Ten Years Among the Mail Bags / Or, Notes from the Diary of a Special Agent of the Post-Office Department

by James Holbrook

of many profounder theorists, and confess that I didn't know much about the matter.

A combination of the stomach and conscience suppositions, might be an adequate solution of the question, for the slender salary of a post-office clerk hardly sufficed for more than three meals a day, and the inference from these premises would be rather easy that a fourth must have been at the public expense.

Here my reflections came to an untimely end, for the insect orchestra, of whose performances I have spoken, was reinforced by the addition of a picolo, in the shape of one of those minute specimens of creation commonly called mosquito, whose note, "most musical, most melancholy," blended with the trombone of the blue bottle fly in a manner rather more curious than pleasing. And the different sounds produced by these insects were no less unlike than their modes of approaching their victims; the latter, with bull-headed obstinacy, bouncing against your face in a blundering way, with apparently no particular object excepting that of making himself generally disagreeable, while the former, lighting upon you as delicately as a snow flake, proceeds with admirable promptitude and definiteness of purpose to take out his lancet, and, like some never-failing humorist, is always "in the vein."

The tones of this insect Æolian rose and fell for a little time at a distance, but I was speedily aware of its presence in immediate proximity to my ear, and apparently making a tour of observation around my head, whereupon I commenced a blind sort of defence by flourishing my hands as noiselessly as possible round the region invaded, to as little purpose, however, as the attack of regular troops upon a body of Indians; for in a moment the music ceased, and I felt the sharp prick which informed me that I was hit, and I instinctively inflicted an energetic slap upon the spot, by which my enemy was extinguished, and one bill at least effectually cancelled. This result was not attained without a report, which so violently broke the silence, that I stood for a moment in breathless suspense, fearing that the sound would penetrate into the realms of Morpheus, and that thus I might pay too dearly for my triumph. But the sleeper "made no sign," and I was again left to my solitary musings.

A small pistol which I had observed my sleeping friend place under his head, on going to bed, did not tend to increase the comforts of my position, for since he had become so restless, the thought passed through my mind that he might have heard some suspicious noise in my direction, and was feigning sleep, while on the watch for its repetition. If this were the case, the discovery of a supernumerary on the premises, might lead to a hasty assault on the supposed midnight prowler, and also a more rapid transfer of the contents of the pistol to me than would be either agreeable or wholesome, before I could offer any reasonable explanation for my presence behind the door at such an unseasonable hour.

After a while, however, a renewal of the snoring, which was occasionally echoed by the occupant of the adjoining room, assured me of the absence of belligerent intentions, and the buzzing of the flies before mentioned, with the ticking of a clock in the office, were the only additional sounds that broke upon the silence.

About two o'clock, a slight accident occurred to me, which, however, did no harm. In reaching for a pitcher of water that stood on the table near by, I knocked off a book, which must have been poised on the corner of the table. I immediately imitated, by scratching, the gnawing of a rat in the wall, so that if the falling of the book had aroused the sleeper, he would have attributed both the noises to the imaginary animal.

But few sounds outside the building were heard, save the occasional drunken shout of some votary of Bacchus, reeling home to disgrace his family with his presence; and the measured strokes of the city clocks, as they told off the long, long hours.

But the most ludicrous circumstance happened just about daylight,—that is, daylight outside, for within the office it was still dark, as all the blinds were closed. I was startled by a sudden rap on the door of the post master's room which opened into the main hall, soon followed by another even more energetic. The clerk in the bed-room jumped from his bed and passed by me to open the door. Fearing that I should be discovered. I darted into the bed-room without his knowledge, and before he had returned. The truth is, he was not more than half awake, and had forgotten me entirely. He had admitted a colored man to get the boots which required his polishing touch, and then returned to bed again.

This gentleman of color, who by the way proved to be a trusty porter employed in several of the offices in the building, proceeded first to the side of the cot to get the boots there, and then made for the bed-room, into which I had retreated. In feeling about the floor to find the remaining "leathern conveniences," he seized one of mine! "I've got my foot in it now," thought I; but by a gentle and dexterous movement I succeeded in withdrawing the exposed covering from his partial grasp, without his discovering the existence of a leg within. Whether it was fright at the touch of the tenanted boot, or something else, that made him leave the premises so suddenly, I have never been fully satisfied. I went out myself soon after, leaving both clerks sound asleep.