Chapter 24 Chapter 24: Remnants of the Civil War

Hurstwood remained in the business district all that night, and did not come home. After get off work he spent the night at the Palmer Hotel. His wife's conduct posed a dire threat to his future and prospects, and it set him on fire. Although He still doesn't know how to measure her threat. He is sure that if her attitude continues, it will bring him endless troubles. She has made up her mind and defeated him in an important confrontation. Since What would things be from now on? He paced up and down in his little office, and then up and down the hotel room, taking everything into consideration, and just couldn't do anything.

Mrs. Hurstwood, on the other hand, was determined not to lose by inaction the advantage she had gained. Now that she had frightened him, she would pursue her victory with her demands. Provided he yielded to hers conditions, then her words will become the law of the family from now on. She will keep asking him for money, and he will have to give it if he doesn’t give it. She doesn't care if he comes back or not. If he doesn't come home, everything in this house will be happy and harmonious. She can do as she likes without asking anyone's advice. She plans to consult a lawyer and hire a detective. Find out what she can get out of it.

Hurstwood paced the room, weighing in his mind the principal aspects of his situation. "The property is in her name," he kept saying to himself, "that is a very stupid move. Damn it! It's a step too far." Stupid." He thought again of his managerial position. "If she's making a fuss now, it's all over for me. If my name gets in the papers, they'll fire me. And my friends!" Thinking of the way she'd taken Any step would create gossip, and he was even more annoyed. What would the papers say? Every acquaintance would murmur. He would have to explain and deny to them, making himself a talking point. Come to discuss with him, and his future will be unimaginable.

Thinking of all this, many fine wrinkles gathered between his brows, and his forehead was wet with sweat. He couldn't think of any way out...not even a gap. All this while, Carrie and the plans for the coming Saturday flashed through his mind from time to time. He was not worried about his relationship with Carrie, despite the mess he was in. It was the only consolation in his troubled times. He could arrange it to his liking. For Carrie would be happy to wait if necessary. He would see to-morrow. Then he would talk to her. They would see each other as usual. He All I could see in my mind was her beautiful face and shapely figure. I wondered why life was not beautiful, why he was not allowed to enjoy the joy of living with her forever. If he could, life would be much better than it is now. It reminded him of his wife's threats again, and the wrinkles and cold sweat returned to his face.

In the morning he came to the shop from the hotel, and opened his letters. But they were only letters of the usual kind. For some reason, he had a feeling that some bad news was coming from the post office. So when he looked at the letters carefully, he found no He was relieved when he heard some suspicious letter. He had lost all appetite on the way to the office. His appetite had come back now, so he decided to turn over to the Pacific Ocean before going to the little park to meet Carrie. A cup of coffee and a few buns at the Grand Hotel. So far his danger hadn't abated, but it hadn't materialized either. In his present state of mind, no news was good news. If he'd had enough time to think, he'd probably figure out something. It couldn't possibly turn into a catastrophe. He'd have to find a way out.

But when he came to the park to wait for Carrie, and she was nowhere to be seen after waiting and waiting, his spirits sank again. He waited for more than an hour at his beloved spot, then he got up and began to lose his mind. Was it possible that something had happened there to keep her from coming? Was his wife going to look for her? Certainly not. He did not take Drouet to heart at all, so he Didn't think about that at all, didn't worry that he would find out the truth. He thought about it, and became more and more restless. Then he guessed that maybe it wasn't a big deal, maybe it was just that she couldn't leave today. So he didn't receive He will get a letter today. There may be a letter waiting for him on the desk when he goes back. He must go back at once to see if there is any letter from her.

After a while, he gave up waiting, and took the streetcar listlessly to Madison Avenue. The sky was bright and clear just now, but now it was covered with small patches of white clouds, covering the sun, which made his mood even more depressed. The direction of the wind Turning to the east, when he returned to the office in the hotel, the sky was already gloomy, and it seemed that the drizzle would continue to rain for the whole afternoon. He went into the hotel and checked his letters, but there was no letter from Carrie. But he was thankful that there was no letter from his wife either. Thank goodness he didn't have to face that difficulty yet, he had so much to think about at the moment. He was pacing up and down again, outwardly pretending to be the same as usual, but the anxiety in his heart was unspeakable.

