Chapter 27 Chapter Twenty-Seven

Hurstwood had wandered about the streets a little distractedly after receiving the definite notice from McJane Hay, and when he came home he found the letter Carrie had written him that morning. He was very excited, and hastily opened the letter. "So," thought he, "she loves me, or she wouldn't have written to me at all." He was a little dismayed at the contents of the letter for the first few minutes, but soon recovered. "If she hadn't thought of me, she would never have written." Only if he thought this way would he not be so depressed. There was nothing to be seen from the wording of the letter, but he thought he could understand the spirit of the letter.

It was, if not pathetic, that he should be able to take solace in a letter so plainly condemning him, that a man who had always been self-sufficient should now seek consolation from outside himself, and such a consolation at that. What a wonderful rope of love! None of us can break free. The blood came back to his face. He put the letter from Mc.Jan. Hay's office for a moment. He wished he could get Carrie, so that maybe he could get rid of all entanglements. . . It mattered nothing. He did not care what his wife did, so long as Carrie was not lost. He got up, and walked about, dreaming sweetly of his future life with this dear sweetheart.

But it was not long before his thoughts returned to the old problem, how tiresome! He thought of tomorrow and the lawsuit. The afternoon was going on in a blink of an eye, and he hadn't done anything. It was a quarter to four. At 5 o'clock the lawyers will go home. He still has time tomorrow morning. While he was thinking about this, the last 15 minutes passed, and it was 5 o'clock. So he didn't think about seeing the lawyer that day. , and turned my thoughts to Carrie. It's worth noting that this man didn't prove himself right. He didn't bother with the god. He was preoccupied with convincing Carrie. There was nothing wrong with that. He loved her very much, and it was the two of them. The foundation of happiness. If only this fellow Drouet wasn't around!

While he was thinking about this with delight, he remembered that he had no clean shirts to change in the morning. He bought shirts and half a dozen ties, and went to the Palmer's Hotel. As he entered, he fancied he saw Drouet go upstairs with the key. But it mustn't be Drouet! He thought again, Maybe they moved temporarily. He went straight to the counter. "Does M. Drouet live here?" he asked the accountant. "I suppose so," said the accountant, and checked his passenger register. "Yes, he lives here." "Really?" cried Hurstwood, though he tried to conceal his astonishment. "Is he alone?" he asked again.

"Yes," said the accountant. Hurstwood turned away. He pursed his lips tightly, trying to conceal his emotion, but it was this very gesture that revealed it. "How could this be?" thought he. "They have quarreled." He hurried and cheerfully went to his room, and changed his shirt. As he changed, he made up his mind that whether Carrie was left alone, or went somewhere else, he ought to find out. .He decided to go and see right away. "I know what to do," thought he. "I will go to the door and ask if Mr. Drouet is at home. That will tell whether he is there and where Carrie is."

As he thought so, he was almost dancing with excitement. He resolved to go as soon as supper was over. When he came down from his room at six o'clock, he looked carefully about him. Drouet was not there. Then he went out to dine. But he was in such a hurry for his business that he could hardly eat anything. Before he set off, he thought it best to be sure. Where was Drouet at the moment, so he went back to the hotel. "Has M. Drouet gone out?" he asked the cashier. "No," answered the latter. "He's in the room. Would you like to pass him a card?" "No, I'll call on him later," said Hurstwood, and went out.

He got on a Madison Street streetcar and went straight to Alden's apartment. This time he went straight to the door boldly. The maid opened it for him. "Is Mr. Drouet in?" said Hurstwood pleasantly. "He's out of town," said the maid, who she heard Carrie tell Mrs. Hale. "Where is Mrs. Drouet?" "She's not at home, she's gone to the theater." "Really?" said Hurstwood, really taken aback. Then he pretended to be on business. "You know which theater she went to?" In fact the maid did not know where she had gone, but she hated Hurstwood, and was playing tricks on him, so she replied, "Yes, Chilly's."

