_ When Hurstwood got back to his office again he was in a greater
quandary than ever. Lord, Lord, he thought, what had he got
into? How could things have taken such a violent turn, and so
quickly? He could hardly realise how it had all come about. It
seemed a monstrous, unnatural, unwarranted condition which had
suddenly descended upon him without his let or hindrance.
Meanwhile he gave a thought now and then to Carrie. What could
be the trouble in that quarter? No letter had come, no word of
any kind, and yet here it was late in the evening and she had
agreed to meet him that morning. To-morrow they were to have met
and gone off--where? He saw that in the excitement of recent
events he had not formulated a plan upon that score. He was
desperately in love, and would have taken great chances to win
her under ordinary circumstances, but now--now what? Supposing
she had found out something? Supposing she, too, wrote him and
told him that she knew all--that she would have nothing more to
do with him? It would be just like this to happen as things were
going now. Meanwhile he had not sent the money.
He strolled up and down the polished floor of the resort, his
hands in his pockets, his brow wrinkled, his mouth set. He was
getting some vague comfort out of a good cigar, but it was no
panacea for the ill which affected him. Every once in a while he
would clinch his fingers and tap his foot--signs of the stirring
mental process he was undergoing. His whole nature was
vigorously and powerfully shaken up, and he was finding what
limits the mind has to endurance. He drank more brandy and soda
than he had any evening in months. He was altogether a fine
example of great mental perturbation.
For all his study nothing came of the evening except this--he
sent the money. It was with great opposition, after two or three
hours of the most urgent mental affirmation and denial, that at
last he got an envelope, placed in it the requested amount, and
slowly sealed it up.
Then he called Harry, the boy of all work around the place.
"You take this to this address," he said, handing him the
envelope, "and give it to Mrs. Hurstwood."
"Yes, sir," said the boy.
"If she isn't there bring it back."
"Yes, sir"
"You've seen my wife?" he asked as a precautionary measure as the
boy turned to go.
"Oh, yes, sir. I know her."
"All right, now. Hurry right back."
"Any answer?"
"I guess not."
The boy hastened away and the manager fell to his musings. Now
he had done it. There was no use speculating over that. He was
beaten for to-night and he might just as well make the best of
it. But, oh, the wretchedness of being forced this way! He could
see her meeting the boy at the door and smiling sardonically.
She would take the envelope and know that she had triumphed. If
he only had that letter back he wouldn't send it. He breathed
heavily and wiped the moisture from his face.
For relief, he arose and joined in conversation with a few
friends who were drinking. He tried to get the interest of
things about him, but it was not to be. All the time his
thoughts would run out to his home and see the scene being
therein enacted. All the time he was wondering what she would
say when the boy handed her the envelope.
In about an hour and three-quarters the boy returned. He had
evidently delivered the package, for, as he came up, he made no
sign of taking anything out of his pocket.
"Well?" said Hurstwood.
"I gave it to her."
"My wife?"
"Yes, sir."
"Any answer?"
"She said it was high time."
Hurstwood scowled fiercely.
There was no more to be done upon that score that night. He went
on brooding over his situation until midnight, when he repaired
again to the Palmer House. He wondered what the morning would
bring forth, and slept anything but soundly upon it.
Next day he went again to the office and opened his mail,
suspicious and hopeful of its contents. No word from Carrie.
Nothing from his wife, which was pleasant.
The fact that he had sent the money and that she had received it
worked to the ease of his mind, for, as the thought that he had
done it receded, his chagrin at it grew less and his hope of
peace more. He fancied, as he sat at his desk, that nothing
would be done for a week or two. Meanwhile, he would have time
to think.
This process of THINKING began by a reversion to Carrie and the
arrangement by which he was to get her away from Drouet. How
about that now? His pain at her failure to meet or write him
rapidly increased as he devoted himself to this subject. He
decided to write her care of the West Side Post-office and ask
for an explanation, as well as to have her meet him. The thought
that this letter would probably not reach her until Monday chafed
him exceedingly. He must get some speedier method--but how?
