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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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One afternoon, five weeks before the Warren Street place closed up, he left the saloon to visit three or four places he saw advertised in the "Herald." One was down in Gold Street, and he visited that, but did not enter. It was such a cheap looking place he felt that he could not abide it. Another was on the Bowery, which he knew contained many showy resorts. It was near Grand Street, and turned out to be very handsomely fitted up. He talked around about investments for fully three-quarters of an hour with the proprietor, who maintained that his health was poor, and that was the reason he wished a partner. "Well, now, just how much money would it take to buy a half interest here?" said Hurstwood, who saw seven hundred dollars as his limit. "Three thousand," said the man. Hurstwood’s jaw fell. "Cash?" he said. "Cash." He tried to put on an air of deliberation, as one who might really buy; but his eyes showed gloom. He wound up by saying he would think it over, and came away. The man he had been talking to sensed his condition in a vague way. "I don’t think he wants to buy," he said to himself. "He doesn’t talk right." The afternoon was as grey as lead and cold. It was blowing up a disagreeable winter wind. He visited a place far up on the east side, near Sixty-ninth Street, and it was five o’clock, and growing dim, when he reached there. A portly German kept this place. "How about this ad. of yours?" asked Hurstwood, who rather objected to the looks of the place. "Oh, dat iss all over," said the German. "I vill not sell now." "Oh, is that so?" "Yes; dere is nothing to dat. It iss all over." "Very well," said Hurstwood, turning around. The German paid no more attention to him, and it made him angry. "The crazy ass!" he said to himself. "What does he want to advertise for?" Wholly depressed, he started for Thirteenth Street. The flat had only a light in the kitchen, where Carrie was working. He struck a match and, lighting the gas, sat down in the dining-room without even greeting her. She came to the door and looked in. "It’s you, is it?" she said, and went back. "Yes," he said, without even looking up from the evening paper he had bought. Carrie saw things were wrong with him. He was not so handsome when gloomy. The lines at the sides of the eyes were deepened. Naturally dark of skin, gloom made him look slightly sinister. He was quite a disagreeable figure. Carrie set the table and brought in the meal. "Dinner’s ready," she said, passing him for something. He did not answer, reading on. She came in and sat down at her place, feeling exceedingly wretched. "Won’t you eat now?" she asked. He folded his paper and drew near, silence holding for a time, except for the "Pass me’s." "It’s been gloomy to-day, hasn’t it?" ventured Carrie, after a time. "Yes," he said. He only picked at his food. "Are you still sure to close up?" said Carrie, venturing to take up the subject which they had discussed often enough. "Of course we are," he said, with the slightest modification of sharpness. This retort angered Carrie. She had had a dreary day of it herself. "You needn’t talk like that," she said. |
