And it brought no explanation of the sudden amiability displayed by the crooked-faced Rodaine.

They went on, striving vainly for a reason, at last to stop in front of the post-office, as the postmaster leaned out of the door.
"Your name's Fairchild, isn't it ?" asked the person of letters, as he fastened a pair of gimlet eyes on the owner of the Blue Poppy.
"Yes." "Thought so.

Some of the fellows said you was.

Better drop in here for your mail once in a while.

There 's been a letter for you here for two days!" "For me ?" Vaguely Fairchild went within and received the missive, a plain, bond envelope without a return address.