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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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Drouet jumped from one easy thought to another as he caught Hurstwood’s eye. He felt but very little misgiving, until he saw that Hurstwood was cautiously pretending not to see. Then some of the latter’s impression forced itself upon him. He thought of Carrie and their last meeting. By George, he would have to explain this to Hurstwood. Such a chance half-hour with an old friend must not have anything more attached to it than it really warranted. For the first time he was troubled. Here was a moral complication of which he could not possibly get the ends. Hurstwood would laugh at him for being a fickle boy. He would laugh with Hurstwood. Carrie would never hear, his present companion at table would never know, and yet he could not help feeling that he was getting the worst of it-there was some faint stigma attached, and he was not guilty. He broke up the dinner by becoming dull, and saw his companion on her car. Then he went home. "He hasn’t talked to me about any of these later flames," thought Hurstwood to himself. "He thinks I think he cares for the girl out there." "He ought not to think I’m knocking around, since I have just introduced him out there," thought Drouet. "I saw you," Hurstwood said, genially, the next time Drouet drifted in to his polished resort, from which he could not stay away. He raised his forefinger indicatively, as parents do to children. "An old acquaintance of mine that I ran into just as I was coming up from the station," explained Drouet. "She used to be quite a beauty." "Still attracts a little, eh?" returned the other, affecting to jest. "Oh, no," said Drouet, "just couldn’t escape her this time." "How long are you here?" asked Hurstwood. "Only a few days." "You must bring the girl down and take dinner with me," he said. "I’m afraid you keep her cooped up out there. I’ll get a box for Joe Jefferson." "Not me," answered the drummer. "Sure I’ll come." This pleased Hurstwood immensely. He gave Drouet no credit for any feelings toward Carrie whatever. He envied him, and now, as he looked at the well-dressed, jolly salesman, whom he so much liked, the gleam of the rival glowed in his eye. He began to "size up" Drouet from the standpoints of wit and fascination. He began to look to see where he was weak. There was no disputing that, whatever he might think of him as a good fellow, he felt a certain amount of contempt for him as a lover. He could hood-wink him all right. Why, if he would just let Carrie see one such little incident as that of Thursday, it would settle the matter. He ran on in thought, almost exulting, the while he laughed and chatted, and Drouet felt nothing. He had no power of analysing the glance and the atmosphere of a man like Hurstwood. He stood and smiled and accepted the invitation while his friend examined him with the eye of a hawk. The object of this peculiarly involved comedy was not thinking of either. She was busy adjusting her thoughts and feelings to newer conditions, and was not in danger of suffering disturbing pangs from either quarter. One evening Drouet found her dressing herself before the glass. "Cad," said he, catching her, "I believe you’re getting vain." "Nothing of the kind," she returned, smiling. "Well, you’re mighty pretty," he went on, slipping his arm around her. "Put on that navy-blue dress of yours and I’ll take you to the show." "Oh, I’ve promised Mrs. Hale to go with her to the Exposition to- night," she returned, apologetically. "You did, eh?" he said, studying the situation abstractedly. "I wouldn’t care to go to that myself." |