"Thank you," replied the manager, who lifted his hat slightly with his hand and left. "I'm going to see her at Chioly's," he thought, but he didn't go. Before he got to the town, he thought the whole thing over, and decided it was useless to go. Though he wanted so badly to see Carrie, But he also knew that Carrie was in company now, and he didn't want to come in and intercede with her. Later would be fine...tomorrow morning. Only he had to see the lawyer tomorrow morning. The journey was a great disappointment to him. He soon fell back into his old troubles, and returned to the inn, anxious for comfort. The place was lively with a great company of gentlemen chatting. At a round cherrywood table in the back, A group of local politicians are talking about something. A few young people who are looking for fun are talking endlessly at the bar. It is too late to go to the theater but they don’t want to leave. A man with a red nose and an old top hat was drinking ale in peace. Hurstwood nodded to the politicians and went into his office.

About ten o'clock a friend of his, M. Franck le Tainter, a local sportsman and racer, came here. Seeing Hurstwood alone in his office, he went to the door. "Hello, George!" he called. "How are you, Frank?" said Hurstwood, somehow relieved to see him. "Sit down, please," he pointed to a chair in the closet. "What's the matter, George?" asked Tynet. "You look a little unhappy. Didn't you lose the race?" "I'm not feeling well to-night. I've had a little cold the other day." "Have some whiskey, George," said Tainter, "you'll be pretty good at it."

Hurstwood smiled. While they were still there talking, some other friends of Hurstwood's came in. Shortly after eleven o'clock, when the theater closed, some actors began to come in... some famous actors among them. What ensued was the sort of pointless social chatter so common in American entertainment establishments, where wannabes try to get some credit from big names. If Hurstwood has a heart for anything, it's for a celebrity .He thinks that if you draw a circle for him, he is a celebrity. If there are people who don't appreciate him, he is very noble and will not flatter these people, but he is very enthusiastic and still strictly fulfills the his own duty. But he is especially happy in a situation like this one. Because here he shines like a gentleman, and people unambiguously treat him as a friend of a famous person. And on this occasion, He'll "have a few drinks" if he can get in touch. When the social atmosphere is strong, he'll even let go and drink a glass with his friends. When it's his turn to pay the bill, he digs it out Qian, like everyone else, was a foreign customer. If he had ever been nearly drunk ... or in a state of flushing, fever, and comfort before a drunken gaffe, it was when he was in the Among these people, he is also one of the famous people who gossip. Tonight, although he is in a bad mood, he is relieved to have company. Now that the famous people are together, he also puts his troubles Put things aside for the time being, and join them heartily.

