A NARROW ESCAPE
“Say, Jennie, what is this; a joke?” asked
Jack, as he leaned up against the table on which was
piled the mail and some express matter, for the post
office was also used as the headquarters of the pony
express company and stage line.
“A joke? The idea! How dare you!”
and the young lady appeared to be very indignant,
indeed. “A joke! I guess not!
Look at that, Mr. Jack Bailey,” and she flourished
in front of him an important-looking document whereon
her name could be discerned in large letters.
“Hum! So you are really postmistress of
Golden Crossing,” remarked Jack. “Is
your mother—”
“Oh, it isn’t anything serious,”
was the quick answer. “But we are going
to make certain, changes, and—”
“Changes!” cried Jack, in some surprise.
“I hope you aren’t thinking of going away!”
“Oh, no indeed!” Jennie answered.
“We like it too well here. But mother has
a chance to do some sewing, at which she can make some
much-needed money, and she realized that she would
be too busy at that to look after the post office
properly. So I said I’d apply for the place.
I know all about the work,” Jennie went on,
“for whenever mother went away I used to look
after the mail. Tim does the heavy work, lifting
the pouches and packages and all that,” and
she indicated a red-haired and freckled lad named Timothy
Mullane, a genial Irish chap, who did odd jobs around
the post office, and in the settlement of Golden Crossing.
“So, with Tim to help me, I felt that I might
just as well be the full-fledged postmistress,”
the girl went on. “As soon as mother had
arranged to do this sewing I applied for the place
to the President—”
“To the President—in Washington?”
cried Jack, in surprise.
“Well, I wrote to the President, though I don’t
suppose he ever saw my letter,” Jennie said.
“I thought he appointed all postmasters and
postmistresses. But I had an answer from some
official of the post office department, and I received
the appointment!” she laughed in conclusion.
“So after this, Mr. Jack Bailey, of the pony
express, you’ll get the mail from me and deliver
it to me.”
“No greater pleasure, I’m sure,”
Jack answered with a low bow, and he also laughed.
“When did all this happen?” he asked.
“The letter came yesterday,” Jennie answered.
“And I received my temporary appointment this
morning,” Jack said. “You didn’t
beat me by very much, Jennie! Shake!” and
with true western good fellowship, Jack held out his
hand, meeting the warm clasp of the pretty and smiling
girl.
The two young persons found much to talk about.
Jennie was sorry to hear of the illness of “Uncle
Pete,” as she called him, and when her mother
came in to greet Jack, Mrs. Blake had to hear the
whole story over again.
Mrs. Blake was a widow, whose husband had been killed
in a mining accident. She was left with Jennie,
then a little girl, to bring up, and friends secured
for her the place as postmistress of Golden Crossing.
She managed to make a living from the money received
in this way, and from the sewing she was able to do
for the residents of the settlement.
