CHAPTER III. OSMUND
I had no more thought for barber or barber's shop. My final vision of the place was of the barber and the sailor grappling together in a muttering, gasping embrace among the tumbled chairs and china. I had picked up my hat and coat and was out of the door into the passage.
There was no Pengelly. Indeed, there was nothing in the dreary little box of a passage but a dim light and a musty smell of oranges. Then I heard voices. Two people came round the corner of the stairs, and I stood aside that they might go by. A stout woman and a little man. The stout woman was breathing heavily and complaining bitterly.
As they passed me I heard the little man say: 'But how was I to know? You always liked liver and bacon before this. I don't know what's come to you with all these n
