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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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"Yes," said Mr. Kenny, and then, turning the word again, added: "How are things out in Chicago?" "About the same as usual," said Hurstwood, smiling genially. "Wife with you?" "No." "Well, I must see more of you to-day. I’m just going in here for breakfast. Come in when you’re through." "I will," said Hurstwood, moving away. The whole conversation was a trial to him. It seemed to add complications with every word. This man called up a thousand memories. He represented everything he had left. Chicago, his wife, the elegant resort-all these were in his greeting and inquiries. And here he was in this same hotel expecting to confer with him, unquestionably waiting to have a good time with him. All at once the Chicago papers would arrive. The local papers would have accounts in them this very day. He forgot his triumph with Carrie in the possibility of soon being known for what he was, in this man’s eyes, a safe- breaker. He could have groaned as he went into the barber shop. He decided to escape and seek a more secluded hotel. Accordingly, when he came out he was glad to see the lobby clear, and hastened toward the stairs. He would get Carrie and go out by the ladies’ entrance. They would have breakfast in some more inconspicuous place. Across the lobby, however, another individual was surveying him. He was of a commonplace Irish type, small of stature, cheaply dressed, and with a head that seemed a smaller edition of some huge ward politician’s. This individual had been evidently talking with the clerk, but now he surveyed the ex-manager keenly. Hurstwood felt the long-range examination and recognised the type. Instinctively he felt that the man was a detective-that he was being watched. He hurried across, pretending not to notice, but in his mind was a world of thoughts. What would happen now? What could these people do? He began to trouble concerning the extradition laws. He did not understand them absolutely. Perhaps he could be arrested. Oh, if Carrie should find out! Montreal was too warm for him. He began to long to be out of it. Carrie had bathed and was waiting when he arrived. She looked refreshed-more delightful than ever, but reserved. Since he had gone she had resumed somewhat of her cold attitude towards him. Love was not blazing in her heart. He felt it, and his troubles seemed increased. He could not take her in his arms; he did not even try. Something about her forbade it. In part his opinion was the result of his own experiences and reflections below stairs. "You’re ready, are you?" he said kindly. "Yes," she answered. "We’ll go out for breakfast. This place down here doesn’t appeal to me very much." "All right," said Carrie. 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. "What a queer town this is," said Carrie, who marvelled at it solely because it was not like Chicago. "It isn’t as lively as Chicago," said Hurstwood. "Don’t you like it?" "No," said Carrie, whose feelings were already localised in the great Western city. "Well, it isn’t as interesting," said Hurstwood. "What’s here?" asked Carrie, wondering at his choosing to visit this town. "Nothing much," returned Hurstwood. "It’s quite a resort. There’s some pretty scenery about here." Carrie listened, but with a feeling of unrest. There was much about her situation which destroyed the possibility of appreciation. |
