seemed to surround every doorway. "I'll ask them in the post-office."
The post-office was a yellow-painted building that leaned for support against a blue cigar store. Like the majority of shacks in the town, it boasted of only one story, and a long counter, whittled with the initials of those who had waited for their mail, was its chief adornment.
Betty hitched Clover outside and entered the door to find the postmaster rapidly thumbing over a bunch of letters while a tall man in a pepper-and-salt suit waited, his back to the room.
"Can you tell me where to find a public telephone?" asked Betty, and at the sound of her voice, the man turned.
"Betty!" he ejaculated. "My dear child, how glad I am to see you!"
Mr. Gordon took the package of mail the postmaster handed him and thrust it into his coat pocket.
"The old car is outside," he assured his niece. "Let's go out and begin to get acquainted again."
Betty, beyond a radiant smile and a furtive hug, had said nothing, and when Mr. Gordon saw her in the sunlight he scrutinized her sharply.
"Everything all right, Betty?" he demanded, keeping his voice low so that the loungers should not overhear. "I'd rather you didn't come over to town like this. And where is Bob?"
