His
dextrous hands were never for a moment still at the bar, either setting
out drinks or making change, except when he walked out and threw a fresh
feed into the fire, and stirred up the ruddy depths of the stove with a
tall poker. It was so long, indeed, that it might have served even Pale
Annie for a cane and it was a plain untapered bar of iron which the
blacksmith had given him as the price of a drink, on a day. He needed a
large poker, however, for there was only the one stove in the entire big
room, and it was a giant of its kind, as capacious as a hogshead. This
day Pale Annie kept it red hot, so that the warmth might penetrate to
the door on the one hand and to the rear of the room where the tables
and chairs were, on the other.
Since Pale Annie's crowd took little exercise except for bending their
elbows now and again, and since the majority of them had been in the
place fully half the day, by ten in the evening sounds of hilarity began
to rise from the saloon. Solemn-faced men who had remained in their
places for hour after hour, industriously putting away the red-eye, now
showed symptoms of life. Some of them discovered hitherto hidden talents
as singers, and they would rise from their places, remove their hats,
open their bearded mouths, and burst into song. An antiquarian who had
washed gold in '49 and done nothing the rest of his life save grow a
prodigious set of pure white whiskers, sprang from his place and did a
hoe-down that ravished the beholders.
Pages:
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283