He was by way of
being popular in Steynholme, yet not a soul spoke to him. Before he
reached the bridge, the other side of him, the man of action, of cool
resource in an emergency, rose in rebellion against the league of silly
clodhoppers. Back he strode to the post office and dashed off a
telegram. It ran:
"Walter Hart, Savage Club, Adelphi, London. Come here and help to
lay a ghost."
He signed it in full, name and address. Doris was gone, but her father
received it, and read the text in a bewildered way.
"I find myself deserted by my Steynholme friends so I am trying to import
one stanch one," said Grant, almost vindictively.
Martin murmured the cost, and Grant stormed out again. This time, passing
the Hare and Hounds, he looked at door and windows. He caught a face
scowling at him over a brown wire blind bearing the words "Wines and
Spirits" on it in letters of dull gold. It was a commonplace type of
face, small-featured, ginger-moustached, and crowned by a billy-cock hat
set at a rakish angle. Its most marked characteristic was the positive
hatred which glowed in the sharp, pale-blue eyes. Grant wondered who this
highly censorious young man might be.
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