The walks home from church were now about the only chance the
lovers had of being together. Almost every day Carl was off with
the teams. When he did come home in working hours he would take
his dinner with the men and boys in the outer kitchen. Jennie
sometimes waited on them, but he rarely spoke to her as she passed
in and out, except with his eyes.
When Cully handed him the scarf, Carl had already dressed himself
in his best clothes, producing so marked a change in the outward
appearance of the young Swede that Cully in his admiration
pronounced him "out o' sight."
Cully's metamorphosis was even more complete than Carl's. Now
that the warm spring days were approaching, Mr. Finnegan had
decided that his superabundant locks were unseasonable, and had
therefore had his hair cropped close to his scalp, showing here
and there a white scar, the record of some former scrimmage.
Reaching to the edge of each ear was a collar as stiff as
pasteboard. His derby was tilted over his left eyebrow, shading a
face brimming over with fun and expectancy. Below this was a
vermilion-colored necktie and a black coat and trousers. His
shoes sported three coats of blacking, which only partly concealed
the dust-marks of his profession.
"Hully gee, Carl! but de circus's a-goin' ter be a dandy," he
called out in delight, as he patted a double shuffle with his
feet.
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