“Any more posts to-night?” Micky asked jerkily, on the second day.
Driver eyed the clock.
“There should be one at nine, sir.”
But nine came, and half-past, and no post.
“Is it too late for the post now, Driver?” Micky asked feverishly, when it was nearly ten.
“The post went by, sir,” was the answer. “I was down at the door and saw the postman pass.”
Micky went back to his chair. It was all he could expect, he told himself––there had been no answer to his letter: there never would be an answer now.
When Driver came into the room again, Micky said without looking up––
“Pack that bag again, there’s a good fellow, will you?”