“I’m afraid not,” returned Mr. Matson. “I’ve had to spend more money than I expected in perfecting that invention of mine. But there’s nothing in the world that I would like more than to see Joe pitch, if it were only a single game.”
Clara soon reached the little post-office and asked for the Matson mail. There were several letters in their box, but none from Joe.
She was much disappointed, as in Joe’s last telegram he had told her that a letter was on the way and to look out for it.
She had turned away and was going out of the office, when the postmaster called her back.
“Just wait a minute,” he said. “I see I’ve got something for you here in the registered mail.”
He handed her a letter which Clara joyfully saw was addressed in Joe’s handwriting.
“It’s directed to your mother,” the postmaster went on, “but of course it will be all right if you sign for it.”
Clara eagerly signed the official receipt and hurried home with her precious letter.
“Did you get one from Joe?” asked her mother, eagerly.
“There wasn’t anything from him in the box,” said Clara, trying to look glum. Then as she saw her mother’s face fall, she added gaily: “But here’s one that the postmaster handed me. It came in the registered mail.”