Спрут: Калифорнийская история

           Annixtergotupanddescendingfromtheporchbegantowalkaimlesslyaboutbetweentheranchbuildings,witheyeandearalert.Possiblyhemightmeethersomewheres.

           TheTrees’littlehouse,towardwhichinevitablyAnnixterdirectedhissteps,wasdark.Hadtheyallgonetobedsosoon?Hemadeawidecircuitaboutit,listening,butheardnosound.Thedoorofthedairy-housestoodajar.Hepusheditopen,andsteppedintotheodorousdarknessofitsinterior.Thepansanddeepcansofpolishedmetalglowedfaintlyfromthecornersandfromthewalls.Thesmellofnewcheesewaspungentinhisnostrils.Everythingwasquiet.Therewasnobodythere.Hewentoutagain,closingthedoor,andstoodforamomentinthespacebetweenthedairy-houseandthenewbarn,uncertainastowhatheshoulddonext.

           Ashewaitedthere,hisforemancameoutofthemen’sbunkhouse,ontheothersideofthekitchens,andcrossedovertowardthebarn.“Hello,Billy,”mutteredAnnixterashepassed.

           “Oh,goodevening,Mr.Annixter,”saidtheother,pausinginfrontofhim.“Ididn’tknowyouwereback.Bytheway,”headded,speakingasthoughthematterwasalreadyknowntoAnnixter,“IseeoldmanTreeandhisfamilyhaveleftus.Aretheygoingtobegonelong?Havetheyleftforgood?”

           “What’sthat?”Annixterexclaimed.“Whendidtheygo?Didallofthemgo,allthree?”

           “Why,Ithoughtyouknew.Sure,theyallleftontheafternoontrainforSanFrancisco.Clearedoutinahurry—tookalltheirtrunks.Yes,allthreewent—theyounglady,too.Theygavemenoticeearlythismorning.