The Girl on the Boat - Penn State University

assador knocking on the door of a friendly monarch.
“A sharp downpour, sir,” he remarked.
“Have you been in the house all the time?” demanded
Mr. Bennett.
“Yes, sir.”
“Didn’t you hear me shouting?”
“I did fancy I heard something, sir.”
“<strong>The</strong>n why the devil didn’t you come to me?”
“I supposed it to be the owls, sir, a bird very frequent
in this locality. <strong>The</strong>y make a sort of harsh, hooting howl,
sir. I have sometimes wondered,” said Webster, pursuing
a not uninteresting train of thought, “whether that
might be the reason of the name.”
Before Mr. Bennett could join him in the region of
speculation into which he had penetrated, there was a
grinding of brakes on the gravel outside, and the wettest
motor car in England drew up at the front door.
<strong>The</strong> <strong>Girl</strong> on the Boat
110
3
FROM WINDLES to Southampton is a distance of about
twenty miles; and the rain had started to fall when the
car, an open one lacking even the poor protection of a
cape hood, had accomplished half the homeward journey.
For the last ten miles Mr. Mortimer had been nursing
a sullen hatred for all created things; and, when
entering the house, he came upon Mr. Bennett hopping
about in the hall, endeavouring to detain him and
tell him some long and uninteresting story, his venom
concentrated itself upon his erstwhile friend.
“Oh, get out of the way!” he snapped, shaking off the
other’s hand. “Can’t you see I’m wet?”
“Wet! Wet!” Mr. Bennett’s voice quivered with selfpity.
“So am I wet!”
“Father dear,” said Billie reprovingly, “you really
oughtn’t to have come into the house after bathing without
drying yourself. You’ll spoil the carpet.”
“I’ve not been bathing! I’m trying to tell you ….”