Thursday morning, after breakfast, she and Robert remained behind to chat.
“Does Jimmy Anderson, who has that expensive gift shop in the city, still call himself the Duke of Albania?" Robert asked.
“Of course. And I address him as such in case a customer is in the shop."
“How does this work? I don't think I'd trust him an inch to be fair," Robert said.
“We agree on a reasonable price for each piece. He can add his profit to that, I take my meager commission out of the reasonable price and pay back the remainder to Mr. Kessler. What Jimmy and I agree is 'reasonable' is quite a high price to begin with because they sell so well.”
She went on to tell Robert about Agatha smelling her well-used textbook because it smelled like so many other people. Then she asked, "Did you get a lot of signatures last night?"
“More than twenty, including one of the old bats. She apparently can't read or write so she signed with an X.”
Lily laughed out loud. "She just goes along for the other ones to read the return addresses? So what happens next?"
“I made an appointment to talk to the town treasurer and show him the signatures and explain the rest.”
“What is the 'rest'?"
“That the Harbinger boys will make the letter boxes with scrap wood, but will charge for the work. Then they install hardware—which the city also pays for—that will hold combination locks. Customers buy these for themselves. We then buy duplicate numbered coupons that the fIrst two hundred people sign up and pay a dollar for."
“Who gets the money?"
“Well, I do at first. But I have to give half of it back to the city treasurer. Then once a year, everybody who wants to keep their box, pays another dollar, and again half goes back to the city. If somebody doesn't get enough mail to make it worth it, and wants to give it up, whoever is sorting gets to resell the box for the full price and keep all of it."
“Sounds complicated to me."
“Not really. The sorter makes half the money up front, and half each year, the whole amount if somebody gives up a box. And a meager payment back from the city every month."
“So there's actually money to make at the job?"
“Up front, of course. Not so much as it goes on. But I've been thinking of saving half of whatever I make when it goes into business, then give the other half to whoever takes over from me," Robert explained.
“Who are you considering passing the job to?"
“Maybe that Susan person who works at the movie house selling tickets. She probably would make more money on this for less work and wouldn't have to get her sister—who raises rabbits—to take care of Susan's kids every night."
“So it would be a day job while her kids are in school? What a good idea. Did you really think this all out for yourself?"
“Well, I had a little help from Howard and Harry Harbinger. And I ran into Mrs. White, who asked about it after signing, and she suggested Susan Gasset. By the way, is that ladies' group still going on?"
“The Voorburg Ladies' League? Yes, but it doesn't meet as often as it used to. Mrs. White had to give up the idea of the trading truck going around to houses. It was too complicated to compute what equaled what else. Especially for foods that got old fast. We only meet every other month now and make things for the poor. Blankets, quilts, winter gloves, and two in the group are experts at knitting woolen socks for every size. It's a bit hard to get excited about it in nice weather like this. But by winter we'll have a good supply."
“I must go," Robert said, consulting his watch. "My appointment is at ten and I want to be early.”
At dinner that night, Robert bragged, deservedly, on his coup. "First, I told the treasurer why I'd become interested in this. About the old ladies going through other people's mail and speculating if one person's mail should be destroyed before she saw it. The treasurer was appalled."
“So he should have been," Mrs. Tarkington said. "Then he started asking me questions about what it would cost and what percentage of the profits should be returned to the town council—if any. I thought that remark boded well. I never expected he'd not automatically demand reimbursement."
“Maybe he feels that the town council is truly responsible for the welfare of Voorburg residents," Lily said.
“He'd fund the grade school more generously if he felt that way," Mrs. Tarkington said. "We're teaching with old books that we keep having to paste back together. They're all out of date."
“Then you take up a petition, too," Robert said.
“I may do so. It seems to have worked with you," Mrs. Tarkington said, realizing too late that she'd offended him.
Mrs. Prinney spoke up. "What's the next step, Robert?"
“The treasurer is calling a special meeting of the whole council tomorrow. He wants me there to explain to them what I told him."
