Заезды по воскресеньям с 16 июня по 18 августа 2013 года 19 страница

open.

 

"Then," he thought, "she loves me or she would not have written to me

at all."

 

He was slightly depressed at the tenor of the note for the first few

minutes, but soon recovered. "She wouldn't write at all if she didn't

care for me."

 

This was his one resource against the depression which held him. He

could extract little from the wording of the letter, but the spirit he

thought he knew.

 

There was really something exceedingly human--if not pathetic--in his

being thus relieved by a clearly worded reproof. He who had for so

long remained satisfied with himself now looked outside of himself for

comfort--and to such a source. The mystic cords of affection! How they

bind us all.

 

The color came to his cheeks. For the moment he forgot the letter from

McGregor, James and Hay. If he could only have Carrie, perhaps he

could get out of the whole entanglement-perhaps it would not matter.

He wouldn't care what his wife did with herself if only he might not

lose Carrie. He stood up and walked about, dreaming his delightful

dream of a life continued with this lovely possessor of his heart.

 

It was not long, however, before the old worry was back for

consideration, and with it what weariness! He thought of the morrow and

the suit. He had done nothing, and here was the afternoon slipping

away. It was now a quarter of four. At five the attorneys would have

gone home. He still had the morrow until noon. Even as he thought,

the last fifteen minutes passed away and it was five. Then he

abandoned the thought of seeing them any more that day and turned to

Carrie.

 

It is to be observed that the man did not justify himself to himself.

He was not troubling about that. His whole thought was the possibility

of persuading Carrie. Nothing was wrong in that. He loved her dearly.

Their mutual happiness depended upon it. Would that Drouet were only

away!

 

While he was thinking thus elatedly, he remembered that he wanted some

clean linen in the morning.

 

This he purchased, together with a half-dozen ties, and went to the

Palmer House. As he entered he thought he saw Drouet ascending the

stairs with a key. Surely not Drouet! Then he thought, perhaps they

had changed their abode temporarily. He went straight up to the desk.

 

"Is Mr. Drouet stopping here?" he asked of the clerk.

 

"I think he is," said the latter, consulting his private registry list.

"Yes."

 

"Is that so?" exclaimed Hurstwood, otherwise concealing his

astonishment. "Alone?" he added.

 

"Yes," said the clerk.

 

Hurstwood turned away and set his lips so as best to express and

conceal his feelings.

 

"How's that?" he thought. "They've had a row."

 

He hastened to his room with rising spirits and changed his linen. As

he did so, he made up his mind that if Carrie was alone, or if she had

gone to another place, it behooved him to find out. He decided to call

at once.

 

"I know what I'll do," he thought. "I'll go to the door and ask if Mr.

Drouet is at home. That will bring out whether he is there or not and

where Carrie is."

 

He was almost moved to some muscular display as he thought of it. He

decided to go immediately after supper.

 

On coming down from his room at six, he looked carefully about to see

if Drouet was present and then went out to lunch. He could scarcely

eat, however, he was so anxious to be about his errand. Before starting

he thought it well to discover where Drouet would be, and returned to

his hotel.

 

"Has Mr. Drouet gone out?" he asked of the clerk.

 

"No," answered the latter, "he's in his room. Do you wish to send up a

card?" "No, I'll call around later," answered Hurstwood, and strolled

out.

 

He took a Madison car and went direct to Ogden Place this time walking

boldly up to the door. The chambermaid answered his knock.

 

"Is Mr. Drouet in?" said Hurstwood blandly.

 

"He is out of the city," said the girl, who had heard Carrie tell this

to Mrs. Hale.

 

"Is Mrs. Drouet in?"

 

"No, she has gone to the theatre."

 

"Is that so?" said Hurstwood, considerably taken back; then, as if

burdened with something important, "You don't know to which theatre?"

 

The girl really had no idea where she had gone, but not liking

Hurstwood, and wishing to cause him trouble, answered: "Yes, Hooley's."

 

"Thank you," returned the manager, and, tipping his hat slightly, went

away.

