Post Haste Part 19

"Come," he said, in a hearty tone, "I don't bear you no ill-will for the crack on the nut you gave me, and you've surely no occasion to bear ill-will to a man you floored so neatly. Shake hands."

The familiarity, not to say insolence, of this proposal, from one so much beneath him, would probably have induced the youth to turn aside with scorn, but the flattering reference to his pugilistic powers from one who was no mean antagonist softened his feelings.

"Well, I'm sure that I bear _you_ no ill-will," he said, with a smile, extending his hand.

"Bah! chicken-livers," exclaimed the small boy, turning away in supreme contempt.

"And I a.s.sure you," continued Aspel, "I had no intention of doing you injury. But no doubt a stout fellow like you didn't let a knock-down blow interfere with his next day's work."

"His next day's work!" repeated Mr Bones, with a chuckle. "It would be a queer blow as would interfere with my work. Why, guv'nor, I hain't got no work at all" Here he put on a very lugubrious expression.

"P'r'aps you won't believe it, sir, but I do a.s.sure you that I haven't, in them hard times, had a full day's work for ever so long. And I haven't earned a rap this day, except the penny I got for postin' this here letter."

George Aspel, besides being, as we have said, a kind-hearted man, was unusually ignorant of the ways of the world, especially the world of London. He believed Abel Bones at once, and spoke in quite a softened, friendly tone as he replied--

"I'm sorry to hear that, and would gladly help you if I could, but, to tell you the truth, Mr Bones, I'm not in flouris.h.i.+ng circ.u.mstances myself. Still, I may perhaps think of some way of helping you. Post your letter, and I'll walk with you while we talk over it."

The man ran up the steps, posted his letter, which had missed the mail-- though he did not appear to care for that--and returned.

Although we have spoken of this man as a confirmed drunkard, it must not be supposed that he had reached the lowest state of degradation. Like George Aspel, he had descended from a higher level in the social scale.

Of course, his language proved that he had never been in the rank of a gentleman, but in manners and appearance he was much above the unhappy outcasts amongst whom he dwelt. Moreover, he had scarcely reached middle life, and was, or had been, a handsome man, so that, when he chose to dress decently and put on a sanctimonious look (which he could do with much facility), he seemed quite a respectable personage.

"Now, guv'nor, I'm at your sarvice," he said. "This is my way. Is it yours?"

"Yes--any way will do," continued Aspel. "Now let me hear about you. I owe you some sort of reparation for that blow. Have you dined?--will you eat?"

"Well, no; thank 'ee all the same, but I've no objection to drink."

They chanced to be near a public-house as he spoke. It would be difficult in some thoroughfares of London to stop _without_ chancing to be near a public-house!

They entered, and Aspel, resolving to treat the man handsomely, called for brandy and soda. It need scarcely be said that at that hour the brandy and soda was by no means the first of its kind that either of the men had imbibed that day. Over it they became extremely confidential and chatty. Mr Bones was a lively and sensible fellow. It was noticeable, too, that his language improved and his demeanour became more respectful as the acquaintance progressed. After a time they rose.

Aspel paid for the brandy and soda, and they left the place in company.

Leaving them, we shall return to St. Martin's-le-Grand, and follow the footsteps of no less a personage than Miss Lillycrop, for it so happened that that enthusiastic lady, having obtained permission to view the interior of the Post-Office, had fixed on that evening for her visit.

But we must go back a little in time--to that period when the postal jaws were about to open for the reception of the evening mail.

Ever since Miss Lillycrop's visit to the abode of Solomon Flint, she had felt an increasing desire to see the inside and the working of that mighty engine of State about which she had heard so much. A permit had been procured for her, and her cousin, May Maylands, being off duty at that hour, was able to accompany her.

They were handed over to the care of a polite and intelligent letter-sorter named Bright. The sorter seemed fully to appreciate and enter into Miss Lillycrop's spirit of inquiry. He led her and May to the inside--the throat, as it were--of those postal jaws, the exterior aspect of which we have already described. On the way thither they had to pa.s.s through part of the great letter-sorting hall. It seemed to Miss Lillycrop's excited imagination as if she had been suddenly plunged over head and ears into a very ocean of letters. From that moment onwards, during her two hours' visit, she swam, as it were, among snowy billows of literature.

"This is the receiving-box--the inside of it," said Mr Bright, as he led the way through a gla.s.s door into a species of closet or compartment about six feet by ten in dimension, or thereabouts, with a low roof.

"This way ladies. Stand here on one side. They are just going to open it."

The visitors saw in front of them a recess, divided by a part.i.tion, in which were two large baskets. A few letters were falling into these as they entered. Glancing upwards, they saw a long slit, through which a number of curious human eyes peeped for a moment, and disappeared, to be replaced by other eyes. Little spurts of letters came intermittently through the slit and fell into the baskets. These, when full, were seized by two attendants, dragged away, and replaced by empty ones.

Suddenly the upper lip of the slit, or postal mouth, rose.

"Oh, May, look!" exclaimed Miss Lillycrop eagerly.

Not only the eyes but the heads and shoulders of the moving public now became visible to those inside, while the intermittent spurts became gradually a continuous shower of letters. The full significance of the old superscription, "Haste, post haste, for thy life," now began to dawn on Miss Lillycrop. The hurry, mentioned elsewhere in our description of the outside view, increased as the minutes of grace flew by, and the visitors fairly laughed aloud when they saw the cataract of correspondence--the absolute waterfall, with, now and then, a bag or an entire bandboxful of letters, like a loosened boulder--that tumbled into the baskets below.