“Doesn't anybody else get to help make the decision?" Howard Walker asked. "Shouldn't there be some sort of public meeting? After all, the town council receives the money they can dispense from public taxes."
“I don't know," Robert admitted. "We didn't talk about that. You may be right. I'll make a note to myself to ask that tomorrow.”
Robert had one more piece of information to find before the meeting. He went to locate Harry Harbinger to find out what Harry and his brother Jim would charge to construct the boxes, what the hardware would cost, including their fee for putting it on.
“I've been thinking about this. We're talking two hundred boxes, tops. The labor for it I'd estimate at a week, plus another day or two to get the hardware and the sorting table inside installed. I'd need the cost for the hardware to be paid in advance. I'd estimate thirty dollars for labor and ten for the hardware, maybe five for the sorting table, door lock, and labor. If it's less, I'd settle on the actual cost."
“That sounds reasonable to me," Robert said. "It's a lot of work.”
He wrote it down in the notebook he'd bought. Ten up front for hardware. Thirty for labor, five for the table, door, and lock.
Robert was early for the meeting. It was held at the dining room table in the treasurer's house. The treasurer, Peter Winchel, a man who was at least fifty and had a very deep voice, was already at the head of the table, going over the notes he'd made of their earlier conversation. And other questions and suggestions he thought of and anticipated.
“You're a bit early, Mr. Brewster. It's good that you are. Are you prepared to tell us the cost of building the sorting area?"
“I am, sir."
“And the estimated time it will take?"
“Yes."
“Another thing I want to bring up," Winchel said, "is what to call it. I don't think we can call it a post office. The real postal system wouldn't like it. So we'll need to talk about a different title for this project, if the rest of the council approves it."
“I'll give this some thought. Do you think it's going to be approved?"
“I'm fairly certain it will. I want you to be ready to tell what you saw and heard that made you bring this to our attention. The women going through everyone's mail and don't forget to mention the woman who said that someone else's letter should be destroyed for her own good. Don't name names, of course."
“I don't know their names anyway.”
The other four members were prompt. A Mr. Horsely was the secretary and opened his notebook, and laid out a pen and inkwell. He was a thin, scholarly-looking man, probably in his forties. Next was a big, scowling man who looked a bit like a bulldog, with a projecting lower jaw and mottled red, freckled flesh pushed up by his tight collar. He was introduced as Arnold Wood. "What's this all about?" he barked as he took his place at the table.
The treasurer said patiently, `All will be explained when the rest are here, Arnold.”
The other two joined them the next moment. Men in their fifties wearing rather shabby clothes, but pleasant expressions. Robert learned these were Todd Taylor and Jake Wilson, who had a cobbler's shop in town.
“Gentlemen, this is Mr. Robert Brewster, who lives up on the hill at Grace and Favor. You may already know him."
“The boy who drives the fancy big yellow car all over the place." Arnold Wood sneered.
Boy? Robert thought, but kept his face from showing his irritation.
The treasurer ignored this remark, and proceeded. "Mr. Brewster and Mr. Buchanan observed something going on at the train station that they've reported to me that needs attention. I'll turn this over to Mr. Brewster to explain.”
Robert stood up. He felt he'd have a better presence that way. He told, briefly and unemotionally, about the three women going through everyone else's mail, which was in sacks on the floor, and making personal comments, including one about a certain woman in town. She had received a letter with a return address; they thought the letter shouldn't be delivered because it was from someone they didn't approve of. They had debated destroying it. At that point, Robert was called away to the train that was arriving with a package for him. "I don't know if they destroyed it or not," he said in an effort to be fair.
There was silence except for an audible gasp from one of the cobblers.
The other cobbler said, "That's horrible. What can we do about it? I don't have any guilty correspondence, but I wouldn't want to have three old bats pawing over my mail!"
“Nobody would," the secretary said, as he was writing down what Robert had reported. "May I ask a question?" The treasurer nodded.
“Does this happen regularly?"
“I've only observed it once. But the stationmaster, Mr. Buchanan, says they do it almost every day. You can check this with him, if you wish.”
