a-spotting our glim. Now, you stall there while I make things trig.â He dealt Owen a sharp clip on the ear, taking him by surprise and knocking him over. While he struggled in vain to get up, Prigman calmly struck a light, revealing a small empty room in which generations of hens had certainly roosted. Its furniture consisted of two beams crossing the room at knee-height, which had evidently served as perches. A piece of sacking hung over the one small window. There was a pile of straw against the back wall.
âSnug, eh?â Prigman said cheerfully. âNo one wonât live here nowadays, acos there was a bit of a landfall last Michaelmas and they reckon some day the rest oâ the mountain will come ploudering down on the roof, but I say that wonât happen till Turpentine Sunday, and meanwhile it makes a famous ken, dunnit?â Intercepting Owenâs longing glance at the straw he added, âTired, are you, cully?â Owen nodded. âWell, soonâs you done scribing those papers for us you can snooze all youâve a mind to.â
Owen summoned all his resolution.
âMr. Prigman,â he said firmly, âIâm not going to write any letters for you.â
âAh, now, mate, donât you be so twitty,â Prigman said earnestly. âAcos I tell you straight, my cully Bilk canât abide to be crossed. If you cuts up rusty, itâll be the last thing you ever does.â
Owen felt he hardly cared. His eyes were closing, all he longed for was sleep. Death seemed just as harmless.
âHey! roust there, cully!â Prigman said sharply. âYouâd best get up on your stamps; no shut-eye for you till the scribingâs done.â He drew his knife and prodded Owen with it to make him stagger to his feet, helping him with a jerk of the arm.
âRight; you hold up like that against the wallâhere, by the beamâand Iâll lay old Biter up against your ribs so âsheâs mortal sharp, ainât she?âand you just keep your glaziers open till Bilk gets back!â
Nobody wants a knife between the ribs. Owen dragged his eyes open and stood as straight as he could, leaning away from the point of Biter, back against the wall. Prigman, always keeping the knife steady with one hand, contrived with the other hand to drape a truss of straw across the beam and sat on it at his ease facing Owen. He then observed that he couldnât abide the smell of cackling-cheats, which Owen took to be hens.
An hour went by. Several times Owen nearly toppled forward and Prigman roused him by a sharp cuff or a jab with the point of Biter. Meanwhile he kept up a stream of talk to which Owen hardly listenedâsomething about Lord Malynâs house in London where even the door-knobs were made of goldâsomething about his highness the
Prince of Wales who was mortal fond of hunting the wild boarâsomething about the Ottoman gentleman who had travelled all the way from the Costa Fraucasus to Pennygaffâwhy? what could he want in such an out-of-the-way little place?âsomething about old Mr. Hughes, stubborn and foolhardy in refusing to hand over an object that was no possible use to him.
At last the door flew open and Bilk lurched in, accompanied by a strong odour of metheglin.
âYou been in the bousing-ken!â Prigman said indignantly. âAnd never brought me a dram, Iâll lay a barred cinque-deuce.â
âI have, then.â Bilk produced a leather bottle.
âAnd the scribing-gear?â
âAy. But see here, we ainât staying in this ken. Why, the whole miching, impasted hillsideâs due to come col-loping down any day now. They was on about it in the ale-house.â
âOld stuff!â Prigman said scornfully. âWe knowed that afore. Donât ferret your head about it.â
âNo, but they reckon itâll be any cockcrow nowâthe whole cliffâs been diddering and doddering