Hooven, after drinking his third glass, however, was afflicted with a great sadness; his breast heaved with immense sighs.He asserted that he was "obbressed;" Cutter had taken his steer.He retired to a corner and seated himself in a heap on his chair, his heels on the rungs, wiping the tears from his eyes, refusing to be comforted.
Old Broderson startled Annixter, who sat next to him, out of all measure by suddenly winking at him with infinite craftiness.
"When I was a lad in Ukiah," he whispered hoarsely, "I was a devil of a fellow with the girls; but Lordy!" he nudged him slyly, "I wouldn't have it known!"Of those who were drinking, Annixter alone retained all his wits.
Though keeping pace with the others, glass for glass, the punch left him solid upon his feet, clear-headed.The tough, cross-grained fibre of him seemed proof against alcohol.Never in his life had he been drunk.He prided himself upon his power of resistance.It was his nature.
"Say!" exclaimed old Broderson, gravely addressing the company, pulling at his beard uneasily--"say! I--I--listen! I'm a devil of a fellow with the girls." He wagged his head doggedly, shutting his eyes in a knowing fashion."Yes, sir, I am.There was a young lady in Ukiah--that was when I was a lad of seventeen.We used to meet in the cemetery in the afternoons.Iwas to go away to school at Sacramento, and the afternoon I left we met in the cemetery and we stayed so long I almost missed the train.Her name was Celestine."There was a pause.The others waited for the rest of the story.
"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 ****** 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-****** 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.
Annixter was saluted right and left as he slowly went the round of the floor.At every moment he had to pause to shake hands and to listen to congratulations upon the size of his barn and the success of his dance.But he was distrait, his thoughts elsewhere; he did not attempt to hide his impatience when some of the young men tried to engage him in conversation, asking him to be introduced to their sisters, or their friends' sisters.He sent them about their business harshly, abominably rude, leaving a wake of angry disturbance behind him, sowing the seeds of future quarrels and renewed unpopularity.He was looking for Hilma Tree.
When at last he came unexpectedly upon her, standing near where Mrs.Tree was seated, some half-dozen young men hovering uneasily in her neighbourhood, all his audacity was suddenly stricken from him; his gruffness, his overbearing insolence vanished with an abruptness that left him cold.His old-time confusion and embarrassment returned to him.Instead of speaking to her as he intended, he affected not to see her, but passed by, his head in the air, pretending a sudden interest in a Japanese lantern that was about to catch fire.
But he had had a single distinct glimpse of her, definite, precise, and this glimpse was enough.Hilma had changed.The change was subtle, evanescent, hard to define, but not the less unmistakable.The excitement, the enchanting delight, the delicious disturbance of "the first ball," had produced its result.Perhaps there had only been this lacking.It was hard to say, but for that brief instant of time Annixter was looking at Hilma, the woman.She was no longer the young girl upon whom he might look down, to whom he might condescend, whose little, infantile graces were to be considered with amused toleration.
