"Want a job?" said Red.
"Well, I dunno," replied the boy. He was much astonished at the appearance of his interrogator, and he was a cautious New England boy to boot.
"You don't know?" retorted Red. "Well," with some sarcasm, "d'ye suppose I could find out at the post-office?"
The boy looked at Red with a twinkle in his eye, and a comical drawing of his long mouth.
"I calc'late if you cud fin' out anyweres, 'twould be there," said he.
Red laughed. He had noticed the busy post-mistress rushing out of her store to waylay anyone likely to have information on any subject, a stream of questions proceeding from her through the door.
"Say, you got anything particular to do?"
"No, sir—leastways th'ain't no hurry about it."
"Can I buy stuff to make a fence with, around here?"
"Yes, sir—Mister Pettigrew's got all kinds of buildin' material at his store—two mile over yonder," pointing with the whip.