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"Has Mr. Drouet gone out?" he asked of the clerk. "No," answered the latter, "he’s in his room. Do you wish to send up a card?" "No, I’ll call around later," answered Hurstwood, and strolled out. He took a Madison car and went direct to Ogden Place, this time walking boldly up to the door. The chambermaid answered his knock. "Is Mr. Drouet in?" said Hurstwood blandly. "He is out of the city," said the girl, who had heard Carrie tell this to Mrs. Hale. "Is Mrs. Drouet in?" "No, she has gone to the theatre." "Is that so?" said Hurstwood, considerably taken back; then, as if burdened with something important, "You don’t know to which theatre?" The girl really had no idea where she had gone, but not liking Hurstwood, and wishing to cause him trouble, answered: "Yes, Hooley’s." "Thank you," returned the manager, and tipping his hat slightly, went away. "I’ll look in at Hooley’s," thought he, but as a matter of fact he did not. Before he had reached the central portion of the city he thought the whole matter over and decided it would be useless. As much as he longed to see Carrie, he knew she would be with some one and did not wish to intrude with his plea there. A little later he might do so-in the morning. Only in the morning he had the lawyer question before him. This little pilgrimage threw quite a wet blanket upon his rising spirits. He was soon down again to his old worry, and reached the resort anxious to find relief. Quite a company of gentlemen were making the place lively with their conversation. A group of Cook County politicians were conferring about a round cherry-wood table in the rear portion of the room. Several young merry-makers were chattering at the bar before making a belated visit to the theatre. A shabbily-genteel individual, with a red nose and an old high hat, was sipping a quiet glass of ale alone at one end of the bar. Hurstwood nodded to the politicians and went into his office. About ten o’clock a friend of his, Mr. Frank L. Taintor, a local sport and racing man, dropped in, and seeing Hurstwood alone in his office came to the door. "Hello, George!" he exclaimed. "How are you, Frank?" said Hurstwood, somewhat relieved by the sight of him. "Sit down," and he motioned him to one of the chairs in the little room. "What’s the matter, George?" asked Taintor. "You look a little glum. Haven’t lost at the track, have you?" "I’m not feeling very well to-night. I had a slight cold the other day." "Take whiskey, George," said Taintor. "You ought to know that." Hurstwood smiled. While they were still conferring there, several other of Hurstwood’s friends entered, and not long after eleven, the theatres being out, some actors began to drop in-among them some notabilities. Then began one of those pointless social conversations so common in America resorts where the would-be gilded attempt to rub off gilt from those who have it in abundance. If Hurstwood had one leaning, it was toward notabilities. He considered that, if anywhere, he belonged among them. He was too proud to toady, too keen not to strictly observe the plane he occupied when there were those present who did not appreciate him, but, in situations like the present, where he could shine as a gentleman and be received without equivocation as a friend and equal among men of known ability, he was most delighted. It was on such occasions, if ever, that he would "take something." When the social flavour was strong enough he would even unbend to the extent of drinking glass for glass with his associates, punctiliously observing his turn to pay as if he were an outsider like the others. If he ever approached intoxication-or rather that ruddy warmth and comfortableness which precedes the more sloven state-it was when individuals such as these were gathered about him, when he was one of a circle of chatting celebrities. To-night, disturbed as was his state, he was rather relieved to find company, and now that notabilities were gathered, he laid aside his troubles for the nonce, and joined in right heartily. |