"Oh, go on, now; you fellows know I ain’t married." And the boy handled
the package with a sort of dumb wonder, as if the superscription were
indisputable evidence of a wife’s existence.

"Open it, Henry; you shore don’t harbor sentiments of curiosity regarding
the post-office dealings of your lady."

"Now, old man, this here may be grounds for divorce."

"See what the other fellow’s sending your wife."

Henry, badgered, jostled, the target of many a homely witticism, finally
opened the package, which proved to be a sample bottle of baby food. At
sight of it they howled like Apaches, and Henry was again forced to
receive their congratulations. Judith, who had been an interested
on-looker without joining in the merriment, now detected in the tenor of
their humor a tendency towards breadth. In an instant her manner was
official; rapping the table with her mailing-stamp, she announced:

"Boys, this post-office closes in ten minutes, if you want to buy any
stamps."

The silence following this statement on the part of the postmistress was
instantaneous. Henry took his mirth-provoking package and went his way;
some of the more hilariously inclined followed him. The remainder confined
themselves absolutely to business, scrawling postal-cards or reading their
mail. The pounce of the official stamp on the letters, as the postmistress
checked them off for the mail-bag, was the only sound in the hot
stillness.