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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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"Oh, all right." "I haven’t seen you in six weeks. When did you get in?" "Friday," said Drouet. "Had a fine trip." "Glad of it," said Hurstwood, his black eyes lit with a warmth which half displaced the cold make-believe that usually dwelt in them. "What are you going to take?" he added, as the barkeeper, in snowy jacket and tie, leaned toward them from behind the bar. "Old Pepper," said Drouet. "A little of the same for me," put in Hurstwood. "How long are you in town this time?" inquired Hurstwood. "Only until Wednesday. I’m going up to St. Paul." "George Evans was in here Saturday and said he saw you in Milwaukee last week." "Yes, I saw George," returned Drouet. "Great old boy, isn’t he? We had quite a time there together." The barkeeper was setting out the glasses and bottle before them, and they now poured out the draught as they talked, Drouet filling his to within a third of full, as was considered proper, and Hurstwood taking the barest suggestion of whiskey and modifying it with seltzer. "What’s become of Caryoe?" remarked Hurstwood. "I haven’t seen him around here in two weeks." "Laid up, they say," exclaimed Drouet. "Say, he’s a gouty old boy!" "Made a lot of money in his time, though, hasn’t he?" "Yes, wads of it," returned Drouet. "He won’t live much longer. Barely comes down to the office now." "Just one boy, hasn’t he?" asked Hurstwood. "Yes, and a swift-pacer," laughed Drouet. "I guess he can’t hurt the business very much, though, with the other members all there." "No, he can’t injure that any, I guess." Hurstwood was standing, his coat open, his thumbs in his pockets, the light on his jewels and rings relieving them with agreeable distinctness. He was the picture of fastidious comfort. To one not inclined to drink, and gifted with a more serious turn of mind, such a bubbling, chattering, glittering chamber must ever seem an anomaly, a strange commentary on nature and life. Here come the moths, in endless procession, to bask in the light of the flame. Such conversation as one may hear would not warrant a commendation of the scene upon intellectual grounds. It seems plain that schemers would choose more sequestered quarters to arrange their plans, that politicians would not gather here in company to discuss anything save formalities, where the sharp- eared may hear, and it would scarcely be justified on the score of thirst, (or the majority of those who frequent these more gorgeous places have no craving for liquor. Nevertheless, the fact that here men gather, here chatter, here love to pass and rub elbows, must be explained upon some grounds. It must be that a strange bundle of passions and vague desires give rise to such a curious social institution or it would not be. |
