Who's Sorry Now? (2 page)

“Even better," Walker agreed. "Now leave me alone.”

CHAPTER TWO

AT DINNER THAT EVENING, Robert told the whole household—the Prinneys, Lily, Mimi the maid, and their boarders—Phoebe Twinkle, the town milliner, and Mrs. Tarkington, the principal of the grade school—what he'd seen and heard at the railroad station earlier.

They were all shocked. "I don't receive a lot of letters," Mrs. Tarkington said. "But when I do, I don't want strangers examining them."

“Nor do I," Mr. Prinney said. He was the executor of their great-uncle Horatio's trust and had become a friend and mentor, especially to Lily. "The very idea of considering disposing of a letter to someone else for her own good is appalling and possibly illegal. What can be done about this?"

“I talked to Howard Walker about it and we came to
the conclusion that a petition ought to be presented to the town council members. We'd ask that someone—probably the Harbinger boys—but we won't say that in the petition—could build a piece of furniture that has a whole lot of drawers or boxes with doors, labeled with citizens' names."

“That wouldn't stop the snoops," Lily said.

“It would certainly discourage them," Robert said. And the stationmaster, who would have it in his line of sight, could tell them to only pick up their own mail and leave other people's mail alone.”

Phoebe Twinkle spoke up. "Who would sort it?"

“The porter," Robert said. "Poor McBride makes almost nothing on tips and lives in a shed. I'd like to suggest that he be paid a small salary to sort the mail between trains. But it would have to come out of the town's budget."

“How is the town's budget collected?" Phoebe Twinkle asked.

Mr. Prinney said, "In a number of ways. Small taxes for selling cars and property. Fines leveled against bad drivers, and our own property taxes. It mainly funds the grade school."

“Not nearly well enough," Mrs. Tarkington, the principal of the grade school, piped up.

“If we can't squeeze out a tiny bit of money to pay McBride for sorting the mail," Lily asked, "couldn't it be provided by Great-uncle Horatio's trust? For the good of the town and as a charitable deduction?”

Mr. Prinney frowned for a moment. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

“Why not?" Lily asked, very politely. "We're not even asking our farmers in Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma, and Colorado to pay their mortgages because of the drought, and are more than making it up on the income from the mortgages on the land in California where the movie companies are making money hand over fist."

“You have a good point there, Lily," Mr. Prinney admitted. He was pleased at how well she was learning about the trust Horatio Brewster had left in his hands to eventually end up controlled by his heirs when the time came to turn it over to them.

“We could donate a small amount anonymously, couldn't we?" Robert asked. "But only if the town council doesn't cough it up. I've written up an explanation of the purpose of a petition to appeal to citizens. I'll read it to you after dinner.”

When they'd all settled in the library, with the French doors to the small balcony open so they could enjoy the surprisingly warm evening, only Mimi was missing. She was clearing the table and washing up the dinnerware.

Mrs. Prinney served tea as well as coffee for herself, Lily, Mrs. Tarkington, and Phoebe. Robert and Mr. Prinney stood by the balcony with cigars and glasses of wine. Robert soon put his wineglass down and started reading the explanation of the petition he'd written.

The rest were attentive and approving until he read "... this came to my attention when I heard three gossipy old biddies ...”

There was an uproar of objections. Robert just laughed. "It's not really in the petition. But I will tell people I ask to sign about it. I'll sign the fIrst line. Do the rest of you want to sign it tonight?”

Lily said, "I think our signatures should be scattered throughout instead of in a lump at the beginning. We don't mind your rabble-rousing, but we don't want to give a wrong impression that the only people who care all live here."

“Okey dokey," Robert said as he took a fountain pen out of an inside pocket of his over-the-hill dinner jacket and signed on the first line with a flourish at the end.

When he went upstairs to bed, he looked around for a good place to hide what else he'd bought on his book-buying trip to the city. Mimi cleaned every room ferociously at least twice a week, but as far as Robert knew, she never looked inside drawers or cabinets. So he hid his purchase in the drawer with his shaving and bathing things.

On Tuesday Robert was eager to start getting signatures, but there were a few things he needed to do first. He dropped in at the nasty little house right by the railroad tracks that the chief of police had lived in, then sold to the Harbinger boys.

Harry was there. His younger brother Jim was away—busy fixing somebody's plumbing pipe to the bathtub. Robert explained why he had come to visit. "I'm going to get a petition signed by as many people as I can to put up a big piece of furniture to hold people's mail in slots, drawers, or shelves divided into individual places so people don't have to go through all the mailbags to find their own things."

“Good idea. I don't get much mail, but when I'm waiting for something I've ordered like an unusual piece of plumbing tubing, or a special kind of paintbrush, it's a nuisance to rummage through the bags with everyone else's mail."

“I'm glad you like the idea," Robert said. "Mainly because you
an
d
your brother will have to make the sorting furniture. You'll be paid for your time and skills, of course," he said breezily, not knowing if this would come true. If not, he'd have to find the money himself. Or rather, Lily would have to persuade Mr. Prinney to use the estate money.

“Could you manage it with scrap lumber?" Robert asked Harry.

“I have more scrap wood than I know what to do with. Now I have a way to get rid of it." Harry rubbed his hands together and smiled. "I've never taken on a job like this, but it sounds interesting.”

While they were talking, Robert was taking in their living quarters. Howard Walker had always hated this house. It was close to the river. It had reeked of mildew. The trains shot by in the small gap between the house and the Hudson River, hooting loudly, making it impossible for Howard to ever get a good night's sleep.

The Harbinger boys had done wonders with the house. The windows had been replaced with smaller ones with thicker glass. There was no longer a smell of rot or mildew. They'd apparently used up some of their scrap wood, adding it to the inside wall that faced the railroad tracks as additional soundproofing. One train raced by while they'd been speaking and neither of them had had to raise their voices.

