THE OCTOPUS A Story of California by Frank Norris ... - Pink Monkey

delicacy of an elemental existence, close to nature, close to
life, close to the great, kindly earth.
As Hilma laid the table-spread, her arms opened to their widest
reach, the white cloth setting a little glisten of reflected
light underneath the chin, Annixter stirred in his place
uneasily.
"Oh, it's you, is it, Miss Hilma?" he remarked, for the sake of
saying something. "Good-morning. How do you do?"
"Good-morning, sir," she answered, looking up, resting for a
moment on her outspread palms. "I hope you are better."
Her voice was low in pitch and of a velvety huskiness, seeming to
come more from her chest than from her throat.
"Well, I'm some better," growled Annixter. Then suddenly he
demanded, "Where's that dog?"
A decrepit Irish setter sometimes made his appearance in and
about the ranch house, sleeping under the bed and eating when
anyone about the place thought to give him a plate of bread.
Annixter had no particular interest in the dog. For weeks at a
time he ignored its existence. It was not his dog. But to-day
it seemed as if he could not let the subject rest. For no reason
that he could explain even to himself, he recurred to it
continually. He questioned Hilma minutely all about the dog.
Who owned him? How old did she think he was? Did she imagine
the dog was sick? Where had he got to? Maybe he had crawled off
to die somewhere. He recurred to the subject all through the
meal; apparently, he could talk of nothing else, and as she
finally went away after clearing off the table, he went onto the
porch and called after her:
"Say, Miss Hilma."
"Yes, sir."
"If that dog turns up again you let me know."
"Very well, sir."
Annixter returned to the dining-room and sat down in the chair he