In doing so he caught the flesh of his hand in the joint of the iron elbow that supported the top and pinched it cruelly.

It was the last misery, the culmination of a long train of wretchedness.

On the instant he hated Hilma Tree so fiercely that his sharply set teeth all but bit his cigar in two.
While he was grabbing and wrenching at the buggy-top, the water from his hat brim dripping down upon his nose, the horse, restive under the drench of the rain, moved uneasily.
"Yah-h-h you!" he shouted, inarticulate with exasperation.
"You--you--Gor-r-r, wait till I get hold of you.

WHOA, you!" But there was an interruption.

Delaney, riding the buckskin, came around a bend in the road at a slow trot and Annixter, getting into the buggy again, found himself face to face with him.
"Why, hello, Mr.Annixter," said he, pulling up.