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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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- Стр. 101/416
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“
Don
’
t
tell
me
about
it
,
”
he
said
.
“
I
don
’
t
want
to
know
what
you
and
Osterman
are
going
to
do
.
If
I
did
,
I
shouldn
’
t
come
in
.
”
Yet
,
for
all
this
,
before
they
said
good
-
bye
Annixter
had
obtained
Harran
’
s
promise
that
he
would
attend
the
next
meeting
of
the
Committee
,
when
Osterman
should
return
from
Los
Angeles
and
make
his
report
.
Harran
went
on
toward
Los
Muertos
.
Annixter
mounted
and
rode
into
Bonneville
.
Bonneville
was
very
lively
at
all
times
.
It
was
a
little
city
of
some
twenty
or
thirty
thousand
inhabitants
,
where
,
as
yet
,
the
city
hall
,
the
high
school
building
,
and
the
opera
house
were
objects
of
civic
pride
.
It
was
well
governed
,
beautifully
clean
,
full
of
the
energy
and
strenuous
young
life
of
a
new
city
.
An
air
of
the
briskest
activity
pervaded
its
streets
and
sidewalks
.
The
business
portion
of
the
town
,
centring
about
Main
Street
,
was
always
crowded
.
Annixter
,
arriving
at
the
Post
Office
,
found
himself
involved
in
a
scene
of
swiftly
shifting
sights
and
sounds
.
Saddle
horses
,
farm
wagons
—
the
inevitable
Studebakers
—
buggies
grey
with
the
dust
of
country
roads
,
buckboards
with
squashes
and
grocery
packages
stowed
under
the
seat
,
two
-
wheeled
sulkies
and
training
carts
,
were
hitched
to
the
gnawed
railings
and
zinc
-
sheathed
telegraph
poles
along
the
curb
.
Here
and
there
,
on
the
edge
of
the
sidewalk
,
were
bicycles
,
wedged
into
bicycle
racks
painted
with
cigar
advertisements
.
Upon
the
asphalt
sidewalk
itself
,
soft
and
sticky
with
the
morning
’
s
heat
,
was
a
continuous
movement
.
Men
with
large
stomachs
,
wearing
linen
coats
but
no
vests
,
laboured
ponderously
up
and
down
.
Girls
in
lawn
skirts
,
shirt
waists
,
and
garden
hats
,
went
to
and
fro
,
invariably
in
couples
,
coming
in
and
out
of
the
drug
store
,
the
grocery
store
,
and
haberdasher
’
s
,
or
lingering
in
front
of
the
Post
Office
,
which
was
on
a
corner
under
the
I
.
O
.
O
.
F
.
hall
.
Young
men
,
in
shirt
sleeves
,
with
brown
,
wicker
cuff
-
protectors
over
their
forearms
,
and
pencils
behind
their
ears
,
bustled
in
front
of
the
grocery
store
,
anxious
and
preoccupied
.
A
very
old
man
,
a
Mexican
,
in
ragged
white
trousers
and
bare
feet
,
sat
on
a
horse
-
block
in
front
of
the
barber
shop
,
holding
a
horse
by
a
rope
around
its
neck
.
A
Chinaman
went
by
,
teetering
under
the
weight
of
his
market
baskets
slung
on
a
pole
across
his
shoulders
.
In
the
neighbourhood
of
the
hotel
,
the
Yosemite
House
,
travelling
salesmen
,
drummers
for
jewelry
firms
of
San
Francisco
,
commercial
agents
,
insurance
men
,
well
-
dressed
,
metropolitan
,
debonair
,
stood
about
cracking
jokes
,
or
hurried
in
and
out
of
the
flapping
white
doors
of
the
Yosemite
barroom
.
The
Yosemite
’
bus
and
City
’
bus
passed
up
the
street
,
on
the
way
from
the
morning
train
,
each
with
its
two
or
three
passengers
.
A
very
narrow
wagon
,
belonging
to
the
Cole
&
Colemore
Harvester
Works
,
went
by
,
loaded
with
long
strips
of
iron
that
made
a
horrible
din
as
they
jarred
over
the
unevenness
of
the
pavement
.
The
electric
car
line
,
the
city
’
s
boast
,
did
a
brisk
business
,
its
cars
whirring
from
end
to
end
of
the
street
,
with
a
jangling
of
bells
and
a
moaning
plaint
of
gearing
.
On
the
stone
bulkheads
of
the
grass
plat
around
the
new
City
Hall
,
the
usual
loafers
sat
,
chewing
tobacco
,
swapping
stories
.
In
the
park
were
the
inevitable
array
of
nursemaids
,
skylarking
couples
,
and
ragged
little
boys
.
A
single
policeman
,
in
grey
coat
and
helmet
,
friend
and
acquaintance
of
every
man
and
woman
in
the
town
,
stood
by
the
park
entrance
,
leaning
an
elbow
on
the
fence
post
,
twirling
his
club
.
But
in
the
centre
of
the
best
business
block
of
the
street
was
a
three
-
story
building
of
rough
brown
stone
,
set
off
with
plate
glass
windows
and
gold
-
lettered
signs
.
One
of
these
latter
read
,
“
Pacific
and
Southwestern
Railroad
,
Freight
and
Passenger
Office
,
”
while
another
much
smaller
,
beneath
the
windows
of
the
second
story
bore
the
inscription
,
“
P
.
and
S
.
W
.
Land
Office
.
”
Annixter
hitched
his
horse
to
the
iron
post
in
front
of
this
building
,
and
tramped
up
to
the
second
floor
,
letting
himself
into
an
office
where
a
couple
of
clerks
and
bookkeepers
sat
at
work
behind
a
high
wire
screen
.
One
of
these
latter
recognised
him
and
came
forward
.
“
Hello
,
”
said
Annixter
abruptly
,
scowling
the
while
.
“
Is
your
boss
in
?
Is
Ruggles
in
?
”
The
bookkeeper
led
Annixter
to
the
private
office
in
an
adjoining
room
,
ushering
him
through
a
door
,
on
the
frosted
glass
of
which
was
painted
the
name
,
“
Cyrus
Blakelee
Ruggles
.
”
Inside
,
a
man
in
a
frock
coat
,
shoestring
necktie
,
and
Stetson
hat
,
sat
writing
at
a
roller
-
top
desk
.
Over
this
desk
was
a
vast
map
of
the
railroad
holdings
in
the
country
about
Bonneville
and
Guadalajara
,
the
alternate
sections
belonging
to
the
Corporation
accurately
plotted
.
Ruggles
was
cordial
in
his
welcome
of
Annixter
.
He
had
a
way
of
fiddling
with
his
pencil
continually
while
he
talked
,
scribbling
vague
lines
and
fragments
of
words
and
names
on
stray
bits
of
paper
,
and
no
sooner
had
Annixter
sat
down
than
he
had
begun
to
write
,
in
full
-
bellied
script
,
ANN
ANN
all
over
his
blotting
pad
.
