Page:The Blind Bow-Boy (IA blindbowboy00vanv).pdf/18

 moroseness of the 1875 grandeur of the place. On the first landing of the staircase, midway between the two floors, a stained-glass window, of purple and blue and green diamond panes, permitted a little more light to enter. Underneath this window the great pendulum of a high hall-clock swung slowly back and forth, marking the sluggish passage of time with its sharp, tiresome ticks.

Harold Prewett was an attractive young man, with chestnut-coloured hair, brown eyes, a healthy complexion, and a fairly competent build. He looked well in his clothes, a double-breasted brown suit, which any sophisticated person could have told you came from a Fifth Avenue tailor, and the modest shade of his cravat indicated a conservative taste in tinges. The young man had recently graduated from college, but there was nothing in his demeanour to suggest excessive confidence on this account. He fidgeted a good deal; he mumbled to himself, evidently rehearsing words and phrases of which he hoped presently to deliver himself in the presence of an audience. He twirled his straw hat nervously between his fingers and, occasionally, he stood up and walked about, but, after a moment or two of this restless marching, he invariably returned to his seat in the hat-rack under the spreading antlers.

The cause of his perturbation was somewhat grotesque. He had been summoned to a conference with his father. Now, most boys, in good health,