The Greatest Works of Theodore Dreiser. Theodore Dreiser
profitable enough for two, is it?” he asked.
“You can see for yourself if you’re any judge of the liquor trade,” said the owner. “This is only one of the two places I have. The other is down in Nassau Street. I can’t tend to them both alone. If I had some one who knew the business thoroughly I wouldn’t mind sharing with him in this one and letting him manage it.”
“I’ve had experience enough,” said Hurstwood blandly, but he felt a little diffident about referring to Fitzgerald and Moy.
“Well, you can suit yourself, Mr. Wheeler,” said the proprietor.
He only offered a third interest in the stock, fixtures, and good-will, and this in return for a thousand dollars and managerial ability on the part of the one who should come in. There was no property involved, because the owner of the saloon merely rented from an estate.
The offer was genuine enough, but it was a question with Hurstwood whether a third interest in that locality could be made to yield one hundred and fifty dollars a month, which he figured he must have in order to meet the ordinary family expenses and be comfortable. It was not the time, however, after many failures to find what he wanted, to hesitate. It looked as though a third would pay a hundred a month now. By judicious management and improvement, it might be made to pay more. Accordingly he agreed to enter into partnership, and made over his thousand dollars, preparing to enter the next day.
His first inclination was to be elated, and he confided to Carrie that he thought he had made an excellent arrangement. Time, however, introduced food for reflection. He found his partner to be very disagreeable. Frequently he was the worse for liquor, which made him surly. This was the last thing which Hurstwood was used to in business. Besides, the business varied. It was nothing like the class of patronage which he had enjoyed in Chicago. He found that it would take a long time to make friends. These people hurried in and out without seeking the pleasures of friendship. It was no gathering or lounging place. Whole days and weeks passed without one such hearty greeting as he had been wont to enjoy every day in Chicago.
For another thing, Hurstwood missed the celebrities — those well-dressed, elite individuals who lend grace to the average bars and bring news from far-off and exclusive circles. He did not see one such in a month. Evenings, when still at his post, he would occasionally read in the evening papers incidents concerning celebrities whom he knew — whom he had drunk a glass with many a time. They would visit a bar like Fitzgerald and Moy’s in Chicago, or the Hoffman House, uptown, but he knew that he would never see them down here. Again, the business did not pay as well as he thought. It increased a little, but he found he would have to watch his household expenses, which was humiliating.
In the very beginning it was a delight to go home late at night, as he did, and find Carrie. He managed to run up and take dinner with her between six and seven, and to remain home until nine o’clock in the morning, but the novelty of this waned after a time, and he began to feel the drag of his duties.
The first month had scarcely passed before Carrie said in a very natural way: “I think I’ll go down this week and buy a dress.’
“What kind?” said Hurstwood.
“Oh, something for street wear.”
“All right,” he answered, smiling, although he noted mentally that it would be more agreeable to his finances if she didn’t. Nothing was said about it the next day, but the following morning he asked:
“Have you done anything about your dress?”
“Not yet,” said Carrie.
He paused a few moments, as if in thought, and then said:
“Would you mind putting it off a few days?”
“No,” replied Carrie, who did not catch the drift of his remarks. She had never thought of him in connection with money troubles before. “Why?”
“Well, I’ll tell you,” said Hurstwood. “This investment of mine is taking a lot of money just now. I expect to get it all back shortly, but just at present I am running close.”
“Oh!” answered Carrie. “Why, certainly, dear. Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“It wasn’t necessary,” said Hurstwood.
For all her acquiescence, there was something about the way Hurstwood spoke which reminded Carrie of Drouet and his little deal which he was always about to put through. It was only the thought of a second, but it was a beginning. It was something new in her thinking of Hurstwood.
Other things followed from time to time, little things of the same sort, which in their cumulative effect were eventually equal to a full revelation. Carrie was not dull by any means. Two persons cannot long dwell together without coming to an understanding of one another. The mental difficulties of an individual reveal themselves whether he voluntarily confesses them or not. Trouble gets in the air and contributes gloom, which speaks for itself. Hurstwood dressed as nicely as usual, but they were the same clothes he had in Canada. Carrie noticed that he did not install a large wardrobe, though his own was anything but large. She noticed, also, that he did not suggest many amusements, said nothing about the food, seemed concerned about his business. This was not the easy Hurstwood of Chicago — not the liberal, opulent Hurstwood she had known. The change was too obvious to escape detection.
In time she began to feel that a change had come about, and that she was not in his confidence. He was evidently secretive and kept his own counsel. She found herself asking him questions about little things. This is a disagreeable state to a woman. Great love makes it seem reasonable, sometimes plausible, but never satisfactory. Where great love is not, a more definite and less satisfactory conclusion is reached.
As for Hurstwood, he was making a great fight against the difficulties of a changed condition. He was too shrewd not to realise the tremendous mistake he had made, and appreciate that he had done well in getting where he was, and yet he could not help contrasting his present state with his former, hour after hour, and day after day.
Besides, he had the disagreeable fear of meeting old-time friends, ever since one such encounter which he made shortly after his arrival in the city. It was in Broadway that he saw a man approaching him whom he knew. There was no time for simulating non-recognition. The exchange of glances had been too sharp, the knowledge of each other too apparent. So the friend, a buyer for one of the Chicago wholesale houses, felt, perforce, the necessity of stopping.
“How are you?” he said, extending his hand with an evident mixture of feeling and a lack of plausible interest.
“Very well,” said Hurstwood, equally embarrassed. “How is it with you?”
“All right; I’m down here doing a little buying. Are you located here now?”
“Yes,” said Hurstwood, “I have a place down in Warren Street.”
“Is that so?” said the friend. “Glad to hear it. I’ll come down and see you.”
“Do,” said Hurstwood.
“So long,” said the other, smiling affably and going on.
“He never asked for my number,” thought Hurstwood; “he wouldn’t think of coming.” He wiped his forehead, which had grown damp, and hoped sincerely he would meet no one else.
These things told upon his good-nature, such as it was. His one hope was that things would change for the better in a money way.
He had Carrie. His furniture was being paid for. He was maintaining his position. As for Carrie, the amusements he could give her would have to do for the present. He could probably keep up his pretensions sufficiently long without exposure to make good, and then all would be well. He failed therein to take account of the frailties of human nature — the difficulties of matrimonial life. Carrie was young. With him and with her varying mental states were common. At any moment the extremes of feeling might be anti-polarised at the dinner table. This often happens in the best regulated families. Little things brought out on such occasions need great love to obliterate