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He managed to run up and take dinner with her between six and seven, and to remain home until nine o'clock in the morning, but the novelty of this waned after a time, and he began to feel the drag of his duties. The first month had scarcely passed before Carrie said in a very natural way: "I think I'll go down this week and buy a dress. "What kind?" said Hurstwood.
Neither had he thirteen hundred dollars in hand to talk with. About a month later, finding that he had not made any progress, Shaughnessy reported definitely that Slawson would not extend the lease. "I guess this thing's got to come to an end," he said, affecting an air of concern. "Well, if it has, it has," answered Hurstwood, grimly.
"George is a fine fellow," said Drouet, rather gratified by his conception of the manager's interest. "Come on and we'll go out to dinner." When Hurstwood saw that Drouet was back he wrote at once to Carrie, saying: "I told him I called on you, dearest, when he was away. I did not say how often, but he probably thought once. Let me know of anything you may have said.
He looked rather determined now, in a desolate sort of way, and Carrie felt very sorry. Something of the old Hurstwood was here the least shadow of what was once shrewd and pleasant strength. Outside, it was cloudy and blowing a few flakes of snow. "What a day to go over there," thought Carrie.
While he was idly pondering, satisfied to be inside, a well-dressed man passed up the lobby, stopped, looked sharply, as if not sure of his memory, and then approached. Hurstwood recognised Cargill, the owner of the large stables in Chicago of the same name, whom he had last seen at Avery Hall, the night Carrie appeared there.
He seemed wiser than Hurstwood, saner and brighter than Drouet. He seemed innocent and clean, and she thought that he was exceedingly pleasant. She noticed, also, that his interest in her was a far-off one. She was not in his life, nor any of the things that touched his life, and yet now, as he spoke of these things, they appealed to her.
Carrie in her rooms that evening was in a fine glow, physically and mentally. She was deeply rejoicing in her affection for Hurstwood and his love, and looked forward with fine fancy to their next meeting Sunday night. They had agreed, without any feeling of enforced secrecy, that she should come down town and meet him, though, after all, the need of it was the cause. Mrs.
The other man really became serious. "I call," he said. Hurstwood showed his hand. He was done. The bitter fact that he had lost seventy-five dollars made him desperate. "Let's have another pot," he said, grimly. "All right," said the man. Some of the other players quit, but observant loungers took their places. Time passed, and it came to twelve o'clock.
They went out, and at the corner the commonplace Irish individual was standing, eyeing him. Hurstwood could scarcely refrain from showing that he knew of this chap's presence. The insolence in the fellow's eye was galling. Still they passed, and he explained to Carrie concerning the city. Another restaurant was not long in showing itself, and here they entered.
"Yes, indeed," added Drouet, who was not in the least aware that a battle had been fought and his defences weakened. He was like the Emperor of China, who sat glorying in himself, unaware that his fairest provinces were being wrested from him. "Well, you have saved me a dreary evening," returned Hurstwood. "Good-night."
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