' Funny name, eh?" grinned the
postmaster, balancing a soda cracker on the tip of his forefinger, then
deftly tossing it edgewise into his open mouth. "They pay Janus ten
dollars a week for toting them around," he chuckled. "Read it in the
McCarthy party's letter to Jan."
"What are they going to do up in the hills?"
"Climb over the rocks for their health," grinned the postmaster.
"Huh! When they coming to town?"
"On the evening mail train to-day. Hello! There's Jan now on his way
to meet them. Say! Will you look at him! Jan's had his whiskers
pruned. And, I swum, if he hasn't got on a new pair of boots. Git
them of you?"
The storekeeper nodded.
"How much?" demanded the postmaster.
"Four seventy-three. Knocked down from five dollars. Wish I'd known
he was going to draw down ten dollars a week for this job. I'd have
got four seventy-five at least for the boots."
"Never mind, you can let Jan make it up on something else," comforted
the postmaster. "Reckon I'll go down to the station to see the folks
come in."
"I was going to ask you to look after the store while I went down,"
returned the grocer.
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