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To this collection Hurstwood came up from the west out of Seventh Avenue and stopped close to the door, nearer than all the others. Those who had been waiting before him, but farther away, now drew near, and by a certain stolidity of demeanor, no words being spoken, indicated that they were first.

He contented himself with a very moderate allowance of personal apparel, and rarely suggested anything for Carrie. Thus the first winter passed. In the second year, the business which Hurstwood managed did increase somewhat. He got out of it regularly the $150 per month which he had anticipated.

Carrie had thought of going for a walk, and had put on a light gray woolen dress with a jaunty double-breasted jacket. She had out her hat and gloves, and was fastening a white lace tie about her throat when the housemaid brought up the information that Mr. Hurstwood wished to see her.

Every fine lady must be in the crowd on Broadway in the afternoon, in the theatre at the matinee, in the coaches and dining-halls at night. It must be glow and shine everywhere, with coaches waiting, and footmen attending, and she was out of it all. In two long years she had never even been in such a place as this. Vance was in his element here, as Hurstwood would have been in former days.

He meant to be pleasant, to forget her presence, to live in the atmosphere of youth and pleasure which had been restored to him. So now, the house, to his mind, had a most pleasing and comfortable appearance. In the hall he found an evening paper, laid there by the maid and forgotten by Mrs. Hurstwood.

Take him to the kitchen and tell Wilson to give him something to eat." "All right, sir," said Olsen. Hurstwood followed. Out of the manager's sight, the head porter's manner changed. "I don't know what the devil there is to do," he observed. Hurstwood said nothing. To him the big trunk hustler was a subject for private contempt. "You're to give this man something to eat," he observed to the cook.

The room seemed to have been a lounging place for night workers. There were some nine cots in the place, two or three wooden chairs, a soap box, and a small, round-bellied stove, in which a fire was blazing. Early as he was, another man was there before him. The latter was sitting beside the stove warming his hands. Hurstwood approached and held out his own toward the fire.

He stayed at his desk long after all others had gone, and only quitted it when the night watchman on his round pulled at the front door to see if it was safely locked. On Wednesday he received another polite note from McGregor, James and Hay. Julia Hurstwood, for divorce and alimony.

Frank L. Taintor, a local sport and racing man, dropped in, and seeing Hurstwood alone in his office came to the door. "Hello, George!" he exclaimed. "How are you, Frank?" said Hurstwood, somewhat relieved by the sight of him. "Sit down," and he motioned him to one of the chairs in the little room. "What's the matter, George?" asked Taintor. "You look a little glum.

To her subsequent and agonizing distress, Carrie was out. Hurstwood opened the door, half- thinking that the knock was Carrie's. For once, he was taken honestly aback. The lost voice of youth and pride spoke in him. "Why," he said, actually stammering, "how do you do?" "How do you do?" said Mrs. Vance, who could scarcely believe her eyes. His great confusion she instantly perceived.