“Hurry up, Org! Come on here! I see you!” his sister called.
Her last remark was an absolute falsehood. She did not see him. But angels have a language of their own. It is not possible to command their attendance by ordinary earthly methods, and Virginia’s way succeeded.
“Aw, what you want, Gince? A feller can’t have no time to himself when you are around.”
“I want stamps, Org,” the girl said sweetly. “Take this fifty-cent piece and bring me back twenty-five twos.”
“What’s the name of that there woman in that post-office?”
“Miss Paunee,” she told him.
“It sounds like a mustang name to me,” Org remarked, pocketing the money ungraciously, and starting away with his hat pulled down over his eyes.
A moment later he assumed his former character, that of a prowling Indian, and his progress toward the street was from bush to bush and from tree to tree. He crept noiselessly down the street, looking from side to side with alert watchfulness, giving each bit of shrubbery and clump of weeds a careful inspection in anticipation of lurking enemies. When he came to the brow of the hill he ran downward at full speed. It was easier to run than to walk; slower speed would require the effort of holding back, and a genuine Indian hates work. At the foot of the hill he stopped like a clock with a broken spring.
There stood before him a little negro boy, almost exactly his size, and apparently his own age. Org’s first impression was that the stranger was certainly dark-complected, there being no variation in the color scheme except the whites of his eyes. Org’s next thought was that the darky was queerly dressed.
He was wearing a woman’s silk shirt-waist; his coat had originally belonged to some woman’s coat-suit, adjusted to the present wearer by bobbing its tail. His trousers had once belonged to some man who was much larger in the waist and much longer in the leg; but the present owner of the nether garments had made certain clumsy adjustments and the trousers made a sort of fit. The stranger’s legs were covered with a woman’s purple-silk stockings, and on his flat feet were a pair of high-heeled pumps.