

“Ay, ay, likely enough,” returned the old creature, shaking her head and administering an unintentional cuff to the poor cat; “folk write a heap o’ lees noo-a-days, nae doot.”

“You’d hardly believe it now,” continued Solomon, turning the leaves of the Report, “but it’s a fact that live snakes have frequently been sent through the post. No later than last year a snake about a yard long managed to get out of his box in one of the night mail sorting carriages on the London and North-Western Railway. After a good deal of confusion and interruption to the work, it was killed. Again, a small box was sent to the Returned Letter Office in Liverpool, which, when opened, was found to contain eight living snakes.”

“Come now, Mr Flint,” said May, “you mustn’t bore my cousin with the Post-Office. You know that when you once begin on that theme there is no stopping you.”

“Very well, Miss May,” returned the letter-carrier, with a modest smile, “let’s draw round the fire and talk of something else.—Hallo, Dollops! clear away the dishes.”

“But he doesn’t bore me,” protested Miss Lillycrop, who had the happy knack of being intensely interested in whatever happened to interest her friends. “I like, of all things, to hear about the Post-Office. I had no idea it was such a wonderful institution.—Do tell me more about it, Mr Flint, and never mind May’s saucy remarks.”

Much gratified by this appeal, Solomon wheeled the old woman to her own corner of the fire, placed a stool under her feet, the cat on her knees, and patted her shoulder, all of which attentions she received with a kindly smile, and said that “Sol was a good laddie.”

Meanwhile the rotund maid-of-all-work having, as it were, hurled the crockery into her den, and the circle round the fire having been completed, as well as augmented, by the sudden entrance of Phil Maylands, the “good laddie” re-opened fire.

“Yes, ma’am, as you well observe, it is a wonderful institution. More than that, it’s a gigantic one, and it takes a big staff to do the duty too. In London alone the staff is 10,665. The entire staff of the kingdom is 13,763 postmasters, 10,000 clerks, and 21,000 letter-carriers, sorters, and messengers,—sum total, a trifle over 45,500. Then, the total number of Post-offices and receptacles for receiving letters throughout the kingdom is 25,000 odd. Before the introduction of the penny postage—in the year 1840—there were only 4500! Then, again—”

“O Mr Flint! pray stop!” cried Miss Lillycrop, pressing her hands to her eyes; “I never could take in figures. At least I never could keep them in. They just go in here, and come out there (pointing to her two ears), and leave no impression whatever.”

“You’re not the only one that’s troubled with that weakness, ma’am,” said the gallant Solomon, “but if a few thousands puzzle you so much what will you make of this?—The total number of letters, post-cards, newspapers, etcetera, that passed through the Post-Offices of the kingdom last year was fourteen hundred and seventy-seven million eight hundred and twenty-eight thousand two hundred! What d’ye make o’ that, ma’am?”

“Mr Flint, I just make nothing of it at all,” returned Miss Lillycrop, with a placid smile.

“Come, Phil,” said May, laughing, “can you make nothing of it? You used to be good at arithmetic.”

“Well, now,” said Phil, “it don’t take much knowledge of arithmetic to make something of that. George Aspel happened to be talking to me about that very sum not long ago. He said he had been told by a man at the Post-Office that it would take a man about a hundred and seventy years to count it. I tried the calculation, and found he was right. Then I made another calculation:—

“I put down the average length of an envelope at four inches, and I found that if you were to lay fourteen hundred and seventy-seven million letters out in a straight line, end to end, the lot would extend to above 93,244 miles, which is more than three times the circumference of the world. Moreover, this number is considerably more than the population of the whole world, which, at the present time, is about 1444 millions, so that if the British Post-Office were to distribute the 1477 millions of letters that pass through it in the year impartially, every man, woman, and child on the globe would receive one letter, post-card, newspaper, or book-packet, and leave thirty-three millions to spare!”

“Now, really, you must stop this,” said May; “I see that my cousin’s colour is going with her efforts to understand you. Can’t you give her something more amusing to think of?”

“Oh, cer’nly,” said Solomon, again turning with 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