“How dare you study the handwriting on my letters, sir!”
“What’s the use of being postmaster? There ain’t no big money in it. I just take pride in the office,” said Sam genially. “That’s a new one, ain’t it?”
Gaston looked at the letter incredulously. It was a new one,—a big square envelope with a seal on the back of it, addressed to him in the most delicate feminine hand, and postmarked “Independence.”
“Great Scott, this is interesting,” he cried, breaking the seal.
When the postmaster saw he was going to open it right there in the office, he stepped around in front and looking over his shoulder said, “What is it, Charlie?”
“It’s an invitation from the Ladies’ Memorial Association to deliver the Memorial day oration at Independence the 10th of May. That’s great. No money in it, but scores of pretty girls, big speech, congratulations, the lion of the hour! Don’t you wish you were really a man of brains, Sam?”
“No, no, I’m married. It would be a waste now.”
“Sam, I ’ll be there. Got the biggest speech of my life all cocked and primed, full of pathos and eloquence,—been working on it at odd times for four years. They ’ll think it a sudden inspiration.”
“What’s the name of it?”
“The Message of the New South to the Glorious Old.”