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And you have persuaded Mrs. Higgs to send me this absurd message, asking me to appear for him?" "No. He's nothing to me. Mrs. Higgs wants him got off, because if he's convicted he'll tell all he knows, or at least enough to set the police on." "And what is that to me?" Another pause, during which she looked down. Then Carrie raised her eyes again, and looked at him steadily.
After supplying the house amply, there were at least a hundred eggs, a day, to sell; and Carrie, who now took immense interest in the poultry yard, calculated that they could dispose of ten couple a week, and still keep up their number from the young broods. "The only thing you have to be afraid of is disease, Mrs.
"Did I tell you to come around to day?" said the manager, looking her over as she stood before him. "You said the first of the week," said Carrie, greatly abashed. "Ever had any experience?" he asked again, almost severely. Carrie owned to ignorance. He looked her over again as he stirred among some papers. He was secretly pleased with this pretty, disturbed-looking young woman.
" Let's see." " Sixty-seven," the coach-caller was saying, his voice lifted in a sort of euphonious cry. " Sixty-seven." " Isn't it fine?" said Carrie. " Great," said Drouet. He was as much affected by this show of finery and gayety as she. He pressed her arm warmly. Once she looked up, her even teeth glistening through her smiling lips, her eyes alight.
He's had a chance all evening to tell you what a whale of a fine fellow he is. Now it's my turn. I can't talk artistic, but Carrie, do you understand my work?" He leaned forward, thick capable hands on thick sturdy thighs, mature and slow, yet beseeching. "No matter even if you are cold, I like you better than anybody in the world. One time I said that you were my soul. And that still goes.
Alice looks as if she had laid in plenty of ammunition, and you were preparing to besiege her." The girls laughed, and all rose, for Madam Warburton was a stately old lady, and people involuntarily treated her with great respect, even in this mannerless age. "We were only talking about books," began Carrie, deeply grateful that Wanda was safely out of sight.
Carrie was gone. A couple of evening papers were lying on the table where she left them. He lit the gas and sat down. Then he got up and stripped to examine his shoulder. It was a mere scratch. He washed his hands and face, still in a brown study, apparently, and combed his hair. Then he looked for something to eat, and finally, his hunger gone, sat down in his comfortable rocking-chair.
"Butter is awful dear these days," he suggested. "You wouldn't mind it if you were working," she answered. He shut up after this, and went in to his paper, but the retort rankled in his mind. It was the first cutting remark that had come from her. That same evening, Carrie, after reading, went off to the front room to bed. This was unusual.
"You can go to the deuce as far as I am concerned," he said, as he reached the door. "I'm no sucker," and with that he opened it with a jerk and closed it equally vigorously. Carrie listened at her window view, more astonished than anything else at this sudden rise of passion in the drummer. She could hardly believe her senses so good-natured and tractable had he invariably been.
Just two rooms, all their own, all alone, and Emily to work for. That was his dream. But it seemed less possible than that other absurd one had been. Emily was as practical a little thing as she looked fluffy. She knew women. Especially did she know Eva, and Carrie, and Babe. She tried to imagine herself taking the household affairs and the housekeeping pocket-book out of Eva's expert hands.
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