The girl leaned far out over the counter and snatched the paper away from him.
“Yes, there’s just as good fish as that there Ennis lad,” repeated the man.
A single glance had acquainted Sophy with the title. It was the Matrimonial Journal. She flung it down to her feet, angrily.
“You get out of here with your Ennis!” she cried. “I wouldn’t––wouldn’t marry him if he was the last man on earth. I––I just despise him!”
“And that’s real lucky for ye,” snickered the man. “I heard him say––lemme see––yes, ’bout three-four days ago, as he wasn’t nowise partial ter carrots. It’s a wegetable as he couldn’t never bear the sight of.”
The girl’s hand went up to her fine head of auburn hair and a deep red rose from her cheeks to its roots. Her narrow lips became a mere slit in her face and her steely eyes flashed.
“And––and he’s the kind as thinks himself a gentleman!” she hissed out. “Get out o’ here, all of ye! There ain’t a man in Carcajou as I’d wipe my boots on. Clear out o’ here, I tell ye!”
The three men left, Pete silently and disapprovingly, the other two guffawing.
“I don’t believe as how that lad Ennis ever said anything o’ the kind,” declared the foreman. “He’s a fine bye, he is, and it ain’t like him.”