TOM GROGAN
ing shoulders he slouched beside her, sent a thrill of indignation through Carl. He could give her up, perhaps, if Tom insisted, but never to a man like Quigg. 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
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