 

"I'll look in at Hooley's," thought he, but as a matter of fact he did

not. Before he had reached the central portion of the city he thought

the whole matter over and decided it would be useless. As much as he

longed to see Carrie, he knew she would be with some one and did not

wish to intrude with his plea there. A little later he might do so--in

the morning. Only in the morning he had the lawyer question before

him.

 

This little pilgrimage threw quite a wet blanket upon his rising

spirits. He was soon down again to his old worry, and reached the

resort anxious to find relief. Quite a company of gentlemen were

making the place lively with their conversation. A group of Cook

County politicians were conferring about a round cherry-wood table in

the rear portion of the room. Several young merrymakers were

chattering at the bar before making a belated visit to the theatre. A

shabbily-genteel individual, with a red nose and an old high hat, was

sipping a quiet glass of ale alone at one end of the bar. Hurstwood

nodded to the politicians and went into his office.

 

About ten o'clock a friend of his, Mr. 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.

Haven't lost at the track, have you?"

 

"I'm not feeling very well to-night. I had a slight cold the other

day."

 

"Take whiskey, George," said Taintor. "You ought to know that."

 

Hurstwood smiled.

 

While they were still conferring there, several other of Hurstwood's

friends entered, and not long after eleven, the theatres being out,

some actors began to drop in--among them some notabilities.

 

Then began one of those pointless social conversations so common in

American resorts where the would-be gilded attempt to rub off gilt from

those who have it in abundance. If Hurstwood had one leaning, it was

toward notabilities. He considered that, if anywhere, he belonged

among them. He was too proud to toady, too keen not to strictly

observe the plane he occupied when there were those present who did not

appreciate him, but, in situations like the present, where he could

shine as a gentleman and be received without equivocation as a friend

and equal among men of known ability, he was most delighted. It was on

such occasions, if ever, that he would "take something." When the

social flavor was strong enough he would even unbend to the extent of

drinking glass for glass with his associates, punctiliously observing

his turn to pay as if he were an outsider like the others. If he ever

approached intoxication--or rather that ruddy warmth and

comfortableness which precedes the more slovenly state--it was when

individuals such as these were gathered about him, when he was one of a

circle of chatting celebrities. To-night, disturbed as was his state,

he was rather relieved to find company, and now that notabilities were

gathered, he laid aside his troubles for the nonce, and joined in right

heartily.

 

It was not long before the imbibing began to tell. Stories began to

crop up--those ever-enduring, droll stories which form the major

portion of the conversation among American men under such

circumstances.

 

Twelve o'clock arrived, the hour for closing, and with it the company

took leave. Hurstwood shook hands with them most cordially. He was

very roseate physically. He had arrived at that state where his mind,

though clear, was, nevertheless, warm in its fancies. He felt as if

his troubles were not very serious. Going into his office, he began to

turn over certain accounts, awaiting the departure of the bartenders

and the cashier, who soon left.

 

It was the manager's duty, as well as his custom, after all were gone

to see that everything was safely closed up for the night. As a rule,

no money except the cash taken in after banking hours was kept about

the place, and that was locked in the safe by the cashier, who, with

the owners, was joint keeper of the secret combination, but,

nevertheless, Hurstwood nightly took the precaution to try the cash

drawers and the safe in order to see that they were tightly closed.

Then he would lock his own little office and set the proper light

burning near the safe, after which he would take his departure.

 

Never in his experience had he found anything out of order, but to-

night, after shutting down his desk, he came out and tried the safe.

His way was to give a sharp pull. This time the door responded. He

was slightly surprised at that, and looking in found the money cases as

left for the day, apparently unprotected. His first thought was, of

course, to inspect the drawers and shut the door.

 

"I'll speak to Mayhew about this to-morrow," he thought.

 

The latter had certainly imagined upon going out a half-hour before

that he had turned the knob on the door so as to spring the lock. He

had never failed to do so before. But to-night Mayhew had other

thoughts. He had been revolving the problem of a business of his own.

 

"I'll look in here," thought the manager, pulling out the money

drawers. He did not know why he wished to look in there. It was quite

a superfluous action, which another time might not have happened at

all.

 

As he did so, a layer of bills, in parcels of a thousand, such as banks

issue, caught his eye. He could not tell how much they represented,

but paused to view them. Then he pulled out the second of the cash

drawers. In that were the receipts of the day.

