He looked down at his faded woolen shirt and lifted his hand to his greasy sombrero. "Oh, no! I can't do that."
She laughed. "You ought to be able to stand it if I can. I'd be rather proud of having 'Black Mose' in my carriage."
"I guess not," he said. There was a cadence in these three words to which she bowed her head. She surrendered her notion quickly.
"Come down to the Palace with me."
"All right, I'll do that," he replied without interest.
"Meet me there in half an hour."
"All right."
He did not reply but took her extended hand, while the young fellow in the postal cage grinned with profound appreciation. After the princess went out this clerk said, "Pard, you've struck it rich."
Mose turned and his eyebrows lowered dangerously. "Keep to your letter punchin', young feller, and you'll enjoy better health."