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CHAPTER XIX
THE TRIALS OF AN ASSISTANT POSTMASTER
By all laws of mercy the post-master in a small town should be old and
mentally near-sighted. Jimmy Reed was young and curious. He had even
yielded to temptation once in removing a stamp on a letter from
Annette Fenton to a strange suitor. Not that he wanted to delay the
letter. He only wanted to know if she put tender messages under the
stamp when she wrote to other people.
During the two years Sandy remained at the university, Jimmy handed
his letters out of the post-office window to the judge once a week,
following them half-way with his body to pick up the verbal crumbs of
interest the judge might let fall while perusing them. The supremacy
which Sandy had established in the base-ball days had lent him a
permanent halo in the eyes of the younger boys of Clayton. "Letter
from Sandy this morning," Jimmy would announce, adding somewhat
anxiously, "Ain't he on the team yet?"
The judge was obliging and easy-going, and he frequently gratified
Jimmy's curiosity.
"No; he's studying pretty hard these days. He says he is through with
athletics."
"Does he like it up there?"
"Oh, yes, yes; I guess he likes it well enough," the judge would
answer tentatively; "but I am afraid he's working too hard.
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