 

"I didn't know Fitzgerald and Moy ever left any money this way," his

mind said to itself. "They must have forgotten it."

 

He looked at the other drawer and paused again.

 

"Count them," said a voice in his ear.

 

He put his hand into the first of the boxes and lifted the stack,

letting the separate parcels fall. They were bills of fifty and one

hundred dollars done in packages of a thousand. He thought he counted

ten such.

 

"Why don't I shut the safe?" his mind said to itself, lingering. "What

makes me pause here?"

 

For answer there came the strangest words:

 

"Did you ever have ten thousand dollars in ready money?"

 

Lo, the manager remembered that he had never had so much. All his

property had been slowly accumulated, and now his wife owned that. He

was worth more than forty thousand, all told--but she would get that.

 

He puzzled as he thought of these things, then pushed in the drawers

and closed the door, pausing with his hand upon the knob, which might

so easily lock it all beyond temptation. Still he paused. Finally he

went to the windows and pulled down the curtains. Then he tried the

door, which he had previously locked. What was this thing, making him

suspicious? Why did he wish to move about so quietly. He came back to

the end of the counter as if to rest his arm and think. Then he went

and unlocked his little office door and turned on the light. He also

opened his desk, sitting down before it, only to think strange

thoughts.

 

"The safe is open," said a voice. "There is just the least little

crack in it. The lock has not been sprung."

 

The manager floundered among a jumble of thoughts. Now all the

entanglement of the day came back. Also the thought that here was a

solution. That money would do it. If he had that and Carrie. He rose

up and stood stock-still, looking at the floor.

 

"What about it?" his mind asked, and for answer he put his hand slowly

up and scratched his head.

 

The manager was no fool to be led blindly away by such an errant

proposition as this, but his situation was peculiar. Wine was in his

veins. It had crept up into his head and given him a warm view of the

situation. It also colored the possibilities of ten thousand for him.

He could see great opportunities with that. He could get Carrie. Oh,

yes, he could! He could get rid of his wife. That letter, too, was

waiting discussion to-morrow morning. He would not need to answer

that. He went back to the safe and put his hand on the knob. Then he

pulled the door open and took the drawer with the money quite out.

 

With it once out and before him, it seemed a foolish thing to think

about leaving it. Certainly it would. Why, he could live quietly with

Carrie for years.

 

Lord! what was that? For the first time he was tense, as if a stern

hand had been laid upon his shoulder. He looked fearfully around. Not

a soul was present. Not a sound. Some one was shuffling by on the

sidewalk. He took the box and the money and put it back in the safe.

Then he partly closed the door again.

 

To those who have never wavered in conscience, the predicament of the

individual whose mind is less strongly constituted and who trembles in

the balance between duty and desire is scarcely appreciable, unless

graphically portrayed. Those who have never heard that solemn voice of

the ghostly clock which ticks with awful distinctness, "thou shalt,"

"thou shalt not," "thou shalt," "thou shalt not," are in no position to

judge. Not alone in sensitive, highly organized natures is such a

mental conflict possible. The dullest specimen of humanity, when drawn

by desire toward evil, is recalled by a sense of right, which is

proportionate in power and strength to his evil tendency. We must

remember that it may not be a knowledge of right, for no knowledge of

right is predicated of the animal's instinctive recoil at evil. Men

are still led by instinct before they are regulated by knowledge. It

is instinct which recalls the criminal--it is instinct (where highly

organized reasoning is absent) which gives the criminal his feeling of

danger, his fear of wrong.

 

At every first adventure, then, into some untried evil, the mind

wavers. The clock of thought ticks out its wish and its denial. To

those who have never experienced such a mental dilemma, the following

will appeal on the simple ground of revelation.

 

When Hurstwood put the money back, his nature again resumed its ease

and daring. No one had observed him. He was quite alone. No one could

tell what he wished to do. He could work this thing out for himself.

 

The imbibation of the evening had not yet worn off. Moist as was his

brow, tremble as did his hand once after the nameless fright, he was

still flushed with the fumes of liquor. He scarcely noticed that the

time was passing. He went over his situation once again, his eye

always seeing the money in a lump, his mind always seeing what it would

do. He strolled into his little room, then to the door, then to the

safe again. He put his hand on the knob and opened it. There was the

money! Surely no harm could come from looking at it!

