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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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- Стр. 276/416
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It
ought
to
be
a
strap
and
a
nail
.
”
“
Old
fool
,
”
observed
Annixter
,
whose
repartee
was
the
heaving
of
brick
bats
.
“
Say
,
”
he
continued
,
holding
the
razor
from
his
face
,
and
jerking
his
head
over
his
shoulder
,
while
he
looked
at
Presley
’
s
reflection
in
his
mirror
;
“
say
,
look
around
.
Isn
’
t
this
a
nifty
little
room
?
We
refitted
the
whole
house
,
you
know
.
Notice
she
’
s
all
painted
?
”
“
I
have
been
looking
around
,
”
answered
Presley
,
sweeping
the
room
with
a
series
of
glances
.
He
forebore
criticism
.
Annixter
was
so
boyishly
proud
of
the
effect
that
it
would
have
been
unkind
to
have
undeceived
him
.
Presley
looked
at
the
marvellous
,
department
-
store
bed
of
brass
,
with
its
brave
,
gay
canopy
;
the
mill
-
made
wash
-
stand
,
with
its
pitcher
and
bowl
of
blinding
red
and
green
china
,
the
straw
-
framed
lithographs
of
symbolic
female
figures
against
the
multi
-
coloured
,
new
wall
-
paper
;
the
inadequate
spindle
chairs
of
white
and
gold
;
the
sphere
of
tissue
paper
hanging
from
the
gas
fixture
,
and
the
plumes
of
pampas
grass
tacked
to
the
wall
at
artistic
angles
,
and
overhanging
two
astonishing
oil
paintings
,
in
dazzling
golden
frames
.
“
Say
,
how
about
those
paintings
,
Pres
?
”
inquired
Annixter
a
little
uneasily
.
“
I
don
’
t
know
whether
they
’
re
good
or
not
.
They
were
painted
by
a
three
-
fingered
Chinaman
in
Monterey
,
and
I
got
the
lot
for
thirty
dollars
,
frames
thrown
in
.
Why
,
I
think
the
frames
alone
are
worth
thirty
dollars
.
”
“
Well
,
so
do
I
,
”
declared
Presley
.
He
hastened
to
change
the
subject
.
“
Buck
,
”
he
said
,
“
I
hear
you
’
ve
brought
Mrs
.
Dyke
and
Sidney
to
live
with
you
.
You
know
,
I
think
that
’
s
rather
white
of
you
.
”
“
Oh
,
rot
,
Pres
,
”
muttered
Annixter
,
turning
abruptly
to
his
shaving
.
“
And
you
can
’
t
fool
me
,
either
,
old
man
,
”
Presley
continued
.
“
You
’
re
giving
this
picnic
as
much
for
Mrs
.
Dyke
and
the
little
tad
as
you
are
for
your
wife
,
just
to
cheer
them
up
a
bit
.
”
“
Oh
,
pshaw
,
you
make
me
sick
.
”
