“Never mind what she says. I’m the
wretch that did it, sir,” said the new member,
with a Welleresque nod to Mr. Pickwick. “But
on my honor, I never will do so again, and henceforth
devote myself to the interest of this immortal club.”
“Hear! Hear!” cried Jo, clashing
the lid of the warming pan like a cymbal.
“Go on, go on!” added Winkle and Tupman,
while the President bowed benignly.
“I merely wish to say, that as a slight token
of my gratitude for the honor done me, and as a means
of promoting friendly relations between adjoining
nations, I have set up a post office in the hedge
in the lower corner of the garden, a fine, spacious
building with padlocks on the doors and every convenience
for the mails, also the females, if I may be allowed
the expression. It’s the old martin house,
but I’ve stopped up the door and made the roof
open, so it will hold all sorts of things, and save
our valuable time. Letters, manuscripts, books,
and bundles can be passed in there, and as each nation
has a key, it will be uncommonly nice, I fancy.
Allow me to present the club key, and with many thanks
for your favor, take my seat.”
Great applause as Mr. Weller deposited a little key
on the table and subsided, the warming pan clashed
and waved wildly, and it was some time before order
could be restored. A long discussion followed,
and everyone came out surprising, for everyone did
her best. So it was an unusually lively meeting,
and did not adjourn till a late hour, when it broke
up with three shrill cheers for the new member.
No one ever regretted the admittance of Sam Weller,
for a more devoted, well-behaved, and jovial member
no club could have. He certainly did add ‘spirit’
to the meetings, and ‘a tone’ to the paper,
for his orations convulsed his hearers and his contributions
were excellent, being patriotic, classical, comical,
or dramatic, but never sentimental. Jo regarded
them as worthy of Bacon, Milton, or Shakespeare, and
remodeled her own works with good effect, she thought.
The P. O. was a capital little institution, and
flourished wonderfully, for nearly as many queer things
passed through it as through the real post office.
Tragedies and cravats, poetry and pickles, garden
seeds and long letters, music and gingerbread, rubbers,
invitations, scoldings, and puppies. The old
gentleman liked the fun, and amused himself by sending
odd bundles, mysterious messages, and funny telegrams,
and his gardener, who was smitten with Hannah’s
charms, actually sent a love letter to Jo’s
care. How they laughed when the secret came out,
never dreaming how many love letters that little post
office would hold in the years to come.
EXPERIMENTS
“The first of June! The Kings are off
to the seashore tomorrow, and I’m free.
Three months’ vacation—how I shall
enjoy it!” exclaimed Meg, coming home one warm
day to find Jo laid upon the sofa in an unusual state
of exhaustion, while Beth took off her dusty boots,
and Amy made lemonade for the refreshment of the whole
party.
