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- Фрэнк Норрис
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“
Well
,
I
want
to
know
!
”
she
exclaimed
,
as
he
hobbled
off
,
dejected
and
melancholy
,
leaning
upon
her
arm
,
“
thought
he
had
to
dance
,
indeed
!
What
next
?
A
gay
old
grandpa
,
this
.
He
’
d
better
be
thinking
of
his
coffin
.
”
It
was
almost
midnight
.
The
dance
drew
towards
its
close
in
a
storm
of
jubilation
.
The
perspiring
musicians
toiled
like
galley
slaves
;
the
guests
singing
as
they
danced
.
The
group
of
men
reassembled
in
the
harness
room
.
Even
Magnus
Derrick
condescended
to
enter
and
drink
a
toast
.
Presley
and
Vanamee
,
still
holding
themselves
aloof
,
looked
on
,
Vanamee
more
and
more
disgusted
.
Dabney
,
standing
to
one
side
,
overlooked
and
forgotten
,
continued
to
sip
steadily
at
his
glass
,
solemn
,
reserved
.
Garnett
of
the
Ruby
rancho
,
Keast
from
the
ranch
of
the
same
name
,
Gethings
of
the
San
Pablo
,
and
Chattern
of
the
Bonanza
,
leaned
back
in
their
chairs
,
their
waist
-
coats
unbuttoned
,
their
legs
spread
wide
,
laughing
—
they
could
not
tell
why
.
Other
ranchers
,
men
whom
Annixter
had
never
seen
,
appeared
in
the
room
,
wheat
growers
from
places
as
far
distant
as
Goshen
and
Pixley
;
young
men
and
old
,
proprietors
of
veritable
principalities
,
hundreds
of
thousands
of
acres
of
wheat
lands
,
a
dozen
of
them
,
a
score
of
them
;
men
who
were
strangers
to
each
other
,
but
who
made
it
a
point
to
shake
hands
with
Magnus
Derrick
,
the
“
prominent
man
”
of
the
valley
.
Old
Broderson
,
whom
every
one
had
believed
had
gone
home
,
returned
,
though
much
sobered
,
and
took
his
place
,
refusing
,
however
,
to
drink
another
spoonful
.
Soon
the
entire
number
of
Annixter
’
s
guests
found
themselves
in
two
companies
,
the
dancers
on
the
floor
of
the
barn
,
frolicking
through
the
last
figures
of
the
Virginia
reel
and
the
boisterous
gathering
of
men
in
the
harness
room
,
downing
the
last
quarts
of
fertiliser
.
Both
assemblies
had
been
increased
.
Even
the
older
people
had
joined
in
the
dance
,
while
nearly
every
one
of
the
men
who
did
not
dance
had
found
their
way
into
the
harness
room
.
The
two
groups
rivalled
each
other
in
their
noise
.
Out
on
the
floor
of
the
barn
was
a
very
whirlwind
of
gayety
,
a
tempest
of
laughter
,
hand
-
clapping
and
cries
of
amusement
.
In
the
harness
room
the
confused
shouting
and
singing
,
the
stamping
of
heavy
feet
,
set
a
quivering
reverberation
in
the
oil
of
the
kerosene
lamps
,
the
flame
of
the
candles
in
the
Japanese
lanterns
flaring
and
swaying
in
the
gusts
of
hilarity
.
At
intervals
,
between
the
two
,
one
heard
the
music
,
the
wailing
of
the
violins
,
the
vigorous
snarling
of
the
cornet
,
and
the
harsh
,
incessant
rasping
of
the
snare
drum
.
And
at
times
all
these
various
sounds
mingled
in
a
single
vague
note
,
huge
,
clamorous
,
that
rose
up
into
the
night
from
the
colossal
,
reverberating
compass
of
the
barn
and
sent
its
echoes
far
off
across
the
unbroken
levels
of
the
surrounding
ranches
,
stretching
out
to
infinity
under
the
clouded
sky
,
calm
,
mysterious
,
still
.
Annixter
,
the
punch
bowl
clasped
in
his
arms
,
was
pouring
out
the
last
spoonful
of
liquor
into
Caraher
’
s
glass
when
he
was
aware
that
some
one
was
pulling
at
the
sleeve
of
his
coat
.
He
set
down
the
punch
bowl
.
“
Well
,
where
did
YOU
come
from
?
”
he
demanded
.
It
was
a
messenger
from
Bonneville
,
the
uniformed
boy
that
the
telephone
company
employed
to
carry
messages
.
He
had
just
arrived
from
town
on
his
bicycle
,
out
of
breath
and
panting
.
“
Message
for
you
,
sir
.
Will
you
sign
?
”
He
held
the
book
to
Annixter
,
who
signed
the
receipt
,
wondering
.
