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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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- Стр. 46/416
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“
He
can
,
can
he
?
”
observed
Annixter
.
Then
after
a
silence
,
“
Well
,
all
right
,
Billy
;
put
my
saddle
on
whatever
you
’
ve
got
here
.
I
’
m
going
over
to
Los
Muertos
this
afternoon
.
”
“
Want
to
look
out
for
the
rain
,
Mr
.
Annixter
,
”
remarked
Billy
.
“
Guess
we
’
ll
have
rain
before
night
.
”
“
I
’
ll
take
a
rubber
coat
,
”
answered
Annixter
.
“
Bring
the
horse
up
to
the
ranch
house
when
you
’
re
ready
.
”
Annixter
returned
to
the
house
to
look
for
his
rubber
coat
in
deep
disgust
,
not
permitting
himself
to
glance
toward
the
dairy
-
house
and
the
Trees
’
cottage
.
But
as
he
reached
the
porch
he
heard
the
telephone
ringing
his
call
.
It
was
Presley
,
who
rang
up
from
Los
Muertos
.
He
had
heard
from
Harran
that
Annixter
was
,
perhaps
,
coming
over
that
evening
.
If
he
came
,
would
he
mind
bringing
over
his
—
Presley
’
s
—
bicycle
.
He
had
left
it
at
the
Quien
Sabe
ranch
the
day
before
and
had
forgotten
to
come
back
that
way
for
it
.
“
Well
,
”
objected
Annixter
,
a
surly
note
in
his
voice
,
“
I
WAS
going
to
RIDE
over
.
”
“
Oh
,
never
mind
,
then
,
”
returned
Presley
easily
.
“
I
was
to
blame
for
forgetting
it
.
Don
’
t
bother
about
it
.
I
’
ll
come
over
some
of
these
days
and
get
it
myself
.
”
Annixter
hung
up
the
transmitter
with
a
vehement
wrench
and
stamped
out
of
the
room
,
banging
the
door
.
He
found
his
rubber
coat
hanging
in
the
hallway
and
swung
into
it
with
a
fierce
movement
of
the
shoulders
that
all
but
started
the
seams
.
Everything
seemed
to
conspire
to
thwart
him
.
It
was
just
like
that
absent
-
minded
,
crazy
poet
,
Presley
,
to
forget
his
wheel
.
Well
,
he
could
come
after
it
himself
.
He
,
Annixter
,
would
ride
SOME
horse
,
anyhow
.
When
he
came
out
upon
the
porch
he
saw
the
wheel
leaning
against
the
fence
where
Presley
had
left
it
.
If
it
stayed
there
much
longer
the
rain
would
catch
it
.
Annixter
ripped
out
an
oath
.
At
every
moment
his
ill
-
humour
was
increasing
.
Yet
,
for
all
that
,
he
went
back
to
the
stable
,
pushing
the
bicycle
before
him
,
and
countermanded
his
order
,
directing
the
stableman
to
get
the
buggy
ready
.
He
himself
carefully
stowed
Presley
’
s
bicycle
under
the
seat
,
covering
it
with
a
couple
of
empty
sacks
and
a
tarpaulin
carriage
cover
.
While
he
was
doing
this
,
the
stableman
uttered
an
exclamation
and
paused
in
the
act
of
backing
the
horse
into
the
shafts
,
holding
up
a
hand
,
listening
.
From
the
hollow
roof
of
the
barn
and
from
the
thick
velvet
-
like
padding
of
dust
over
the
ground
outside
,
and
from
among
the
leaves
of
the
few
nearby
trees
and
plants
there
came
a
vast
,
monotonous
murmur
that
seemed
to
issue
from
all
quarters
of
the
horizon
at
once
,
a
prolonged
and
subdued
rustling
sound
,
steady
,
even
,
persistent
.
“
There
’
s
your
rain
,
”
announced
the
stableman
.
“
The
first
of
the
season
.
”
