Everything seemed to conspire to thwart him.
It was just like that absent-minded, crazy poet, Presley, to forget his wheel.

Well, he could come after it himself.

He, Annixter, would ride SOME horse, anyhow.

When he came out upon the porch he saw the wheel leaning against the fence where Presley had left it.

If it stayed there much longer the rain would catch it.