"There's a government detective somewhere in these parts. But mum's the word."
His spirits still in the ascendant, Little Snap pursued his way, to be met at the Hollow Tree with an altogether different reception.
"'Pears to me yer stock of imperdence is equal to yer rascality," said Shag, who was sitting in the doorway, smoking a black clay pipe.
"Here is the mail pouch, Mr. Shag. You were not here last evening, so I could not leave yesterday's up mail."
"The rules and regulations don't say I shall keep the offis open all night to 'commodate a postman who comes erlong when he's a mind to."
"You knew well enough I would come as soon as circumstances would permit."
"I know a mighty sight better thet ye won't hev a chance to repeat yer slipshod way o' doin' bizness arter to-day. Put thet in yer pipe an' smoke it."
Having delivered this speech, Mr. Shag entered his humble office to sort the mail, followed by Little Snap, who had firmly decided to watch every postmaster on the route as he handled the mail.
When Shag had clumsily gone through with his examination, he handed the pouch back to the postboy without comment.
Though plied with questions, Little Snap made his trip without any incident worth recording, until he got back to Salt Works, when he was met with the surprising statement: