Chapter 25 Chapter 25: Remnants of the Civil War: Six Gods and No Master

When Hurstwood returned to his office, he felt even more at a loss. He thought, God, what a predicament he was in. How could things take such a sudden turn? He couldn't understand how it all happened. Suddenly it came to him. Above all, the situation which he was unable to resist seemed to him grotesque, inhuman, and unreasonable. Meanwhile, he thought of Carrie from time to time. What could be the problem in that connection? There was neither letter nor message. It was night now, and she had promised to see him in the morning. They had agreed to meet to-morrow. Eloped...where to? He had been so overwhelmed by recent events that he found that he hadn't thought about it at all. He was madly in love with Carrie, and under normal circumstances he would have Desperate to win her. But now... now what? Maybe she has learned something? If she wrote to him that she knew everything, she would never want to be with him again. He has come and gone, so what to do? Judging from the current situation, this kind of thing is likely to happen. Then he thought that his money had not been sent yet.

He walked up and down the waxed floor of the hotel, his hands in his pockets, his brow furrowed, his mouth shut. He smoked a good cigar and felt vaguely better. But the cigars did not help. He dealt with the misfortunes that caused him pain. From time to time he clenched his fist and tapped his foot on the ground... This was a sign of his agitation. His soul was violently shocked, and he endured He was at the limit of his strength. For the first time in months he drank so much brandy and soda that he looked quite distraught. All night, he thought over and over again, but to no avail, only one thing was done... He sent the money. After two or three hours of intense ideological struggle, he repeatedly weighed the pros and cons He reluctantly took an envelope, put the requested amount in it, and sealed the envelope slowly.

Then he called Harry, the shop boy, over. "Address this envelope," he said, as he handed it to him, "to Mrs. Hurstwood." "Yes, sir," said the servant. "If she is not at home, bring the letter back." "Yes, sir." "Have you seen my wife?" the servant asked anxiously when he turned to leave. "Well, yes, sir. I know her." "Well then, go and come back quickly." "Do you want to write back?" "I don't think there will be." The servant left in a hurry, and the manager fell into deep thought again. Now that the matter has been done, it is useless to think about it. Now that he has conceded defeat tonight, he might as well accept the defeat calmly. But it is too painful to be forced to concede. Embarrassing! He could imagine her receiving the servants at the door with a sneer on her face. She would take the envelope and know she had won. If only he could get the envelope back. He really didn't want her to have that envelope. He breathed heavily and wiped the sweat off his face.

In order to relieve his sorrow, he got up, joined some friends who were drinking, and chatted with them. He tried to be interested in the things around him, but he couldn't. As the scene was being acted out, guess what she would say when the servant handed her the envelope. At the end of an hour and a quarter of an hour the servant returned. He had evidently delivered the letter, for he made no sign of taking something from his pocket when he came up to him. "How?" asked Hurstwood. "I gave her the letter." "Is it for my wife?" "Yes, sir."

"Is there an answer?" "She said the letter came just in time." Hurstwood scowled. That night the matter was settled. He continued to think about his situation until he returned to the Palmer Hotel for the night at twelve o'clock. He could not sleep that night because he was thinking of new events that might happen next morning. The next morning he returned to the office of the hotel, and opened his mail, both apprehensive and hopeful. There was no letter from Carrie, but, to his relief, no letter from his wife either. The fact that he had sent the money and she had accepted it reassured him. He no longer thought that the money was forced to be sent, and so his chagrin was lessened, and his hope of reconciliation increased. As he sat at his desk he fancied that nothing would happen for a week or two, during which time he would have time to think.

As soon as he began to think about it, his thoughts returned to Carrie, and to the plan of getting her out of Drouet. What was to be done of the matter now? He was absorbed in the question, and thought that she had not come to meet with him. He met and did not write to him, and the pain in his heart increased sharply. He decided to write her a letter and forward it through the West End Post Office. He wanted to ask her for an explanation, and asked her to come and see him. Thinking of her The letter might not arrive until Monday, and he was in agony. He had to think of a quicker way...but how?

He thought about this question for half an hour. For fear of being exposed, he neither intended to send a letter, nor to take a carriage directly to her house. He found that time was passing, but he could not think of a way, so he first wrote the letter. , and then think about it. Hour by hour slipped by. As time passed, so did the possibility of his reunion with Carrie, which he had intended. It was time, as he had planned, to help Carrie now, to share in his joys and sorrows. .It is now afternoon, and he still has nothing to do. Three o'clock passed, four o'clock, five o'clock, six o'clock, and there was no letter. This helpless manager paced the room, silently enduring the pain of failure. The busy Saturday passed, and Sunday came again, but still nothing was accomplished. The bar was closed all day on Sunday, and he was alone in meditation, homeless. Without a lively hotel to soothe his sorrows, and without the company of Carrie, his innermost feelings It was the worst Sunday of his life.

In the second batch of mail on Monday, he received a letter that seemed to be from a law firm. He looked at the envelope for a while. It began politely with "Your Excellency" and "Respect", and then briefly informed him that they were entrusted by Mrs. Julia Hurstwood to mediate on her maintenance and property rights, and please patronize the interview and so on. He read it carefully several times, then shook his head. It seemed that his family troubles had only just begun. "Alas!" he said, almost aloud, after a while, "that's the best thing to do."

Then he folded the letter and put it in his pocket. Still no letter from Carrie added to his anguish. He could now conclude that she had learned that he was married, and was very angry at his deceit. Losing her when he needed it most, Doubly painful to him. If he could not hear from her again, he thought, he would go to her and see her. Of all things, her desertion did cause him the most pain. He did indeed He loved her with all his heart, and now he was in danger of losing her. She was extremely lovely in his eyes. He was eagerly looking forward to her letter, and thought of her fascinatedly. No matter what she thought, he could not lose her. In any case, he wanted to settle the matter, and as quickly as possible. He wanted to see her, and tell her all about his family troubles. He wanted to explain the situation to her, and tell her how much he needed her. Of course, she would not Will he abandon him at this time? Of course not. He will beg hard until she calms down, until she forgives him.

It occurred to him: "Could it be that she's not there anymore . . . has she gone?" The thought made him jump up. Sitting there thinking about the possibility was too much to bear. But standing up doesn't help either. On Tuesday it was as usual. He did take up the courage to go out and look for Carrie, but when he got to Oden Square he felt that he was being watched, and he went away. He did not go near the road where the flats stood. An embarrassing incident occurred during this visit. Returning from the streetcar on Randolph Avenue, he came almost across the building from the firm where his son worked. A stabbing pain. He had visited his son there several times. And now, his son has not written him a single word. Neither of his two children seem to have noticed that he has not come home. Alas, fate will What a prank. He went back to the hotel and joined his friends in chatting, as if small talk could numb the pain in his heart.

That night he had dinner at the Rector Hotel. Immediately after dinner he returned to his office. Only in the bustling and luxurious hotel could he find comfort. After everyone left, he sat at the desk for a long time. He didn't leave until the night watchman patrolled the hotel and tried to see if the front door was locked. On Wednesday, he received a notice from McGann Hay's office. It politely read: Your Excellency: We have been ordered to inform you that we will be waiting for you until tomorrow, Thursday, at one o'clock in the afternoon. If you do not come by then, we will represent Mrs. Julia Hurstwood in the case of divorce and maintenance. Before the deadline , I beg for your reply. Otherwise, our firm will consider that you have no intention of reconciliation, and take corresponding actions. Sincerely, "Reconciliation!" cried Hurstwood bitterly. "Reconciliation!" He shook his head again. Now that everything is in plain view, he knows what awaits him. If he does not go to them, they will bring a lawsuit against him immediately. His blood boiled with anger. He folded the letter, and put it away with the last one. Then he put on his hat, and walked about the block.