BY
HULBERT FOOTNER
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1922,
BY HULBERT FOOTNER
RAMSHACKLE HOUSE. I
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I The Canoeist
II The Story in the Sun-Paper
III An Irruption from the World
IV Beside the Little Temple
V On Board the Alexandra
VI Moonlight
VII The Trip to Town
VIII The Return
IX The Night Long
X Days of Suspense
XI Pen's Hand is Forced
XII The Alexandra Sails Away
XIII In Chambers
XIV Extra!
XV Postscript
Broome's Point proper is a crescent-shapedspit of sand separating the mouth of the PocomicoRiver from the waters of Chesapeake Bay. The endof the spit is decorated with one of those oddstructures that our lighthouse service is so partial to, anoctagonal house mounted on spreading, spindly piles,the whole looking uncommonly like a spider. TheBroome estate comprises all the high ground back ofthe spit for upwards of four miles up the bay shoreand a mile along the river. The mansion standsproudly on a bold bluff overlooking the river mouth.It is one of those square packing-boxes with a"cupalow" so popular with the builders of the sixties. Ithas never been painted since the first time and itsonce white face is streaked with rust from the gutterslike the marks left by tears on dirty cheeks. One ofthe snuggest anchorages on the coast is under the bankupon which it stands. The river mouth itself formsa great basin three miles across in which all the naviesof the world might ride. One shore of it is as wildand deserted as the other. A mile or so up the riverlies Absolom's Island with its oystering village,connected with the hinterland by a causeway.
On Decoration Day there was a battle-ship lyingin the river. As Pen Broome flew in and out of thebig house upon her interminable chores she had adistant view of the holiday crowds on the greencommon of the Island. Black and white splotchesrepresented the game of ball that was going on betweenthe island boys and the sailors and black dots stoodfor the automobiles of week-end trippers from thegreat world. Later Pen knew there had been a churchsupper under the big linden trees alongside theparsonage, and at night a dance up the county. OrdinarilyPen was not given to resenting her lot; she was toobusy. She had no personal interest in sailors nor inthe island boys, and very little in the county people,her own sort. But to-day the spectacle of holiday-makingbrought an unbearable gnawing to her breast. Shewas twenty-four.
Pen was no tame and pathetic figure. She was thesort of youngster that is made savage by pain.Consequently next morning there was