Soon, the drinking took effect. Stories began to be told... those funny tales that were never tire of being told, and that was what dominated the conversation of American men under the circumstances. At twelve o'clock, closing time came, and the guests began to leave. Hurstwood shook hands with them most cordially. He was comfortable, in that lucid, yet dreamy state. He even felt that his troubles It was not so serious. He entered the office, and began to turn over some ledgers, and waited for the waiters and the cashier to leave. They were soon gone. After everyone has left, it is the manager's duty and habit to see if everything is locked and safe for the night. As a rule, only cash collected after the bank closes is left in the store. Only the cashier and the two shopkeepers knew the combination of the safe. But Hurstwood was very cautious, and every night he pulled the cash drawer and the safe to see if they were locked. Then, he locked his small office, turned on the special light next to the safe, and left. He never found anything out of order, but tonight, after locking his desk, he went out to check the safe. The way he checked was to pull hard on the door. This time he did, and the safe door opened. It did. This surprised him a little, and looking in, he saw that the money drawer lay there as it had been during the day, and had evidently not been put away. His first thought, of course, was to examine the drawer and close the door. "To-morrow, I'll speak to Matthew about it," thought he. When Matthew left half an hour ago, he must have thought he had turned the knob on the door and locked it. He never locked the door before. But tonight Matthew had other things on his mind. a business. "I'll take a look inside," thought the manager, pulling out the money drawer. He didn't know why he wanted to look inside. It was all superfluous, and might never have happened at another time. He pulled out the drawer, and at a glance he saw a stack of banknotes, 1,000 yuan a bundle, as if they were taken from the bank intact. He didn't know how much money there was, so he stopped and looked carefully. Then he pulled out the second cash The drawer contains the income of the day. "As far as I know, Fitzgerald and Moy never let money go like this," he said to himself. "They must have forgotten." He looked at the other drawer and stopped again. "Count it," said a voice in his ear. He reached into the first drawer, picked up the stack of bills, and let them fall out in bundles. There were fifty-dollar bills and hundred-dollar bills, and there were a thousand in a bundle. He thought he counted ten bundles. banknotes. "Why don't I close the safe?" he said to himself, hesitating. "What keeps me here?" He was answered with a very strange sentence. "Have you ever had a $10,000 bill?" See, the manager remembers that he never had so much money. His entire fortune was slowly built up, and now it is owned by his wife. His fortune is worth more than 40,000 yuan. . . hers. He thought this, and was perplexed. Then he pushed the drawer in, closed the door, and stopped with his hand on the knob, which, with a slight twist, would lock the safe, and there would be no more temptation. But he stayed there. At last he went to the window and drew the shade. He drew the door again, which he had locked before that. What made him so suspicious? Why did he so quietly Walking around? He went back to the end of the counter, as if to put his arm on his head, and think about it. Then he went to open the door of his small office, and turned on the light. He even opened the desk, and sat In front of the stage, I started to think wildly. "The safe is open," said a voice. "Just a crack. The lock isn't locked." The manager's mind was in a mess. At this moment, he thought again of all the entanglements of the day. He also thought that there was a way out. The money would solve the problem. It would be nice to have that money and Carrie! He stood He got up and stood there motionless, staring at the floor. "What's the way?" he asked himself. Slowly he raised his hand and scratched his head in search of an answer. The manager is not stupid, and he will not be blindly led astray by such a mistake, but he is in a special situation today. There is alcohol in his veins. The strength of the alcohol has made him a little crazy about the situation in front of him. Playing up the good that ten thousand dollars might do him. He could see the great opportunity it offered him. He could get Carrie. Oh, he could get her! He could get rid of his wife, and There was the letter to be discussed in the morning. There was no need for him to reply. He went back to the safe, and put his hand on the knob. Then he opened the door, and took out the money-drawer in its entirety. It seemed foolish not to think of touching the drawer once it was fully open to him. Foolish of course. Well, with all this money he could live quietly with Carrie for many years. God! What's going on? For the first time he tensed up, as if a stern hand had grasped his shoulder. He looked around in horror. There was no one, not a sound. Walking by. He took the drawer and the money, and put it back in the safe. Then he closed the door halfway again. The plight of a man whose will is weak, torn between duty and desire, is difficult for those whose conscience has never been shaken to comprehend unless they have been carefully described. No one is qualified to judge a ghostly clock that tells you "You should" "You shouldn't" "You should" "You shouldn't" in a solemn voice ticking tock. This kind of ideological struggle is not only experienced by those who are quick-thinking and well-organized. Even for the most stupid people, when desire drives him to commit crimes, the sense of justice will remind him to stop him, and the greater the tendency to commit crimes, the greater the sense of justice. We must remember that this may not be a knowledge of justice, for animals are instinctively afraid of evil, but not based on their knowledge of justice. Man is still governed by instinct before he is governed by knowledge. It is instinct that alerts the criminal...it is instinct (when there is no well-ordered reasoning present) that gives the criminal a sense of danger, a fear of doing the wrong thing. Hence, whenever a person ventures for the first time, into some criminal deed that has never been done before, there is a hesitation in his mind. The clock of the mind is ticking to express