"The Postmaster"

[fiefoe]

Bless Joseph Lincoln, this is the ultimate comfort read as I remembered. Nary a villain in the book to speak of. When I first got my hands on the book, way back in high school, the retired sea-captain's contraction-rich speech gave me some trouble.

• "Zebulon Snow," I says to myself—not out loud, you understand; for, accordin' to Scriptur' or the Old Farmers' Almanac or somethin', a feller who talks to himself is either rich or crazy,
• his pen scratchin' away like a stray hen in a flower bed
• "Made their marks!" I put in. "Why? Couldn't they write their names?" He was dreadful shocked, but he explained. The Beanblossoms and their gang were big-bugs, fine folks.
• "If we didn't keep on buyin' we shouldn't lose half so much," he says. "Yes," says I, "that's logic. And if we give up sellin' we shouldn't lose the other half.
• "you can always hook a cod if there's any around and you keepin' changin' bait; ain't that so? Um-hm; well, I change bait, that's all. Every man, woman and suffragette has got a weak p'int somewheres.
• was so tipped back with dignity and importance that a plumb-line dropped from her after-hair comb would have missed her heels by three inches.
• "It is a Sargent," says she. Now I should have asked: "Sergeant of militia, or what?" and upset the whole calabash; but Jim Henry knew better.
• "And that," says I, "is what you call a life-saver! My nine-times great-granddad has your nine-times great-granddad hung and that removes all my objections to marryin' you. Oh, sure and sartin! Yes, indeed!"
• "Skipper, you put your faith in old Doctor Jacobs' Teethin' Syrup and Tonic for Business Infants."
• the Major appeared to be deliverin' a sermon, at least I heard a good many orthodox words in the course of it.
• A chowder without onions is like a camp-meetin' Sunday without your best girl—pretty flat and impersonal.