“Can’ tell yo’ that, sah; reckon, though, jes’ ‘New Yo’k’ will fin’ him.”
“But isn’t there anyone here in town that can give me his address?”
“Don’ reckon so.”
“But his mail, where does that go?”
“Folkses at the pos’-office lookin’ arter that, sah.”
“Oh! And is Miss Fletcher with him?”
“Yessah.”
“Thank you. I think I will leave my card. Will you kindly see that he gets it when he returns?”
Burton tried the post-office without, however, much hope of success. And, as he had expected, the post-mistress, an elderly lady with an extremely suspicious expression about her thin lips, refused to divulge any information.