desire and restraint. Those who have never experienced this kind of thought Those who are in trouble will like the following story, because it inspires people. After putting the money back, Hurstwood resumed his calm and bold demeanor. No one saw him, but he was alone. No one knew what he wanted to do. He could take care of it himself. The drink of the night had not quite worn off. Though his brow was sweating and his hands were shaking after the nameless bout of terror, he was still flushed with the smell. He hardly noticed the passing of time. He considered his situation again, his eyes were always on the money, and his mind was always thinking of what it could be used for. He went into his small room, went back to the door, and went to the safe. He stretched out his hand. Pulled the knob, and opened the safe. The money was in there. It won't do any harm to have a look. He took out the drawer again, and picked up the bills. How smooth they were. How strong. How easy to carry. It was only a small bag. He decided to take them. Yes, he would. He would pack them into his own pocket. He looked at the money again and decided it wouldn't fit in his pocket. By the way, his handbag! A handbag would do! The money would fit...all of it, and no one would Suspicious of the handbag. He went into the small office and took the handbag from the shelf in the corner. He put the bag on the desk and came out to the safe. For some reason he didn't want to put it in the big room outside. Pack money. He took first the bills, and then the day's change. He wanted to take them all. He put the empty drawer back, pushed the iron door, which was almost closed, and stood by it in thought. The indecision in his mind was almost miraculous under such circumstances, but it was very real. Hurstwood could not bring himself to act decisively. He had to think about it... Think it over carefully, and decide whether it would be the best thing to do. He wanted Carrie so much, and his private affairs drove him to nowhere, that he had always thought it was the best thing to do, but he hesitated. He didn't know what it would do to him. What would come of it... When would he be in trouble. Whether it was right or not, he never thought. It never occurred to him under any circumstances. When he put all the money in his handbag, he suddenly wanted to change his mind. He couldn't do it... couldn't! Think what a scandal it would be. And those cops! They're going to come after him. He must run away, but to where? Oh, how terrible it is to be a fugitive from the law! He took out two drawers, and put all the money back. In his confusion, he forgot what he was doing, Put the money in the wrong drawer. When he closed the door of the safe, he remembered that he had put it wrong, and opened the door again. The two drawers were wrong. He took out the drawer and replaced the money, but then the fear was gone. Why be afraid? While he was still holding the money, the lock of the safe clicked and it locked! Did he lock it? He grabbed the knob and yanked hard. It locked. Good God, he must be stuck now up. As soon as he realized that the safe was indeed locked, cold sweat broke out on his brow and he trembled violently. He looked around and made up his mind at once. There was no delay now. "Even if I put the money on the top of the safe Come on," he said, "and go away, and they'll know who got it all the same. I was the last to close the door. Besides, other things will happen." He immediately became a man of decisive action. "I must get out of here," he thought. He hurried into his little room, took off his light overcoat and hat, locked the desk, and took up his bag. Then, having put out all the lights except one, he opened the door and came out. He tried to put on his usual self-assurance, but could barely do it. He regretted it quickly. "I wish I hadn't done that," he said. "It was a mistake." He went straight down the street, and greeted a night-watchman he knew checking the door. He had to go to town, and he had to hurry. "I don't know when there's a train," he thought. He immediately took out his pocket watch and looked at it. It was almost half past one. Walking to the first pharmacy, he saw a long-distance phone booth in the store, so he stopped. It was a well-known pharmacy with a private phone booth. "I'd like to borrow your phone," he said to the night clerk. The latter nodded. "Please dial 1643," he said to the switchboard after finding out the number of the Michigan Central Station. The conductor was quickly connected. "What time is the train to Detroit?" he asked. The man said several driving hours. "Is there no car tonight?" "There's no sleeping car. Oh, yes, there's another," he added. "There's a mail train leaving here at three o'clock." "All right," said Hurstwood. "When does that bus get to Detroit?" He was thinking. As long as he got to Detroit and crossed the river into Canada from there, he could go to Montreal at his leisure. He felt a little relieved when he learned that the train would arrive at noon. "Matthew won't open the safe until nine o'clock," he thought. "They won't find me before noon." Then he thought of Carrie. If he really wanted Carrie he must act quickly. She must go with her. He jumped into the nearest carriage. "Go to Oden's," he snapped. "I'll give you a dollar if you run fast." The coachman whipped his horse into a gallop, but rather quickly. Hurstwood figured out how to do it along the way. At the flat he hurried up the steps, and rang the bell as usual to wake the maid. "Is Mrs. Drouet in?" he asked. "At home," said the girl in surprise. "Tell her to get dressed and come to the door at once. Her husband is wounded and in the hospital, and he wants to see her." Seeing the man's tense and solemn expression, the maid believed it and hurried upstairs. "What?" said Carrie. She lit the gas lamp, and looked for clothes. "Mr. Drouet is wounded. He is in the hospital. He wants to see you. The carriage is waiting downstairs." Carrie dressed quickly, and came down quickly, carrying nothing but a few necessities. "Drouet is wounded," said Hurstwood quickly. "He wants to see you, go away." Carrie was so bewildered that she believed all this without thinking. "Get in," said Hurstwood, helping her into the car, and jumping into it himself. The driver began to turn the horse's head. "To the Michigan Central Station," he said, rising, in a low voice so that Carrie could not hear him. "The sooner the better."