He thought upon it for a half-hour, not contemplating a messenger
or a cab direct to the house, owing to the exposure of it, but
finding that time was slipping away to no purpose, he wrote the
letter and then began to think again.
The hours slipped by, and with them the possibility of the union
he had contemplated. He had thought to be joyously aiding Carrie
by now in the task of joining her interests to his, and here it
was afternoon and nothing done. Three o'clock came, four, five,
six, and no letter. The helpless manager paced the floor and
grimly endured the gloom of defeat. He saw a busy Saturday
ushered out, the Sabbath in, and nothing done. All day, the bar
being closed, he brooded alone, shut out from home, from the
excitement of his resort, from Carrie, and without the ability to
alter his condition one iota. It was the worst Sunday he had
spent in his life.
In Monday's second mail he encountered a very legal-looking
letter, which held his interest for some time. It bore the
imprint of the law offices of McGregor, James and Hay, and with a
very formal "Dear Sir," and "We beg to state," went on to inform
him briefly that they had been retained by Mrs. Julia Hurstwood
to adjust certain matters which related to her sustenance and
property rights, and would he kindly call and see them about the
matter at once.
He read it through carefully several times, and then merely shook
his head. It seemed as if his family troubles were just
beginning.
"Well!" he said after a time, quite audibly, "I don't know."
Then he folded it up and put it in his pocket.
To add to his misery there was no word from Carrie. He was quite
certain now that she knew he was married and was angered at his
perfidy. His loss seemed all the more bitter now that he needed
her most. He thought he would go out and insist on seeing her if
she did not send him word of some sort soon. He was really
affected most miserably of all by this desertion. He had loved
her earnestly enough, but now that the possibility of losing her
stared him in the face she seemed much more attractive. He
really pined for a word, and looked out upon her with his mind's
eye in the most wistful manner. He did not propose to lose her,
whatever she might think. Come what might, he would adjust this
matter, and soon. He would go to her and tell her all his family
complications. He would explain to her just where he stood and
how much he needed her. Surely she couldn't go back on him now?
It wasn't possible. He would plead until her anger would melt--
until she would forgive him.
Suddenly he thought: "Supposing she isn't out there--suppose she
has gone?"
He was forced to take his feet. It was too much to think of and
sit still.
Nevertheless, his rousing availed him nothing.
On Tuesday it was the same way. He did manage to bring himself
into the mood to go out to Carrie, but when he got in Ogden Place
he thought he saw a man watching him and went away. He did not
go within a block of the house.
One of the galling incidents of this visit was that he came back
on a Randolph Street car, and without noticing arrived almost
opposite the building of the concern with which his son was
connected. This sent a pang through his heart. He had called on
his boy there several times. Now the lad had not sent him a
word. His absence did not seem to be noticed by either of his
children. Well, well, fortune plays a man queer tricks. He got
back to his office and joined in a conversation with friends. It
was as if idle chatter deadened the sense of misery.
That night he dined at Rector's and returned at once to his
office. In the bustle and show of the latter was his only
relief. He troubled over many little details and talked
perfunctorily to everybody. 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. It read:
"Dear Sir: We beg to inform you that we are instructed to wait
until to-morrow (Thursday) at one o'clock, before filing suit
against you, on behalf of Mrs. Julia Hurstwood, for divorce and
alimony. If we do not hear from you before that time we shall
consider that you do not wish to compromise the matter in any way
and act accordingly. "Very truly yours, etc."
"Compromise!" exclaimed Hurstwood bitterly. "Compromise!"
Again he shook his head.
So here it was spread out clear before him, and now he knew what
to expect. If he didn't go and see them they would sue him
promptly. If he did, he would be offered terms that would make
his blood boil. He folded the letter and put it with the other
one. Then he put on his hat and went for a turn about the block. _