 

He took out the drawer again and lifted the bills. They were so

smooth, so compact, so portable. How little they made, after all. He

decided he would take them. Yes, he would. He would put them in his

pocket. Then he looked at that and saw they would not go there. His

hand satchel! To be sure, his hand satchel. They would go in that--all

of it would. No one would think anything of it either. He went into

the little office and took it from the shelf in the corner. Now he set

it upon his desk and went out toward the safe. For some reason he did

not want to fill it out in the big room. First he brought the bills and

then the loose receipts of the day. He would take it all. He put the

empty drawers back and pushed the iron door almost to, then stood

beside it meditating.

 

The wavering of a mind under such circumstances is an almost

inexplicable thing, and yet it is absolutely true. Hurstwood could not

bring himself to act definitely. He wanted to think about it--to

ponder over it, to decide whether it were best. He was drawn by such a

keen desire for Carrie, driven by such a state of turmoil in his own

affairs that he thought constantly it would be best, and yet he

wavered. He did not know what evil might result from it to him--how

soon he might come to grief. The true ethics of the situation never

once occurred to him, and never would have, under any circumstances.

 

After he had all the money in the handbag, a revulsion of feeling

seized him. He would not do it--no! Think of what a scandal it would

make. The police! They would be after him. He would have to fly, and

where? Oh, the terror of being a fugitive from justice! He took out the

two boxes and put all the money back. In his excitement he forgot what

he was doing, and put the sums in the wrong boxes. As he pushed the

door to, he thought he remembered doing it wrong and opened the door

again. There were the two boxes mixed.

 

He took them out and straightened the matter, but now the terror had

gone. Why be afraid?

 

While the money was in his hand the lock clicked. It had sprung! Did

he do it? He grabbed at the knob and pulled vigorously. It had closed.

Heavens! he was in for it now, sure enough.

 

The moment he realized that the safe was locked for a surety, the sweat

burst out upon his brow and he trembled violently. He looked about him

and decided instantly. There was no delaying now.

 

"Supposing I do lay it on the top," he said, "and go away, they'll know

who took it. I'm the last to close up. Besides, other things will

happen."

 

At once he became the man of action.

 

"I must get out of this," he thought.

 

He hurried into his little room, took down his light overcoat and hat,

locked his desk, and grabbed the satchel. Then he turned out all but

one light and opened the door. He tried to put on his old assured air,

but it was almost gone. He was repenting rapidly.

 

"I wish I hadn't done that," he said. "That was a mistake."

 

He walked steadily down the street, greeting a night watchman whom he

knew who was trying doors. He must get out of the city, and that

quickly.

 

"I wonder how the trains run?" he thought.

 

Instantly he pulled out his watch and looked. It was nearly half-past

one.

 

At the first drugstore he stopped, seeing a long-distance telephone

booth inside. It was a famous drugstore, and contained one of the

first private telephone booths ever erected. "I want to use your 'phone

a minute," he said to the night clerk.

 

The latter nodded.

 

"Give me 1643," he called to Central, after looking up the Michigan

Central depot number. Soon he got the ticket agent.

 

"How do the trains leave here for Detroit?" he asked.

 

The man explained the hours.

 

"No more to-night?"

 

"Nothing with a sleeper. Yes, there is, too," he added. "There is a

mail train out of here at three o'clock."

 

"All right," said Hurstwood. "What time does that get to Detroit?"

 

He was thinking if he could only get there and cross the river into

Canada, he could take his time about getting to Montreal. He was

relieved to learn that it would reach there by noon.

 

"Mayhew won't open the safe till nine," he thought. "They can't get on

my track before noon."

 

Then he thought of Carrie. With what speed must he get her, if he got

her at all. She would have to come along. He jumped into the nearest

cab standing by.

 

"To Ogden Place," he said sharply. "I'll give you a dollar more if you

make good time."

 

The cabby beat his horse into a sort of imitation gallop which was

fairly fast, however. On the way Hurstwood thought what to do.

