"My mother, Flora? Nonsense! She's miles away!"
Flora dried her tears.
"I'll tell you all about it, Harry, love," she said. "A letter came to you this morning, addressed in your mother's writing, so, of course, I—I opened it."
"Of course," repeated Harry, love, dryly.
"It—it was written to you all the way through. Do you understand?"
"I understand. But where does the insult to you come in?"
"It—it came in the p-p-postscript," cried the wife, bursting into fresh floods of briny. "It s-said: 'P-P-P. S.—D-dear Flora, d-don't f-fail to give this l-letter to Harry. I w-want him to have it.'" "'Did you git 'em, boss?" he inquired eagerly.
"'Yes, here they are.'
"Mose looked at them ruefully, shaking his head. 'Ah'm po'ful sorry yo' got 'em, boss!'
"'Whats the matter? Has Easter gone back on you?'