The Rise of Roscoe Paine | Page 9

"Victor," she said, "how idiotic you
are!"
I agreed with her. Idiot was one of the terms, the mildest, which I

should have applied to that young man. I wanted very much to remove
him from that car by what Lute would call the scruff of the neck. But
most of all, just then, I wanted to be alone, to see the last of the auto
and its occupants.
"First turn to the right, second to the left," I said, sullenly.
"Thank you, Reuben," vouchsafed the young man. "Here's hoping that
your vegetables are fresher than your jokes. Go ahead, Oscar."
The chauffeur threw in the clutch and the car buzzed up the road,
turning the corner at full speed. There was a loose board projecting
from the bridge just under my feet. As a member--though an inactive
one--of the Village Improvement Society I should have trodden it back
into place. I didn't; I kicked it into the brook.
Then I walked on. But the remainder of my march was a silent one,
without music. I did not whistle.

CHAPTER II
The post-office was at Eldredge's store, and Eldredge's store, situated at
the corners, where the Main Road and the Depot Road-- which is also
the direct road to South Denboro--join, was the mercantile and social
center of Denboro. Simeon Eldredge kept the store, and Simeon was
also postmaster, as well as the town constable, undertaker, and
auctioneer. If you wanted a spool of thread, a coffin, or the latest bit of
gossip, you applied at Eldredge's. The gossip you could be morally
certain of getting at once; the thread or the coffin you might have to
wait for.
I scarcely know why I went to Eldredge's that morning. I did not expect
mail, and I did not require Simeon's services in any one of his
professional capacities. Possibly Lute's suggestion had some sort of
psychic effect and I stopped at the post-office involuntarily. At any rate,
I woke from the trance in which the encounter with the automobile had

left me to find myself walking in at the door.
The mail was not yet due, to say nothing of having arrived or been
sorted, but there was a fair-sized crowd on the settees and perched on
the edge of the counter. Ezra Mullet was there, and Alonzo Black and
Alvin Baker and Thoph Newcomb. Beriah Doane and Sam Cahoon,
who lived in South Denboro, were there, too, having driven over
behind Beriah's horse, on an errand; that is, Beriah had an errand and
Sam came along to help him remember it. In the rear of the store, by
the frame of letter boxes, Captain Jedediah Dean was talking with
Simeon.
Alvin Baker saw me first and hailed me as I entered.
"Here's Ros Paine," he exclaimed. "He'll know more about it than
anybody else. Hey, Ros, how many hired help does he keep, anyhow?
Thoph says it's eight, but I know I counted more'n that, myself."
"It's eight, I tell you," broke in Newcomb, before I could answer.
"There's the two cooks and the boy that waits on 'em--"
"The idea of having anybody wait on a cook!" interrupted Mullet.
"That's blame foolishness."
"I never said he waited on the cooks. I said he waited on them--on the
family. And there's a coachman--"
"Why do they call them kind of fellers coachmen?" put in Thoph.
"There ain't any coach. I see the carriages when they come--two freight
cars full of 'em. There was a open two-seater, and a buckboard, and that
high-wheeled thing they called a dog-cart."
Beriah Doane laughed uproariously. "Land of love!" he shouted. "Does
the dog have a cart all to himself? That's a good one! You and me ain't
got no dog, Sam, but we might have a couple of cat- carts, hey? Haw!
haw!"
Thoph paid no attention to this pleasantry. "There was the dog- cart,"

he repeated, "and another thing they called the 'trap.' But there wan't
any coach; I'll swear to it."
"Don't make no difference," declared Alvin; "there was a man along
that SAID he was the coachman, anyhow. And a big minister-lookin'
feller who was a butler, and two hired girls besides the cooks. That's
nine, anyhow. One more'n you said, Thoph."
"And that don't count the chauffeur, the chap that runs the
automobiles," said Alonzo Black. "He's the tenth. Say, Ros," turning to
me, "how many is there, altogether?"
"How many what?" I asked. It was my first opportunity to speak.
"Why, hired help--servants, you know. How many does Mr. Colton
keep?"
"I don't know how many he keeps," I said. "Why should I?"
The group looked at me in amazement. Thoph Newcomb voiced the
general astonishment.
"Why should you!" he repeated. "Why shouldn't you, you mean! You're
livin' right next