THE OWLS’ HOUSE
By CROSBIE GARSTIN
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
Published by arrangement with Frederick A. Stokes Company
Printed in U. S. A.
Copyright, 1923, by
Frederick A. Stokes Company
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America
The Owls' House
CHAPTER I
It was late evening when John Penhale left theHelston lawyer’s office. A fine drizzle wasblowing down Coinage Hall Street; thin beamsof light pierced the chinks of house shutters andcurtains, barred the blue dusk with misty orangerays, touched the street puddles with alchemic fingers,turning them to gold. A chaise clattered uphill,the horses’ steam hanging round them in a kindof lamp-lit nimbus, the post-boy’s head bent againstthe rain.
Outside an inn an old soldier with a wooden legand very drunk stood wailing a street ballad, botheyes shut, impervious to the fact that his audiencehad long since left him. Penhale turned into “TheAngel,” went on straight into the dining-room andsat down in the far corner with the right side of hisface to the wall. He did so from habit. A trioof squireens in mud-bespattered riding coats sat nearthe door and made considerable noise. They hadbeen hare hunting and were rosy with sharp airand hard riding. They greeted every appearanceof the ripe serving maid with loud whoops andpassed her from arm to arm. She protested andgiggled. Opposite them a local shop-keeper wasentertaining a creditor from Plymouth to the bestbottle the town afforded. The company was madeup by a very young ensign of Light Dragoons boundto Winchester to join his regiment for the firsttime, painfully self-conscious and aloof, in his newscarlet. Penhale beat on the table with his knife.The maid escaped from the festive sportsmen andbrought him a plate of boiled beef and onions. Asshe was about to set the plate before him one ofthe hare hunters lost his balance and fell to theground with a loud crash of his chair and a yellof delight from his companions.
The noise caused Penhale to turn his head. Thegirl emitted an “ach” of horror, dropped the plateon the table and recoiled as though some one hadstruck her. Penhale pulled the plate towards him,picked up his knife and fork and quietly began toeat. He was quite used to these displays. The girlbacked away, staring in a sort of dreadful fascination.A squireen caught at her wrist calling herhis “sweet slut,” but she wrenched herself free andran out of the door.
She did not come near Penhale again; the tapsterbrought him the rest of his meal. Penhale wenton eating, outwardly unmoved; he had been subjectto these outbursts, off and on,