Before the walking delegate had
"passed the time of day," the young sailor was close beside
Jennie, within touch of her hand.
There was no love lost between the two men. Carl had not
forgotten the proposition Quigg had made to him to leave Tom's
employ, nor had Quigg forgotten the uplifted shovel with which his
proposal had been greeted. Yet there was no well-defined jealousy
between them. Mr. Walking Delegate Dennis Quigg, confidential
agent of Branch No. 3, Knights of Labor, had too good an opinion
of himself ever to look upon that "tow-headed duffer of a
stable-boy" in the light of a rival. Nor could Carl for a moment
think of that narrow-chested, red-faced, flashily dressed Knight
as being able to make the slightest impression on "Mees Jan."
Quigg, however, was more than welcome to Jennie to-day. A little
sense of wounded pride sent the hot color to her cheeks when she
thought of Carl's apparent neglect. He had hardly spoken to her
in weeks. What had she done that he should treat her so? She
would show him that there were just as good fellows about as Mr.
Carl Nilsson.
But all this faded out when Carl joined her--Carl, so straight,
clear-skinned, brown, and ruddy; his teeth so white; his eyes so
blue! She could see out of the corner of her eye how the hair
curled in tiny rings on his temples.
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