Office."

The Postmaster had seemingly miscalculated the old man's infirm temper
and the daughter's skillful use of it. He was unprepared for Flip's
boldness and audacity, and when he saw that both barrels of the
accusation had taken effect on the charcoal burner, who was rising
with epileptic rage, he fairly turned and fled. The old man would have
followed him with objurgation beyond the door, but for the restraining
hand of Flip.

Baffled and beaten, nevertheless Fate was not wholly unkind to the
retreating suitor. Near the Gin and Ginger Woods he picked up a letter
which had fallen from Flip's pocket. He recognized the writing, and did
not scruple to read it. It was not a love epistle,--at least, not such a
one as he would have written,--it did not give the address nor the name
of the correspondent; but he read the following with greedy eyes:--


"Perhaps it's just as well that you don't rig yourself out for the
benefit of those dead beats at the Crossing, or any tramp that might
hang round the ranch. Keep all your style for me when I come. I can't
tell you when, it's mighty uncertain before the rainy season. But
I'm coming soon. Don't go back on your promise about lettin up on the
tramps, and being a little more high-toned. And don't you give 'em so
much. It's true I sent you hats TWICE. I clean forgot all about the
first; but I wouldn't have given a ten-dollar hat to a nigger woman
who had a sick baby because I had an extra hat. I'd have let that baby
slide. I forgot to ask whether the skirt is worn separately; I must see
the dressmaking sharp about it; but I think you'll want something on
besides a jacket and skirt; at least, it looks like it up here. I don't