"The trap!" she said, smiling.
"Ah, the trap!" repeated Anthony, inanely.
"Certainly!" she said, with a hint of impatience. Then, as he still stared, she added quickly: "You're the man from Peterson's? From San Mateo? You came to fix it, didn't you?"
"Not at all," said Anthony, smiling. "I came from New York."
Light dawned in the girl's eyes. She gave a horrified laugh.
"Well, how stupid of me!" she ejaculated. "Of course, I thought you were. I'm expecting a man to fix the trap, any day, and you sent no name. I bought this affair a week ago; there's a coon, or a fox, or something, that's been coming down from the hills after my pullets; but it won't work."
"I don't know anything about traps," said Anthony.
He was wondering how he had best introduce himself. The vague campaign that he had outlined on those restless nights in the train would be useless here, he had decided. As he spoke, he absently touched the tangled chains and bolts with his foot.
"Don't do that!" screamed Miss Mix.
At the same second there was a victorious convulsion of metal teeth, and Anthony found himself frantically jerking at his foot, which was fast in the trap.