“This plan we've talked about isn't in the petition," Robert said. "I wanted to keep it as simple as I could." He went on to explain what had led him to take this on, describing the three old women pawing over other people's mail, and one of them even suggesting that they destroy one letter for the recipient's own good.

Harry was shocked. "Do you have a pen? I'll sign it right now. Nobody should be able to destroy other folks' letters or cards.”

After he'd signed his name, he said, "I'll start drawing up some pl
an
s. I might do two or three and let whoever makes the decision choose."

“Thanks, Harry. I have to get one or two more people to agree about the petition before I start collecting the rest of the signatures.”

Robert went back to the train station and asked Mr. Buchanan, the train stationmaster, if they could speak privately.

“Nothing's very private here. But there's not a train for another twenty minutes. Let's stand outside."

“It's about those women I saw pawing through everybody else's letters and cards," Robert said.

Buchanan nodded. "It's disgraceful, isn't it? Nosy old things."

“Right," Robert said, glad to hear that Buchan
an
agreed.

He handed the petition to Buchanan, who looked it over and had questions. "Who's going to build it? Who's going to sort it?" Are the drawers or boxes going to have a combination lock?”

Robert paused before replying. "I hadn't thought of locks. I'll tell the Harbinger boys to put hardware on and those who want to can buy a lock."

“But lots of people don't come in every day for their mail. Who will put the mail in the boxes without knowing the combination?”

Robert was embarrassed to admit he hadn't thought of that either. "But I did think about who would sort. I think the city fathers should pay Mr. McBride to sort
i
t.”

Robert was suddenly discouraged by his plan. Other people he would be approaching would ask the same questions, and probably others he hadn't thought of. He decided to consult with the residents of Grace and Favor for what else he might be asked, and suggestions for replies.

When dinner was done that evening, he outlined the problem of the locks. "If there are combination locks ...”

Phoebe Twinkle interrupted to ask what that term meant.

“The kinds that have numbers around in a circle and you turn the dial to your numbers to open them."

“Does everybody have to have a different combination that the porter has to remember?" Phoebe asked.

“I suppose so. That's the problem in a nutshell. There will be at least two or three hundred boxes. That's about how many people still live in Voorburg, I'd guess," Robert said.

“I don't think there are that many," Lily said. "Haven't you noticed how many businesses and houses have been abandoned by people going to California?"

“Okay, I'll check on this, but it's not really the problem I'm currently worried about.”

Phoebe, who had raised the question of combinations, suddenly stood up and came as close to shouting as a lady could. "I've had a Eureka idea. Give the three snoops one combination for all three of their boxes, then give everyone one of two combinations."

“How will that help?" Robert asked.

Lily said, "Robert, you're being uncharacteristically dim-witted. The three old ladies will soon discover that their combinations are the same as one another's and assume, incorrectly, that everybody else's are the same. While in fact, half of them are another combination and the other half are a third combination. The porter can certainly remember all three.”

Phoebe chimed in again. "Have the old ladies' boxes in the middle, set up vertically. And one combination for the boxes to the right of them and immediately above them—the other combination below them and to the left.”

Everybody at the table except Robert was happy with the solution. But he was a little sorry that two young women figured out what he couldn't. Harry Harbinger hadn't thought this out, nor had the stationmaster, except to ask questions about the locks.

All three of them failed to come up with a possible solution. And the women had had several suggestions. This was a concept that scared Robert.

CHAPTER THREE

Wednesday, April
19

ROBERT HAD THE SENSE that this postal pro
_j
ect wasn't going to be as easy as he'd originally imagined. He needed to know the approximate number of people who currently lived in Voorburg-on-Hudson and outlying areas that were still being farmed. How could he find this out?

Where would Edwin McBride sort the mail? Not on the middle of the floor of the train station. That would create an equally chaotic situation as there was now.

Then there were the combination locks to think of. Even if McBride had a table near the boxes, he'd have to have all the doors open at the same time to sort them into the right boxes.

And what would happen to big packages, like the one he'd had shipped to himself with Lily's birthday present?

The post office boxes couldn't be that big or they'd take up all the walls of the station.

Who would know the answers to this multitude of queries?

He'd have to go back first to Harry Harbinger. After all, Harry and his brother had to make the sorting area and allow for the hardware.

When he caught up with Harry Wednesday morning, Robert was surprised that the town's best handyman had already given Robert's ideas some thought.

“I don't like the idea of combination locks built into the doors. For one thing, it's expensive. And nobody knows yet what this is going to cost."

“What's an alternative?" Robert asked.

“Well, there are keys, of course. But people would lose them and the lock would need to be changed on a lot of them from time to time. My brother and I won't agree to be responsible for this."

“Is there another alternative?" Robert whined.

“Oh, sure. Hardware that could take a combination lock. A piece of metal with a hole in it sticking out on the door, and another on the strip that separates the boxes. The person renting the box would supply for himself or herself a combination lock to slip through both holes. Some people know they don't get things that the snoops would be interested in, so they wouldn't even have to buy a combination lock."

“Brilliant!" Robert exclaimed. "Now, how and where will Mr. McBride sort the mail?”

Harry rolled his eyes at this question. "Robert, think about this. The inside of that station is
huge.
It was built around the turn of the century when Voorburg had a much bigger population. There was even a hotel my dad told us about, for wives and children. The husbands came on the weekends.”

Robert said, "So?”

Patiently Harry explained. "There is plenty of space to set the box thing out into the room with a sorting room behind it. I've measured how much scrap wood I have, and I can make two hundred boxes that are four inches wide, four inches high, and nine inches deep. They'll be open at the back, and I'll build a long skinny table that can be used to sort the mail by box number. Same as the number on the front of the box.”