For she meant to accept Clarendon Bromfield in her own good time and make her social position in New York absolutely secure. She had been in the fringes too long not to appreciate a chance to get into the social Holy of Holies.
CHAPTER X
JOHNNIE SEES THE POSTMASTER
A bow-legged little man in a cheap, wrinkled suit with a silk kerchief knotted loosely round his neck stopped in front of a window where a girl was selling stamps.
"I wantta see the postmaster."
"Corrid'y'right. Takel'vatorthir'doorleft," she said, just as though it were two words.
The freckle-faced little fellow opened wider his skim-milk eyes and his weak mouth. "Come again, ma'am, please."
"Corrid'y'right. Takel'vatorthir'doorleft," she repeated. "Next."
The inquirer knew as much as he did before, but he lacked the courage to ask for an English translation. A woman behind was prodding him between the shoulder-blades with the sharp edge of a package wrapped for mailing. He shuffled away from the window and wandered helplessly, swept up by the tide of hurrying people that flowed continuously into the building and ebbed out of it. From this he was tossed into a backwater that brought him to another window.
"I wantta see the postmaster of this burg," he announced again with a plaintive whine.