“I do. I work hard yet—gitting up at five every morning, winter an’ summer, and milkin’ twelve to sixteen keows.”
So the talk ran on until the post office was reached, when both left the car.
“Now, if you will wait here a minute, I’ll get my case of books,” said Frank. “I left them in a store a short distance away.”
“Wot place is this?”
“This is the New York post office.”
“Thought it might be, but I wasn’t sure. It’s about the biggest post office I ever see. Wonder if there’s a letter fer me?”
“You can easily find out, Mr. Perkins. Wait till I find the proper window for you.”
“Can’t a feller go to any winder?”
“No.”
“To hum, there ain’t but one winder. The post office is in Si Hopper’s grocery store,” and Joel Perkins chuckled.