“Well, it isn’t my fault that I haven’t seen you after office hours,” he protested. “I’ve asked you often enough to let me take you out or call at your boarding house, but you’ve always turned me down. “But, anyway,” he went on earnestly, “I know you well enough to feel sure that you’re the only girl for me. Why, I’m so crazy about you, that on deliveries when there hasn’t been any mail for this address, I’ve delivered the wrong letters here on purpose, just so as to have an excuse for dropping in and seeing you.” The girl laughed. “Oh! So that’s why this office is always getting other people’s mail. I’ve often wondered how you could be so careless.” “Isn’t there any chance for me, Miss Worthington?” the young carrier asked pleadingly, as he glanced at the clock on the wall of the real-estate office, and suddenly realized that if he dallied there much longer there would be complaints all along his route; for the bag suspended from his shoulder was still half full of undelivered mail, and people in New York City are very particular about getting their letters on time. “I don’t ask you to marry me now,” he went on hastily. “I couldn’t do it even if you were willing, for I’m not making enough money. The United States government pays its postal employees poorly at the start. I guess there isn’t another branch of the Federal civil service where a fellow has to do so much for so little pay.” “Why don’t you get out and go into something else?” she asked. “I’ve often wondered why a bright fellow like you should be satisfied with such a small job.” “I want to be a post-office inspector,” he answered. “That’s the goal which tempted me into entering the service. Those fellows earn good money, and I’ve always had a liking for detective work. You can rest assured that I don’t intend to remain a carrier very long. To be promoted to the secret-service branch of the department is my ambition, and I feel confident that I’ll be able to realize it.” “I feel sure you will,” the girl said softly, with a quick glance at his earnest face. “And--and I’ll wait for you, Owen--until you’re in a position to get married.” “You will?” he exclaimed joyously. “I didn’t expect such luck. Then, those letters from Chicago----” “Were from my brother,” she answered, with a laugh. “He’s two years younger than I, and he’s always getting into scrapes. He’s in another one now, and he needs money; that’s why he’s been writing so frequently the past week.” 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.