Reaching the number, he hurried up the steps and did not spare the bell

in waking the servant.

 

"Is Mrs. Drouet in?" he asked.

 

"Yes," said the astonished girl.

 

"Tell her to dress and come to the door at once. Her husband is in the

hospital, injured, and wants to see her."

 

The servant girl hurried upstairs, convinced by the man's strained and

emphatic manner.

 

"What!" said Carrie, lighting the gas and searching for her clothes.

 

"Mr. Drouet is hurt and in the hospital. He wants to see you. The

cab's downstairs."

 

Carrie dressed very rapidly, and soon appeared below, forgetting

everything save the necessities.

 

"Drouet is hurt," said Hurstwood quickly. "He wants to see you. Come

quickly."

 

Carrie was so bewildered that she swallowed the whole story.

 

"Get in," said Hurstwood, helping her and jumping after.

 

The cabby began to turn the horse around. "Michigan Central depot," he

said, standing up and speaking so low that Carrie could not hear, "as

fast as you can go."

 

 

Chapter XXVIII

A PILGRIM, AN OUTLAW--THE SPIRIT DETAINED

 

The cab had not traveled a short block before Carrie, settling herself

and thoroughly waking in the night atmosphere, asked:

 

"What's the matter with him? Is he hurt badly?"

 

"It isn't anything very serious," Hurstwood said solemnly. He was very

much disturbed over his own situation, and now that he had Carrie with

him, he only wanted to get safely out of reach of the law. Therefore

he was in no mood for anything save such words as would further his

plans distinctly.

 

Carrie did not forget that there was something to be settled between

her and Hurstwood, but the thought was ignored in her agitation. The

one thing was to finish this strange pilgrimage.

 

"Where is he?"

 

"Way out on the South Side," said Hurstwood. "We'll have to take the

train. It's the quickest way."

 

Carrie said nothing, and the horse gamboled on. The weirdness of the

city by night held her attention. She looked at the long receding rows

of lamps and studied the dark, silent houses.

 

"How did he hurt himself?" she asked--meaning what was the nature of

his injuries. Hurstwood understood. He hated to lie any more than

necessary, and yet he wanted no protests until he was out of danger.

 

"I don't know exactly," he said. "They just called me up to go and get

you and bring you out. They said there wasn't any need for alarm, but

that I shouldn't fail to bring you."

 

The man's serious manner convinced Carrie, and she became silent,

wondering.

 

Hurstwood examined his watch and urged the man to hurry. For one in so

delicate a position he was exceedingly cool. He could only think of

how needful it was to make the train and get quietly away. Carrie

seemed quite tractable, and he congratulated himself.

 

In due time they reached the depot, and after helping her out he handed

the man a five-dollar bill and hurried on.

 

"You wait here," he said to Carrie, when they reached the waiting-room,

"while I get the tickets."

 

"Have I much time to catch that train for Detroit?" he asked of the

agent.

 

"Four minutes," said the latter.

 

He paid for two tickets as circumspectly as possible.

 

"Is it far?" said Carrie, as he hurried back.

 

"Not very," he said. "We must get right in."

 

He pushed her before him at the gate, stood between her and the ticket

man while the latter punched their tickets, so that she could not see,

and then hurried after.

 

There was a long line of express and passenger cars and one or two

common day coaches. As the train had only recently been made up and

few passengers were expected, there were only one or two brakemen

waiting. They entered the rear day coach and sat down. Almost

immediately, "All aboard," resounded faintly from the outside, and the

train started.

 

Carrie began to think it was a little bit curious--this going to a

depot--but said nothing. The whole incident was so out of the natural

that she did not attach too much weight to anything she imagined.

 

"How have you been?" asked Hurstwood gently, for he now breathed

easier.

 

"Very well," said Carrie, who was so disturbed that she could not bring

a proper attitude to bear in the matter. She was still nervous to

reach Drouet and see what could be the matter. Hurstwood contemplated

her and felt this. He was not disturbed that it should be so. He did

not trouble because she was moved sympathetically in the matter. It

was one of the qualities in her which pleased him exceedingly. He was

only thinking how he should explain. Even this was not the most