Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers
"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?"
"Well, I must see more of you to-day. Iím just going in here for
breakfast. Come in when youíre 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 manís 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 ladiesí 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 politicianís. 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.
"Youíre ready, are you?" he said kindly.
"Yes," she answered.
"Weíll go out for breakfast. This place down here doesnít 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 chapís presence. The
insolence in the fellowís 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 isnít as lively as Chicago," said Hurstwood. "Donít you like
"No," said Carrie, whose feelings were already localised in the
great Western city.
"Well, it isnít as interesting," said Hurstwood.
"Whatís here?" asked Carrie, wondering at his choosing to visit
"Nothing much," returned Hurstwood. "Itís quite a resort. Thereís
some pretty scenery about here."
Carrie listened, but with a feeling of unrest. There was much
about her situation which destroyed the possibility of