At half-past one he went to lunch at Rector's. When he returned, a messenger was waiting for him. He eyed the little messenger suspiciously. "Reply note," said the boy. Hurstwood recognized his wife's handwriting. He tore open the letter, and read it with an impassive face. It was formally styled, and ran through it with the utmost sharpness and indifference: Send me the money I want immediately, I need it to carry out my plan. You don't come home, it's up to you. It doesn't matter. But the money must be given to me. Don't delay. Let the messenger bring the money.

He finished reading the letter, and stood there with it in his hand. The unscrupulous tone of the letter surprised him and aroused his anger... His most violent rebellion. His first The impulse was to write four words in return: "Go to hell!" But he resisted the impulse, telling the messenger that there was no reply slip, as a compromise. Then he sat down in his chair, staring blankly, thinking of doing so. What steps will she take then? Damn it! Is she trying to subdue him? He's going to go back and argue with her. That's what he's going to do. She's too bossy. These are his first idea.

But then his usual cautious style raised his head again. Something must be done. The crisis is imminent, and she will not let it go. From his knowledge of her, he knows that once she makes up her mind, she will do it. Go to the end. Chances are she'll put the matter in the hands of a lawyer right away. "Damn woman!" he cursed through gritted teeth. "If she troubles me, I'll show her some color. I'll make her change her tone of voice, even if she has to move her fist!" He got up from the chair, walked to the window and looked out at the street. The drizzle had already begun to fall. Passers-by turned up their coat collars and rolled up the hems of their trousers. Those without umbrellas put their hands in the Umbrellas were held aloft by men with umbrellas in their pockets. The street was a round sea of ​​black cloth umbrellas, billowing and moving. Open and covered wagons were noisily passing by. There was a rattling noise. Here and there people were trying to take shelter from the rain. But Hurstwood hardly noticed what he was seeing. In his imagination he had been confronting his wife, forcing her to change her attitude, So as not to suffer from flesh and blood.

At four o'clock he received another note, simply stating that if the money was not delivered that night, Fitzgerald and Mr. Moy would be informed of it tomorrow. Other steps would be taken. Hurstwood was on the verge of shouting at her pressing steps. Yes, he must give her the money, he must send it himself, he must go there and talk to her, and he must go at once. He puts on his hat and looks around for an umbrella. He will make arrangements for this. He called for a carriage. The carriage drove him through the gloomy rain towards the North End. On the way, he thought of many details of the incident, and his emotions began to calm down. What did she know? What steps had she taken? Perhaps She's found Carrie, who knows...or Drouet. Perhaps she does have the evidence, and is laying an ambush, ready to surprise him, as men do. She's a shrewd person. How could she insult him like that unless she really had proof? He's starting to regret that he didn't somehow come to terms with her... didn't send the money sooner. Maybe it's too late for him to go now. Anyway, he's going to go back and see what's going on. He doesn't want to make a fuss with her . By the time he reached the street where his house was, he was fully aware of the difficulties of his situation, and wished again and again for some solution to come down from heaven and give him a way out. He got out of the car, climbed the steps, went to the front door, and His heart was pounding with nervousness. He took out his key and tried to put it in the lock, but there was already a key in it. He shook the doorknob, but the door was locked. He went to ring the bell, and there was no The door was answered. He rang the bell again, more vigorously this time. Still no response. He rang the bell again and again, but to no avail. So he went down the steps. At the foot of the steps there was a door leading to the kitchen, with iron bars on it to keep out burglars. He went up to the door and found that it was bolted and the kitchen window was down. What did this mean? He shook the door again. He rang the bell, and waited there. At last, seeing no one to open the door for him, he turned and walked towards the carriage. "I suppose they're all out," he said apologetically to the coachman, who was covering his red face with his poncho. "I saw a young girl in the upper window," replied the coachman. Hurstwood looked up, but there was no one to be seen there. He got into the carriage gloomily, mixed with relief and apprehension. That's her trick, then, isn't it? Shut him out and ask him for money. My God, it's a trick.