The rather bizarre question startled the girl out of her melancholy thoughts. She looked at Whittaker as though she had completely forgotten his presence.
"The post," she repeated. "There is no post out of Elmdale this evening. Miggles passed through the village hours ago."
"Miggles?"
"He's the postman. We either see him ourselves or leave letters at Thompson's, the grocer's, before four o'clock."
"Then neither letter nor telegram can be dispatched to-night?"
"Yes. If you care to pay mileage to Bellerby, and the message is handed in before eight, Thompson will send a boy with a telegram."
Whittaker glanced at his watch. The hour was half-past six.
"How far is Bellerby?" he said. "Tell me in terms of the clock, not in miles, which, as a method of reckoning in Yorkshire, conveys a sense of infinity."
"A boy can bicycle there in half an hour."
"Then, footsore as I am, I shall hie me to Thompson's."