the slightest
provocation, flashed in this sunlight like diamonds.

Annixter was all bewildered. With the exception of the timid little
creature in the glove-cleaning establishment in Sacramento, he had had
no acquaintance with any woman. His world was harsh, crude, a world of
men only--men who were to be combatted, opposed--his hand was against
nearly every one of them. Women he distrusted with the instinctive
distrust of the overgrown schoolboy. Now, at length, a young woman had
come into his life. Promptly he was struck with discomfiture, annoyed
almost beyond endurance, harassed, bedevilled, excited, made angry and
exasperated. He was suspicious of the woman, yet desired her, totally
ignorant of how to approach her, hating the sex, yet drawn to the
individual, confusing the two emotions, sometimes even hating Hilma as
a result of this confusion, but at all times disturbed, vexed, irritated
beyond power of expression.

At length, Annixter cast his cigar from him and plunged again into the
work of the day. The afternoon wore to evening, to the accompaniment
of wearying and clamorous endeavour. In some unexplained fashion,
the labour of putting the great barn in readiness for the dance was
accomplished; the last bolt of cambric was hung in place from the
rafters. The last evergreen tree was nailed to the joists of the
walls; the last lantern hung, the last nail driven into the musicians'
platform. The sun set. There was a great scurry to have supper and
dress. Annixter, last of all the other workers, left the barn in the
dusk of twilight. He was alone; he had a saw under one arm, a bag of
tools was in his hand. He was in his shirt sleeves and carried his coat
over his shoulder; a hammer was thrust into one of his hip pockets. He
was in execrable temper. The day's work had fagged him out. He had not
been able to find his hat.

"And the buckskin with sixty dollars' worth of saddle gone, too," he
groaned. "Oh, ain't it sweet?"

At his house, Mrs. Tree had set out a cold supper for him, the
inevitable dish of prunes serving as dessert. After supper Annixter
bathed and dressed. He decided at the last moment to wear his usual
town-going suit, a sack suit of black, made by a Bonneville tailor. But
his hat was gone. There were other hats he might have worn, but because
this particular one was lost he fretted about it all through his
dressing and then decided to have one more look around the barn for it.

For over a quart