"Will you be kind enough to tell me, sir, where Mr. Morris, the
postmaster, can be found?" asked the agent.

"Wall, I guess my name's Morris. What kin I do fur yeou?"

"Mr. Morris, I should like a few minutes' private conversation on
business of great importance, which can be so managed as to turn
out advantageously to us both. I do not wish to be overheard or
interrupted. In these times even blank walls have ears, you know."

The last suggestion seemed to serve as a passport to the confidence
of the postmaster. Leading the way into the switch-house, he
remarked, "Come in heear. Neow, what is it?"

"The fact is, Mr. Morris, some friends of mine propose to go into a
little speculation, which will involve a large correspondence; and
for reasons that I need not specify to a man like you, they do not
wish to have every ragtag, bobtail post-office clerk poring over
their letters, and asking impertinent questions at the delivery-
window. If they can find a shrewd, square man, who knows how to
keep his mouth shut, and who can't be fooled, that for a handsome
consideration will put the letters away in a safe place till called
for, they are willing to make an arrangement that will be
profitable all around. You have been recommended as just the
person. I am told that you generally know which side your bread is
buttered, and have called to see if we can't arrange to pull
together."

"'Nuff said," ejaculated Morris, with a sly wink. "I know what
yeou want, but my wife is the one to fix things. I don't have