"But if," she says, slow, "it should turn out that the Cap'n was not to blame at all? If someone else had lost that letter? He wouldn't be removed then?"
"No, certainly not. That is, not if my report counted for anything."
"I see," says she; and she didn't speak to us again that afternoon. Peters, though, had more questions to ask. What sort of a letter was this, anyhow? And did I have any idea what was in it?
I told him that I didn't really know much, but, bein' a Yankee, I was subject to the guessin' habit. Ike Hamilton had been buyin' stocks up to Boston and this letter had a broker firm's name printed on the envelope. My guess was that there was some certificates, or such, inside.
"I see," he says. "That would explain what he said about its value. So he's been speculatin', hey?"
"So Sim Kelley hinted. But where the money comes from I don't see. Old Ichabod don't furnish it, I'll bet a dollar. The old critter's got cramps in the pocketbook worse than he has in his back."
"That was the old feller you pointed out to me the other day," he says. "I haven't seen him since. Where is he?"
"Back in bed with the rheumatiz, so I hear. Guess his cruise down town was too much for him."
Well, the rest of our talk didn't amount to much and I went home that night pretty blue and discouraged. I didn't care so much about bein' postmaster, but it hurt my pride to be bounced for bad seamanship. I'd never wrecked a craft afore in my life.
Next mornin' I come to the store at my usual time, but Mary was late, for a wonder. When she did come she looked so pale and used up that I was troubled.