A giggling girl was curious to know if that was why a man's photo is on it.
"Possibly," said our official, laughing. "But wait a bit. Look downstairs. As your mail falls in through that slot, or is brought in by a mailman it is put through an ink-daubing apparatus—that's it, right down in front of you—which totally ruins its stamp. How about your man's photo, now?"
A good laugh rang around, and our official said:—
"Now a man sorts it according to its inscription, puts it into a canvas bag and aboard a train, or possibly an aircraft. But that bag has mail going to points a long way apart, so a man in a mail car sorts it out, so that Chicago won't find mail in its bag which should go to California."
At this point our giggling girl said:—
"Ooooo! I had a Christmas card for Missouri go way down to Mississippi!"
"How did you mark it?"
"I put M-i-s-s for Missouri."
"Try M-o, and I wish you luck."
As that laugh ran round, our official said:—