Finally she wrote to the postmaster, and an answer arrived by the first possible mail. The letter was short, curt, and to the purpose. Mr. Amblecrom, the postmaster, was a man of few words, and especially wary as to his expressions in a letter. "Dear madam," he wrote, "your favour rec'ed. No Slocums in Ford's Village. All dead. Addie ten years ago, her mother two years later, her father five.
But what is the use? When all this is written, those who knew Sammy will say, "'Tis but a poor picture, for she is something more than all this." Uncle Ike, the postmaster at the Forks, did it much better when he said to "Preachin' Bill," the night of the "Doin's" at the Cove School, "Ba thundas! That gal o' Jim Lane's jest plumb fills th' whole house.
Your attention is respectfully called to the report of the Postmaster General for the detailed operation of his Department during the last fiscal year, from which it will be seen that the receipts from postages for that time were less by $1,431,696 than for the preceding fiscal year, being a decrease of about 23 per cent.
After the end of the war an Inter-Departmental Committee was set up and in its report to the Postmaster General dated April 1919 it stated: "We are of the opinion that the number of stations existing in July 1914 was excessive from the point of view of government control in case of emergency and the necessity of preventing interference with government and commercial working; further there was no justification for it from the point of view of the encouragement of research or development of industry".
I had scarcely entered upon the exercise of my functions as Postmaster- General when, on the morning of the 2d of April, I was surprised to see a Prussian general officer enter my cabinet. I immediately recognised him as General Blucher. He had commanded the Prussian army in the battle which took place at the gates of Paris.
"I have no more disposable horses," answered the postmaster, bowing. "I must have some this moment." "It is impossible." "What are those horses which have just been harnessed to the tarantass I saw at the door?" "They belong to this traveler," answered the postmaster, pointing to Michael Strogoff. "Take them out!" said the traveler in a tone which admitted of no reply. Michael then advanced.
"Oh! it's his son's coming home that has brightened him up so much; and John Jones, postmaster, says he took the other letter as meek as a lamb. But what has he done with it nobody knows. John Jones is saying that it has never been posted again, so he must have got it still." "Well, well! how can he post it when nobody knows where Mrs. Caradoc Wynne is?" "Mrs. Caradoc Wynne, indeed! Phrutt!"
"You lick them and I cancel them," answered the postmaster; and it does not seem a powerful rejoinder. But Miss Peck uttered her laugh. "That's one on you," she told Lin. And throughout this meal it was Tommy who had her favor.
"Is it possible?" thought the discomfited postmaster. "Yes, here they come at the very moment when the guests are arriving." Just then another horn was heard, and "Je suis peree, un pere heureux," made the welkin ring. On every side they came, but the unlucky passenger caleche blocked up the passage.
In the evening of the same day Mihail Averyanitch came to see him. The postmaster went up to him without waiting to greet him, took him by both hands, and said in an agitated voice: "My dear fellow, my dear friend, show me that you believe in my genuine affection and look on me as your friend!"