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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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- Стр. 139/416
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“
And
afterwards
?
”
prompted
Annixter
.
“
Afterwards
?
Nothing
afterwards
.
I
never
saw
her
again
.
Her
name
was
Celestine
.
”
The
company
raised
a
chorus
of
derision
,
and
Osterman
cried
ironically
:
“
Say
!
THAT
’
S
a
pretty
good
one
!
Tell
us
another
.
”
The
old
man
laughed
with
the
rest
,
believing
he
had
made
another
hit
.
He
called
Osterman
to
him
,
whispering
in
his
ear
:
“
Sh
!
Look
here
!
Some
night
you
and
I
will
go
up
to
San
Francisco
—
hey
?
We
’
ll
go
skylarking
.
We
’
ll
be
gay
.
Oh
,
I
’
m
a
—
a
—
a
rare
old
BUCK
,
I
am
!
I
ain
’
t
too
old
.
You
’
ll
see
.
”
Annixter
gave
over
the
making
of
the
fifth
bowl
of
punch
to
Osterman
,
who
affirmed
that
he
had
a
recipe
for
a
“
fertiliser
”
from
Solotari
that
would
take
the
plating
off
the
ladle
.
He
left
him
wrangling
with
Caraher
,
who
still
persisted
in
adding
chartreuse
,
and
stepped
out
into
the
dance
to
see
how
things
were
getting
on
.
It
was
the
interval
between
two
dances
.
In
and
around
a
stall
at
the
farther
end
of
the
floor
,
where
lemonade
was
being
served
,
was
a
great
throng
of
young
men
.
Others
hurried
across
the
floor
singly
or
by
twos
and
threes
,
gingerly
carrying
overflowing
glasses
to
their
“
partners
,
”
sitting
in
long
rows
of
white
and
blue
and
pink
against
the
opposite
wall
,
their
mothers
and
older
sisters
in
a
second
dark
-
clothed
rank
behind
them
.
A
babel
of
talk
was
in
the
air
,
mingled
with
gusts
of
laughter
.
Everybody
seemed
having
a
good
time
.
In
the
increasing
heat
the
decorations
of
evergreen
trees
and
festoons
threw
off
a
pungent
aroma
that
suggested
a
Sunday
-
school
Christmas
festival
.
In
the
other
stalls
,
lower
down
the
barn
,
the
young
men
had
brought
chairs
,
and
in
these
deep
recesses
the
most
desperate
love
-
making
was
in
progress
,
the
young
man
,
his
hair
neatly
parted
,
leaning
with
great
solicitation
over
the
girl
,
his
“
partner
”
for
the
moment
,
fanning
her
conscientiously
,
his
arm
carefully
laid
along
the
back
of
her
chair
.
By
the
doorway
,
Annixter
met
Sarria
,
who
had
stepped
out
to
smoke
a
fat
,
black
cigar
.
The
set
smile
of
amiability
was
still
fixed
on
the
priest
’
s
smooth
,
shiny
face
;
the
cigar
ashes
had
left
grey
streaks
on
the
front
of
his
cassock
.
He
avoided
Annixter
,
fearing
,
no
doubt
,
an
allusion
to
his
game
cocks
,
and
took
up
his
position
back
of
the
second
rank
of
chairs
by
the
musicians
’
stand
,
beaming
encouragingly
upon
every
one
who
caught
his
eye
.
