Спрут: Каліфорнійська історія

           Insomeunexplainedfashion,thelabourofputtingthegreatbarninreadinessforthedancewasaccomplished;thelastboltofcambricwashunginplacefromtherafters.Thelastevergreentreewasnailedtothejoistsofthewalls;thelastlanternhung,thelastnaildrivenintothemusicians’platform.Thesunset.Therewasagreatscurrytohavesupperanddress.Annixter,lastofalltheotherworkers,leftthebarnintheduskoftwilight.Hewasalone;hehadasawunderonearm,abagoftoolswasinhishand.Hewasinhisshirtsleevesandcarriedhiscoatoverhisshoulder;ahammerwasthrustintooneofhishippockets.Hewasinexecrabletemper.Theday’sworkhadfaggedhimout.Hehadnotbeenabletofindhishat.

           “Andthebuckskinwithsixtydollars’worthofsaddlegone,too,”hegroaned.“Oh,ain’titsweet?”

           Athishouse,Mrs.Treehadsetoutacoldsupperforhim,theinevitabledishofprunesservingasdessert.AftersupperAnnixterbathedanddressed.Hedecidedatthelastmomenttowearhisusualtown-goingsuit,asacksuitofblack,madebyaBonnevilletailor.Buthishatwasgone.Therewereotherhatshemighthaveworn,butbecausethisparticularonewaslosthefrettedaboutitallthroughhisdressingandthendecidedtohaveonemorelookaroundthebarnforit.

           Foroveraquarterofanhourhepotteredaboutthebarn,goingfromstalltostall,rummagingtheharnessroomandfeedroom,alltonopurpose.Atlasthecameoutagainuponthemainfloor,definitelygivingupthesearch,lookingabouthimtoseeifeverythingwasinorder.