“What is a Postmasters’ Pro—what you said?”
“Provisional?” laughed Mr. Chase. “I’ll show you.” He reached under the table and pulled out a big square album, and Willard moved his chair nearer. “Provisional stamps were made and issued by postmasters in the days before we had a national postage stamp system. Here’s one issued in Trenton, New Jersey, and here’s one from Portland, Maine. See? Some of them are pretty simple; just the name of the office and the words ‘Paid—5.’ They’re interesting, though, and, as I say, some of them bring a lot of money.”
“How—how much did those cost?” asked Willard eagerly.
“These? Oh, not much. This one was twelve and—let me see—that was eight, I think, and——”
“Eight cents!”
“Hardly! Eight dollars, my boy.”
“Well—well, if they came from some other place would they be worth that much?” stammered Willard.
“Depends on how many there are; how rare they happen to be. It’s scarcity that fixes the prices on stamps—and most other things.”
“Supposing they were from Alexandria, Virginia,” Willard pursued rather breathlessly.
Mr. Chase closed the book and replaced it under the table.