Beta Book

R.
R. you can find out when I get back & so on. As I do not know
what your address will be. Please look me up & I hope you will
have a good trip.
Yours truly,
HARRY P. MORTON.

Mr. Wrenn lay listening to the unfriendly rattling of the chain
harness below for a long time. When he crawled languidly down
from the hay-loft he glowered in a manner which was decidedly
surly even for Bill Wrenn at a middle-aged English stranger who
was stooping over a cow's hoof in a stall facing the ladder.
"Wot you doing here?" asked the Englishman, raising his head and
regarding Mr. Wrenn as a housewife does a cockroach in the
salad-bowl.
Mr. Wrenn was bored. This seemed a very poor sort of man; a
bloated Cockney, with a dirty neck-cloth, vile cuffs of grayish
black, and a waistcoat cut foolishly high.
"The owner said I could sleep here," he snapped.
"Ow. 'E did, did 'e? 'E ayn't been giving you any of the
perishin' 'osses, too, 'as 'e?"
It was sturdy old Bill Wrenn who snarled, "Oh, shut up!" Bill
didn't feel like standing much just then.


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