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Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
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Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
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Carrie only rocked back and forth in her chair. "I don’t want you to go up against a hard game that way." He bestirred himself about some other details and Carrie rocked on. "Why don’t you tell me all about this thing," he said, after a time, "and let’s call it off? You don’t really care for Hurstwood, do you?" "Why do you want to start on that again?" said Carrie. "You were to blame." "No, I wasn’t," he answered. "Yes, you were, too," said Carrie. "You shouldn’t have ever told me such a story as that." "But you didn’t have much to do with him, did you?" went on Drouet, anxious for his own peace of mind to get some direct denial from her. "I won’t talk about it," said Carrie, pained at the quizzical turn the peace arrangement had taken. "What’s the use of acting like that now, Cad?" insisted the drummer, stopping in his work and putting up a hand expressively. "You might let me know where I stand, at least." "I won’t," said Carrie, feeling no refuge but in anger. "Whatever has happened is your own fault." "Then you do care for him?" said Drouet, stopping completely and experiencing a rush of feeling. "Oh, stop!" said Carrie. "Well, I’ll not be made a fool of," exclaimed Drouet. "You may trifle around with him if you want to, but you can’t lead me. You can tell me or not, just as you want to, but I won’t fool any longer!" He shoved the last few remaining things. he had laid out into his valise and snapped it with a vengeance. Then he grabbed his coat, which he had laid off to work, picked up his gloves, and started out. "You can go to the deuce as far as I am concerned," he said, as he reached the door. "I’m no sucker," and with that he opened it with a jerk and closed it equally vigorously. Carrie listened at her window view, more astonished than anything else at this sudden rise of passion in the drummer. She could hardly believe her senses-so good-natured and tractable had he invariably been. It was not for her to see the wellspring of human passion. A real flame of love is a subtle thing. It burns as a will-o’-the-wisp, dancing onward to fairy lands of delight. It roars as a furnace. Too often jealousy is the quality upon which it feeds. |
