CHAPTER III.
THE WIGGLING EAR.
Owen finished his deliveries and returned to the post office with a much lighter heart than when he had started out.
“She’s promised to wait for me, and I’m the happiest man in the world,” he said to himself with a smile. “And she won’t have to wait so very long, either. I’m going after that post-office inspector job hammer and tongs—and nothing can stop me from getting it.”
“Are you Carrier Owen Sheridan?” inquired a voice, suddenly breaking in upon his happy meditations.
“Yes,” answered Owen to the young man who addressed him.
“Well, you’re to come around to the club at nine-thirty this evening,” went on the latter, in a peremptory manner.
“The club! What club?” demanded Owen, staring hard at the speaker, whom he had never seen before.
“The district organization, of course,” replied the young man impatiently. “You didn’t suppose I meant the Elks or the Knights of Pythias, did you? You’re to come around to the headquarters of the Samuel J. Coggswell Association at nine-thirty sharp. The boss wants to see you.”
Having delivered this laconic message, the young man hurried away, and Owen stood on the threshold of the post-office entrance looking after him in great astonishment.
“Boss Coggswell wants to see me!” he muttered to himself. “I wonder what on earth for.”