From this letter-fall Miss Lillycrop was led, speechless, by her cicerone, followed by May, to whom the scene was not quite new, and whose chief enjoyment of it consisted in observing her interested and excitable friend's surprise.

Mr Bright led them back to the great sorting-room, where the energetic labour of hundreds of men and boys--facing, carrying, stamping, distributing, sorting, etcetera--was going on full swing. Everywhere there was rapid work, but no hurry; busy and varied action, but no confusion; a hum of mingled voice and footfall, but no unnecessary noise. It was a splendid example of the power of orderly and united action. To Miss Lillycrop it conveyed the idea of hopeless and irretrievable confusion!

Mounting a staircase, Mr Bright conducted the ladies to a gallery from which they had a bird's-eye view of the entire hall. It was, in truth, a series of rooms, connected with the great central apartment by archways. Through these--extending away in far perspective, so that the busy workers in the distance became like miniature men--could be seen rows on rows of facing and sorting-tables, covered, heaped up, and almost hidden, by the snows of the evening mail. Here the chaos of letters, books, papers, etcetera, was being reduced to order--the whole under the superintendence of a watchful gentleman, on a raised platform in the centre, who took good care that England should not only _expect_, but also be _a.s.sured_, that every man and boy did his duty.

Miss Lillycrop glanced at the clock opposite. It was a quarter to seven.

"Do you mean to tell me," she said, turning full on Mr Bright, and pointing downwards, "that that ocean of letters will be gone, and these tables emptied by eight o'clock?"

"Indeed I do, ma'am; and more than what you see there, for the district bags have not all come in yet. By eight o'clock these tables will be as bare as the palm of my hand."

Mr Bright extended a large and manly palm by way of emphasising his remark.

Miss Lillycrop was too polite to say, "That's a lie!" but she firmly, though mutely, declined to believe it.

"D'you observe the tables just below us, ma'am?"

He pointed to what might have been six large board-room tables, surrounded by boys and men as close as they could stand. As, however, the tables in question were covered more than a foot deep with letters, Miss Lillycrop only saw their legs.

"These are the facing-tables," continued Mr Bright. "All that the men and lads round 'em have got to do with the letters there is to arrange them for the stampers, with their backs and stamps all turned one way.

We call that facing the letters. They have also to pick out and pitch into baskets, as you see, all book-packets, parcels, and newspapers that may have been posted by mistake in the letter-box."

While the sorter went on expounding matters, one of the tables had begun to show its wooden surface as its "faced" letters were being rapidly removed, but just then a man with a bag on his shoulder came up, sent a fresh cataract of letters on the blank spot, and re-covered it.

Presently a stream of men with bags on their backs came in.

"These are the district mails, ma'am," explained Mr Bright; "during the last half-hour and more they have been hurrying towards us from all quarters of London; the nearest being brought by men on foot, the more distant bags by vans. Some are still on their way; all will concentrate here at last, in time for sorting."

The contents of these bags as they came in were shot out, and the facing-tables--all of which had begun to show symptoms of the flood going down and dry land appearing--were flooded and reflooded again and again to a greater depth than before.

"The mail will be late to-night," observed Miss Lillycrop, with an a.s.sured nod.

"O no, ma'am, it won't," replied Bright, with an easy smile, and May laughed as they returned to the hall to inspect the work in detail.

"Here, you see, we stamp the letters."

Mr Bright stopped in front of a long table, at which was standing a row of stampers, who pa.s.sed letters under the stamps with amazing rapidity.

Each man or youth grasped a stamp, which was connected with a machine on a sort of universal joint. It was a miniature printing-machine, with a little inking-roller, which was moved over the types each time by the mere process of stamping, so the stamper had only to pa.s.s the letters under the die with the one hand and stamp with the other as fast as he could. The rate varied, of course, considerably. Nervous and anxious stampers ill.u.s.trated more or less the truth of the proverb, "The more hurry the less speed," while quiet, steady hands made good progress.

They stamped on the average from 100 to 150 letters in the minute, each man.

"You see, ma'am," remarked Mr Bright, "it's the way all the world over: cool-headed men who know their powers always get on best. The stamping-machine is a great improvement on the old system, where you had to strike the inker first, and then the letter. It just doubled the action and the time. We have another ingeniously contrived stamp in the office. It might not occur to you that stamping parcels and other articles of irregular shape is rather difficult, owing to the stamper not striking flatly on them. To obviate this, one of our own men invented a stamp with an india-rubber neck, so that, no matter how irregular the surface of the article may be, the face of the stamp is forced flat upon it by one blow."

"When stamped," continued Mr Bright, moving on, "the letters are taken by boys, as you see, to the sorters. You observe that each sorter has a compartment or frame before him, with separate divisions in it for the great towns only, such as Manchester, Liverpool, Birmingham, Brighton, etcetera. Now, you know"--here he stopped and a.s.sumed an impressive explanatory tone--"you couldn't expect any single man to sort the letters for every town and village in the kingdom--could you, ma'am?"

Miss Lillycrop admitted that she could not indulge such an expectation, and further expressed her belief that any man who could must be little better than a lunatic.

"But every man you see here," continued Mr Bright, "has batch after batch of letters put before him, which may contain letters from anywhere to everywhere. So, you see, we subdivide the work. The sorters you are now looking at sort the letters for the large towns into separate sections, and all the rest into divisions representing the various parts of the country, such as northern, southern, etcetera. The letters are then collected by the boys you see going up and down the hall."