” “Heavens!” the lady exclaimed. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. There were perches inside where she could crouch and labyrinths underneath where she could hide. At length, the body was brought towards him. It was the only time she had ever hit him, punched him right in the stomach like one of his favorite Three Stooges episodes. No great lover of state or state costume at any time, he was generally, towards the close of an evening, completely in dishabille, and in this condition he now presented himself to his subjects. A militiaman came belting down the stairs, another leapt from outside the front door, and a third, stalwart and stolid, came in through the door that led to the rooms to the front of the house. Gracious, there’s the gong.
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