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He paused a few moments, as if in thought, and then said: "Would you mind putting it off a few days?" "No," replied Carrie, who did not catch the drift of his remarks. She had never thought of him in connection with money troubles before. "Why?" "Well, I'll tell you," said Hurstwood. "This investment of mine is taking a lot of money just now.
"How are we going to pay it?" asked Carrie, astonished by the bill. "I can't do it." "Well, you don't have to," he said. "He can't get what he can't get. He'll have to wait." "I don't see how we ran up such a bill as that," said Carrie. "Well, we ate it," said Hurstwood. "It's funny," she replied, still doubting. "What's the use of your standing there and talking like that, now?" he asked.
It shook him up and made him feel like making some apologetic remarks, but he refrained. "You want to look out for them things," said the officer on the left, condescendingly. "That's right," agreed Hurstwood, shamefacedly. "There's lots of them on this line," said the officer on the right. Around the corner a more populated way appeared. One or two pedestrians were in view ahead.
At one of the corners, where the car slowed up because of a turn, an ex-motorman, standing on the sidewalk, called to him: "Won't you come out, pardner, and be a man? Remember we're fighting for decent day's wages, that's all. We've got families to support." The man seemed most peaceably inclined. Hurstwood pretended not to see him. He kept his eyes straight on before and opened the lever wide.
"Better get it, then; your car won't be ready for a little while." Hurstwood hesitated. "Could you let me have a meal ticket?" he asked with an effort. "Here you are," said the man, handing him one. He breakfasted as poorly as the night before on some fried steak and bad coffee. Then he went back. "Here," said the foreman, motioning him, when he came in. "You take this car out in a few minutes."
He had gone, but here was his word that riches were not everything; that there was a great deal more in the world than she knew; that the stage was good, and the literature she read poor. He was a strong man and clean- -how much stronger and better than Hurstwood and Drouet she only half formulated to herself, but the difference was painful.
His was mild, placid, assured, giving the impression that he wished to be of service only-to do something which would make the lady more pleased. Drouet had ability in this fine himself when the game was worth the candle, but he was too much the egotist to reach the polish which Hurstwood possessed. He was too buoyant, too full of ruddy life, too assured.
The poisons generated by remorse inveigh against the system, and eventually produce marked physical deterioration. To these Hurstwood was subject. In the course of time it told upon his temper. His eye no longer possessed that buoyant, searching shrewdness which had characterised it in Adams Street. His step was not as sharp and firm. He was given to thinking, thinking, thinking.
The latter was all that was lacking, however, to give a solid foundation to what, in a way, seemed groundless discontent. The clear proof of one overt deed was the cold breath needed to convert the lowering clouds of suspicion into a rain of wrath. An inkling of untoward deeds on the part of Hurstwood had come. Doctor Beale, the handsome resident physician of the neighborhood, met Mrs.
Both he and Drouet were left to discover that she was gone. The latter called once, and exclaimed at the news. Then he stood in the lobby, chewing the ends of his moustache. At last he reached a conclusion the old days had gone for good. "She isn't so much," he said; but in his heart of hearts he did not believe this. Hurstwood shifted by curious means through a long summer and fall.
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