The Essential Writings of Theodore Dreiser. Theodore Dreiser
his wife either. He thanked his stars that he did not have to confront that proposition just now when he needed to think so much. He walked the floor again, pretending to be in an ordinary mood, but secretly troubled beyond the expression of words.
At one-thirty he went to Rector’s for lunch, and when he returned a messenger was waiting for him. He looked at the little chap with a feeling of doubt.
“I’m to bring an answer,” said the boy.
Hurstwood recognised his wife’s writing. He tore it open and read without a show of feeling. It began in the most formal manner and was sharply and coldly worded throughout.
“I want you to send the money I asked for at once. I need it to carry out my plans. You can stay away if you want to. It doesn’t matter in the least. But I must have some money. So don’t delay, but send it by the boy.”
When he had finished it, he stood holding it in his hands. The audacity of the thing took his breath. It roused his ire also — the deepest element of revolt in him. His first impulse was to write but four words in reply — “Go to the devil!” — but he compromised by telling the boy that there would be no reply. Then he sat down in his chair and gazed without seeing, contemplating the result of his work. What would she do about that? The confounded wretch! Was she going to try to bulldoze him into submission? He would go up there and have it out with her, that’s what he would do. She was carrying things with too high a hand. These were his first thoughts.
Later, however, his old discretion asserted itself. Something had to be done. A climax was near and she would not sit idle. He knew her well enough to know that when she had decided upon a plan she would follow it up. Possibly matters would go into a lawyer’s hands at once.
“Damn her!” he said softly, with his teeth firmly set, “I’ll make it hot for her if she causes me trouble. I’ll make her change her tone if I have to use force to do it!”
He arose from his chair and went and looked out into the street. The long drizzle had begun. Pedestrians had turned up collars, and trousers at the bottom. Hands were hidden in the pockets of the umbrellaless; umbrellas were up. The street looked like a sea of round black cloth roofs, twisting, bobbing, moving. Trucks and vans were rattling in a noisy line and everywhere men were shielding themselves as best they could. He scarcely noticed the picture. He was forever confronting his wife, demanding of her to change her attitude toward him before he worked her bodily harm.
At four o’clock another note came, which simply said that if the money was not forthcoming that evening the matter would be laid before Fitzgerald and Moy on the morrow, and other steps would be taken to get it.
Hurstwood almost exclaimed out loud at the insistency of this thing. Yes, he would send her the money. He’d take it to her — he would go up there and have a talk with her, and that at once.
He put on his hat and looked around for his umbrella. He would have some arrangement of this thing.
He called a cab and was driven through the dreary rain to the North Side. On the way his temper cooled as he thought of the details of the case. What did she know? What had she done? Maybe she’d got hold of Carrie, who knows — or — or Drouet. Perhaps she really had evidence, and was prepared to fell him as a man does another from secret ambush. She was shrewd. Why should she taunt him this way unless she had good grounds?
He began to wish that he had compromised in some way or other — that he had sent the money. Perhaps he could do it up here. He would go in and see, anyhow. He would have no row. By the time he reached his own street he was keenly alive to the difficulties of his situation and wished over and over that some solution would offer itself, that he could see his way out. He alighted and went up the steps to the front door, but it was with a nervous palpitation of the heart. He pulled out his key and tried to insert it, but another key was on the inside. He shook at the knob, but the door was locked. Then he rang the bell. No answer. He rang again — this time harder. Still no answer. He jangled it fiercely several times in succession, but without avail. Then he went below.
There was a door which opened under the steps into the kitchen, protected by an iron grating, intended as a safeguard against burglars. When he reached this he noticed that it also was bolted and that the kitchen windows were down. What could it mean? He rang the bell and then waited. Finally, seeing that no one was coming, he turned and went back to his cab.
“I guess they’ve gone out,” he said apologetically to the individual who was hiding his red face in a loose tarpaulin raincoat.
“I saw a young girl up in that winder,” returned the cabby.
Hurstwood looked, but there was no face there now. He climbed moodily into the cab, relieved and distressed.
So this was the game, was it? Shut him out and make him pay. Well, by the Lord, that did beat all!
Chapter XXV
Ashes of Tinder — The Loosing of Stays
When Hurstwood got back to his office again he was in a greater quandary than ever. Lord, Lord, he thought, what had he got into? How could things have taken such a violent turn, and so quickly? He could hardly realise how it had all come about. It seemed a monstrous, unnatural, unwarranted condition which had suddenly descended upon him without his let or hindrance.
Meanwhile he gave a thought now and then to Carrie. What could be the trouble in that quarter? No letter had come, no word of any kind, and yet here it was late in the evening and she had agreed to meet him that morning. To-morrow they were to have met and gone off — where? He saw that in the excitement of recent events he had not formulated a plan upon that score. He was desperately in love, and would have taken great chances to win her under ordinary circumstances, but now — now what? Supposing she had found out something? Supposing she, too, wrote him and told him that she knew all — that she would have nothing more to do with him? It would be just like this to happen as things were going now. Meanwhile he had not sent the money.
He strolled up and down the polished floor of the resort, his hands in his pockets, his brow wrinkled, his mouth set. He was getting some vague comfort out of a good cigar, but it was no panacea for the ill which affected him. Every once in a while he would clinch his fingers and tap his foot — signs of the stirring mental process he was undergoing. His whole nature was vigorously and powerfully shaken up, and he was finding what limits the mind has to endurance. He drank more brandy and soda than he had any evening in months. He was altogether a fine example of great mental perturbation.
For all his study nothing came of the evening except this — he sent the money. It was with great opposition, after two or three hours of the most urgent mental affirmation and denial, that at last he got an envelope, placed in it the requested amount, and slowly sealed it up.
Then he called Harry, the boy of all work around the place.
“You take this to this address,” he said, handing him the envelope, “and give it to Mrs. Hurstwood.”
“Yes, sir,” said the boy.
“If she isn’t there bring it back.”
“Yes, sir”
“You’ve seen my wife?” he asked as a precautionary measure as the boy turned to go.
“Oh, yes, sir. I know her.”
“All right, now. Hurry right back.”
“Any answer?”
“I guess not.”
The boy hastened away and the manager fell to his musings. Now he had done it. There was no use speculating over that. He was beaten for to-night and he might just as well make the best of it. But, oh, the wretchedness of being forced this way! He could see her meeting the boy at the door and smiling sardonically. She would take the envelope and know that she had triumphed. If he only had that letter back he