The tourists’ train was scheduled to leave Denver at eleven-thirty that night, so that there was ample time after the game for a leisurely meal and a few hours for recreation for any of the party that felt so inclined.
Some went to the theater, others played cards, while others sat about the lobby of the leading hotel and discussed the exciting events of the afternoon’s game.
As for Joe and Jim, their recreation took the form of long letters to two charming young ladies whose address, by coincidence, happened to be Riverside. Both seemed to have much to write about, for it was nearly ten o’clock before the bulky letters were ready for mailing.
“Give them to me and I’ll take them down to the hotel lobby and mail them,” said Jim, as they rose from the writing table.
“I don’t know,” replied Joe, as he looked at his watch. “Perhaps the last collection for the 104 outgoing eastbound mail has already been made. What do you say to going down to the post-office itself and dropping them in there? Then they’ll be sure to go.”
“All right,” Jim acquiesced. “It’s a dandy night anyway for a walk and I’d like to stretch my legs a little. Come along.”
They went out into the brilliantly lighted streets, which at that hour were still full of people, and turned toward the post-office which was about half a mile distant.
As they were passing a corner, Jim suddenly clutched Joe’s arm.
“Did you see that fellow who went into that saloon just now?” he asked, indicating a rather pretentious café.
“No,” said Joe, dryly. “But it isn’t such an unusual thing that I’d pay a nickel to see it.”