Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers
The least wrinkle crept into his brow as he remembered that this
was February 2d, the time the man always called. He fished down
in his pocket for his purse, getting the first taste of paying out
when nothing is coming in. He looked at the fat, green roll as a
sick man looks at the one possible saving cure. Then he counted
off twenty-eight dollars.
"Here you are," he said to Carrie, when she came through again.
He buried himself in his papers and read. Oh, the rest of it-the
relief from walking and thinking! What Lethean waters were these
floods of telegraphed intelligence! He forgot his troubles, in part.
Here was a young, handsome woman, if
you might believe the newspaper drawing, suing a rich, fat,
candy-making husband in Brooklyn for divorce. Here was another
item detailing the wrecking of a vessel in ice and snow off
Prince’s Bay on Staten Island. A long, bright column told of the
doings in the theatrical world-the plays produced, the actors
appearing, the managers making announcements. Fannie
Davenport was just opening at the Fifth Avenue. Daly was
producing "King Lear." He read of the early departure for the
season of a party composed of the Vanderbilts and their friends
for Florida. An interesting shooting affray was on in the
mountains of Kentucky. So he read, read, read, rocking in the
warm room near the radiator and waiting for dinner to be served.