The treasurer said, "Mr. Brewster figured out how much this would cost and has a floor plan to show you. He's also consulted with local workers, Harry and Jim Harbinger, about the cost. I'll let you explain this, Mr. Brewster.”
Robert did so. He passed around copies of the plan, showing the area behind the boxes, the worktable, and the locked door. "The station, as you know, is enormous. It won't crowd the seating area or the booking area. The boxes will be open at the back and customers will pay for their own locks. The hardware to attach these locks is included in the bid from the Harbingers.”
Everyone agreed that it was not only a good idea, but a reasonable price.
Mr. Horsely asked, "How long would it take?"
“The Harbingers say two to three weeks. Closer to two. But they want to allow for three," Robert informed them.
“Now, there's a question or two I have," the treasurer said. "Mr. Brewster and I already touched on this. We can't call it a post office. We need to think up another name.
“Letter and Package Center?" Mr. Horsely suggested. There were nods to this and a vote was taken. Only Arnold Wood abstained from voting.
“The second thing is this," the treasurer went on. "Mr. Brewster has what I consider a somewhat elaborate plan for paying the person who does the sorting. I won't bother you with the details. My suggestion is we decide how much work this job will entail, how many hours it will take, and what would be a fair amount of financial reimbursement for whoever does the work. In return, I'd recommend that a very small percentage of the cost to the customers to rent the boxes, and for the lottery tickets to acquire a box, be reimbursed at five percent up front, but only for long enough to cover our initial investment, then the annual cost of the box should be set by us, and the sorter pay us the same percent as a town tax on the property.”
Again, the group agreed and voted. This time Arnold Wood voted with the rest of them.
“One more question, Mr. Brewster," the treasurer asked. "Who's going to do this?”
Robert smiled and said, "Chief Walker suggested that I do it, because I started this, but I don't need the job right now—”
Arnold Wood butted in. "Chief Walker! The man's an incompetent. Why, he doesn't even know yet who killed that man McBride. We need a new chief of police. He's always slow on the job.”
Robert couldn't resist this jab. "That's probably because he always waits until he has proof of who committed the crime instead of just accusing someone."
“Sure, you'd say that. He lives in luxury, I hear, at your mansion. Great pal of yours. Do you know who he suspects?"
“We don't discuss his job over the dinner table, sir," Robert snapped. "He's a boarder just like the milliner and the principal of the grade school and we don't question them about their jobs. It's none of our business, or yours, for that matter." Robert turned to the treasurer and said, "To get back to the subject at hand, I thought about asking Mrs. Susan Gasset if she'd like to take the job. She's the cashier now at the movie theater, and it's a long hard day for which she's probably paid a pittance, and her children seldom see her. Her sister takes care of them. This would be a day job while the children are in school. I haven't approached her yet, and would prefer to get her opinion before we decide."
“A girl doing a job that should go to a man?" Arnold Wood shouted.
Robert said, "Mr. Wood, do you have any idea how many men have run off and left their wives to cook and take care of the kids? How many women have done that? None that I know of."
“Arnold, shut up," the treasurer said, standing up, red in the face. "Mr. Brewster is right. In my experience women are smarter and harder working than men anyway. Furthermore, none of them here in town have run out on their families like so many men in town have done. You are the rudest man I've ever known. I'll accept your resignation, if you'd care to submit it. Meeting adjourned until Mr. Brewster talks to Mrs. Gasset.”
Everyone fled the meeting as quickly as they could, leaving Arnold behind.
“Bastards. All of you," Arnold shouted.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ROBERT'S NEXT STOP after the meeting concluded was the train station. "Mr. Buchanan, could you tell me how many mail trains come in on any given day?"
“Three. One at seven-thirty in the morning. That's the biggest since most of the mail comes from New York City overnight. Normally three bags. Then the noon one is usually two bags. The last one of the day is at four and it's almost always one bag. But there is no delivery on Sunday at all. So each Monday morning is commonly four bags."