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.

The boy departed, leaving a thick envelope of yellow paper in Annixter's
hands, the address typewritten, the word "Urgent" written in blue pencil
in one corner.

Annixter tore it open. The envelope contained other sealed envelopes,
some eight or ten of them, addressed to Magnus Derrick, Osterman,
Broderson, Garnett, Keast, Gethings, Chattern, Dabney, and to Annixter
himself.

Still puzzled, Annixter distributed the envelopes, muttering to himself:

"What's up now?"

The inciden