“Yes, sir.”
Philip took the key and left the warehouse. When he reached the street he said to himself:
“I wonder where the post-office is?”
He did not like to confess to Mr. Sanderson that he did not know, for it would probably have been considered a disqualification for the post which he was filling.
“I had better walk to Broadway,” he said to himself. “I suppose the post-office must be on the principal street.”
In this Phil was mistaken. At that time the post-office was on Nassau Street, in an old church which had been utilized for a purpose very different from the one to which it had originally been devoted.
Reaching Broadway, Phil was saluted by a bootblack, with a grimy but honest-looking face.
“Shine your boots, mister?” said the boy, with a grin.
“Not this morning.”
“Some other morning, then?”