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"Oh, anything, only don't take that." He thought a while, still keeping his arms about her, and then said: "How would Wheeler do?" "That's all right," said Carrie. "Well, then, Wheeler," he said. "I'll get the license this afternoon." They were married by a Baptist minister, the first divine they found convenient. At last the Chicago firm answered. It was by Mr. Moy's dictation.
" Wha-what's the matter?" said Minnie, drowsily. " Wake up," he said, " and turn over. You're talking in your sleep." A week or so later Drouet strolled into Fitzgerald and Moy's spruce in dress and manner. " Hello, Charley," said Hurstwood, looking out from his office door. Drouet strolled over and looked in upon the manger at his desk. " When do you go out on the road again?" he inquired.
"Oh no! she knew nothing about that, nor I; but you see every one has something droll. See what Mr. Bowater has!" And Herbert Bowater showed that decidedly uncomplimentary penwiper, where the ass's head declares "There are two of us;" while every child had some absurdity to show; and Miss Moy's shrieks of delight were already audible at a tortoise-shell pen-holder disguised as a hunting-whip.
As the present became darker, the past grew brighter, and all that concerned it stood in relief. He was unconscious of just how much this habit had hold of him until one day he found his lips repeating an old answer he had made to one of his friends. They were in Fitzgerald and Moy's.
"'Can Ah Moy walk home with pletty lady? he asked in dove-like tones. "Now Miss Cragiemuir's fads were invariably carried through to the last extremity, and Ah Moy's request, instead of embarrassing her, afforded a thrill of gratification.
As a consequence, she recalled, with rising feeling, how often he had refused to go to places with her, to share in little visits, or, indeed, take part in any of the social amenities which furnished the diversion of her existence. He had been seen at the theatre with people whom he called Moy's friends; now he was seen driving, and, most likely, would have an excuse for that.
His preference for Fitzgerald and Moy's Adams Street place was another yard off the same cloth. This was really a gorgeous saloon from a Chicago standpoint. Like Rector's, it was also ornamented with a blaze of incandescent lights, held in handsome chandeliers.
"Seems the beggar's taken a fancy to me," the steward smiled to himself. Nor was he capable of guessing Ah Moy's reason for bunking always on the opposite side from Kwaque. "I changee," the little old cook explained, with anxious eyes to please and placate, in response to Daughtry's direct question. "All the time like that, changee, plentee changee. You savvee?"
The man imagined he saw a feverish gleam in the applicant's eye. "What hotel did you manage?" he inquired. "It wasn't a hotel," said Hurstwood. "I was manager of Fitzgerald and Moy's place in Chicago for fifteen years." "Is that so?" said the hotel man. "How did you come to get out of that?" The figure of Hurstwood was rather surprising in contrast to the fact. "Well, by foolishness of my own.
Cunningham explored the muddy gutters all the way from Ling Foo's to Moy's tea house, where the meeting had taken place. He found nothing, and went into Moy's to wait. Ling Foo would have to pass the restaurant. A boy who knew the merchant stood outside to watch. Jane woke at nine. The brightness of the window shade told her that the sun was clear.
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