Page:The Cow Jerry (1925).pdf/302

 indefinable anxiety of fuddled intelligence which is the exaggeration of fear and alarm: "Wha's yat?"

"Who's that shootin'?" Mrs. Cowgill inquired, in fear-shaken, querulous loud voice.

Angus bounded up the stairs just as the big whistle in the shops began to blow the sound of it thrilling him with an instant understanding of the crisis that had come in the hour of McPacken's deepest sleep. He stopped, thinking to go down and put on his shoes, bristling with little chills of excitement that ran along the marrow of his spine. Mrs. Cowgill called again, demanding who was shooting, her voice now sounding in the hall outside her bedroom door. Angus dashed on and swung into the hall, using the newel post for his pivot, after his own distinctive and original way.

Mrs. Cowgill stood at her door, the light of the hall lamp with its tin reflector—a brother of the one in the window —strong on her dishabille. She was holding a skirt around her waist, the upper part of her insufficiently draped in a low-cut nightgown which discovered too much neck and collar-bone. Her hair was down, her eyes were big with the stare of wild astonishment that was too common to her countenance to be alarming now.

Louise Gardner was in the front end of the hall, her door open behind her. Angus was surprised and disappointed to see her fully dressed. She came running toward him, as if to shelter herself behind the fortification of his strength.