Post Haste | Page 7

Cottage.
Suddenly Mrs Flint uttered an exclamation.
"May!" she cried, and hit the cat an involuntary slap on the face which
sent it with a caterwaul of indignant surprise from her knee, "it wasn't a
message, it was a letter!"
Having thus unburdened her mind the old woman relapsed into the
previous century, from which she could not be recalled. May, therefore,
made a diligent search for the letter, and found it at last under a cracked
teapot on the mantelpiece, where Mrs Flint had told Miss Lillycrop to
place it for safety.
It was short but satisfactory, and ran thus:--
"DEAREST MAY,--I've been to see my friend `in power,' and he says
it's `all right,' that you've only to get your brother over as soon as
possible, and he'll see to getting him a situation. The enclosed paper is
for his and your guidance. Excuse haste.--Your affectionate coz,
SARAH LILLYCROP."
It need hardly be said that May Maylands finished her letter with
increased satisfaction, and posted it that night.
Next morning she wrote out a telegram as follows:--"Let Phil come
here at once. The application has been successful. Never mind clothes.
Everything arranged. Best love to all."
The last clause was added in order to get the full value for her money.
She naturally underscored the words "at once," forgetting for the
moment that, in telegraphy, a word underlined counts as two words.
She was therefore compelled to forego the emphasis.

This message she did not transmit through her own professional
instrument, but gave it in at the nearest district office. It was at once
shot bodily, with a bundle of other telegrams, through a pneumatic tube,
and thus reached St. Martin's-le-Grand in one minute thirty-five
seconds, or about twenty minutes before herself. Chancing to be the
uppermost message, it was flashed off without delay, crossed the Irish
Channel, and entered the office at Cork in about six minutes. Here there
was a short delay of half-an-hour, owing to other telegrams which had
prior claim to attention. Then it was flashed to the west coast, which it
reached long before the letter posted on the previous night, and not
long after May had seated herself at her own three-keyed instrument.
But there, telegraphic speed was thwarted by unavoidable
circumstances, the post-runner having already started on his morning
rounds, and it was afternoon before the telegram was delivered at
Rocky Cottage.
This was the telegram which had caused Philip Maylands so much
anxiety. He read it at last with great relief, and at the same time with
some degree of sadness, when he thought of leaving his mother
"unprotected" in her lonely cottage by the sea.
CHAPTER THREE.
BRILLIANT PROSPECTS.
Madge--whose proper name was Marjory Stevens--was absent when
May's letter arrived the following day. On her return to the cottage she
was taken into the committee which sat upon the subject of Phil's
appointment.
"It's not a very grand appointment," said Mrs Maylands, with a sigh.
"Sure it's not an appointment at all yet, mother," returned Phil, who
held in his hand the paper of instructions enclosed in May's letter.
"Beggars, you know, mustn't be choosers; an' if I'm not a beggar, it's
next thing to it I am. Besides, if the position of a
boy-telegraph-messenger isn't very exalted in itself, it's the first step to
better things. Isn't the first round of a ladder connected with the top

round?"
"That's true, Phil," said Madge; "there's nothing to prevent your
becoming Postmaster-General in course of time."
"Nothing whatever, that I know of," returned Phil.
"Perhaps somebody else knows of something that may prevent it," said
his mother with an amused smile.
"Perhaps!" exclaimed the boy, with a twinkle in his eye; "don't talk to
me of perhapses, I'm not to be damped by such things. Now, just
consider this," he continued, looking over the paper in his hand, "here
we have it all in print. I must apply for the situation in writin' no less.
Well, I can do it in copperplate, if they please. Then my age must be
not less than fourteen, and not more than fifteen."
"That suits to a T," said Madge.
"Yes; and, but hallo! what have we here?" said Phil, with a look of
dismay.
"What is it?" asked his mother and Madge in the same breath, with
looks of real anxiety.
"Well, well, it's too bad," said Phil slowly, "it says here that I'm to have
`no claim on the superannuation fund.' Isn't that hard?"
A smile from Mrs Maylands, and a laugh from Madge, greeted this. It
was also received with an appalling yell from the baby, which caused
mother and nurse to leap to the rescue. That sprout of mischief, in the
course of an experimental tour of the premises, had climbed upon