Chapter XXIV

by Theodore Dreiser

　　ASHES OF TINDER--A FACE AT THE WINDOWThat night Hurstwood remained down town entirely, going to thePalmer House for a bed after his work was through. He was in afevered state of mind, owing to the blight his wife's actionthreatened to cast upon his entire future. While he was not surehow much significance might be attached to the threat she hadmade, he was sure that her attitude, if long continued, wouldcause him no end of trouble. She was determined, and had worstedhim in a very important contest. How would it be from now on? Hewalked the floor of his little office, and later that of hisroom, putting one thing and another together to no avail.Mrs. Hurstwood, on the contrary, had decided not to lose heradvantage by inaction. Now that she had practically cowed him,she would follow up her work with demands, the acknowledgment ofwhich would make her word LAW in the future. He would have topay her the money which she would now regularly demand or therewould be trouble. It did not matter what he did. She really didnot care whether he came home any more or not. The householdwould move along much more pleasantly without him, and she coulddo as she wished without consulting any one. Now she proposed toconsult a lawyer and hire a detective. She would find out atonce just what advantages she could gain.Hurstwood walked the floor, mentally arranging the chief pointsof his situation. "She has that property in her name," he keptsaying to himself. "What a fool trick that was. Curse it! Whata fool move that was."He also thought of his managerial position. "If she raises a rownow I'll lose this thing. They won't have me around if my namegets in the papers. My friends, too!" He grew more angry as hethought of the talk any action on her part would create. Howwould the papers talk about it? Every man he knew would bewondering. He would have to explain and deny and make a generalmark of himself. Then Moy would come and confer with him andthere would be the devil to pay.Many little wrinkles gathered between his eyes as he contemplatedthis, and his brow moistened. He saw no solution of anything--not a loophole left.Through all this thoughts of Carrie flashed upon him, and theapproaching affair of Saturday. Tangled as all his matters were,he did not worry over that. It was the one pleasing thing inthis whole rout of trouble. He could arrange thatsatisfactorily, for Carrie would be glad to wait, if necessary.He would see how things turned out to-morrow, and then he wouldtalk to her. They were going to meet as usual. He saw only herpretty face and neat figure and wondered why life was notarranged so that such joy as he found with her could be steadilymaintained. How much more pleasant it would be. Then he wouldtake up his wife's threat again, and the wrinkles and moisturewould return.In the morning he came over from the hotel and opened his mail,but there was nothing in it outside the ordinary run. For somereason he felt as if something might come that way, and wasrelieved when all the envelopes had been scanned and nothingsuspicious noticed. He began to feel the appetite that had beenwanting before he had reached the office, and decided beforegoing out to the park to meet Carrie to drop in at the GrandPacific and have a pot of coffee and some rolls. While thedanger had not lessened, it had not as yet materialised, and withhim no news was good news. If he could only get plenty of timeto think, perhaps something would turn up. Surely, surely, thisthing would not drift along to catastrophe and he not find a wayout.His spirits fell, however, when, upon reaching the park, hewaited and waited and Carrie did not come. He held his favouritepost for an hour or more, then arose and began to walk aboutrestlessly. Could something have happened out there to keep heraway? Could she have been reached by his wife? Surely not. Solittle did he consider Drouet that it never once occurred to himto worry about his finding out. He grew restless as heruminated, and then decided that perhaps it was nothing. She hadnot been able to get away this morning. That was why no letternotifying him had come. He would get one to-day. It wouldprobably be on his desk when he got back. He would look for itat once.After a time he gave up waiting and drearily headed for theMadison car. To add to his distress, the bright blue sky becameovercast with little fleecy clouds which shut out the sun. Thewind veered to the east, and by the time he reached his office itwas threatening to drizzle all afternoon.He went in and examined his letters, but there was nothing fromCarrie. Fortunately, there was nothing from his wife either. Hethanked his stars that he did not have to confront thatproposition just now when he needed to think so much. He walkedthe floor again, pretending to be in an ordinary mood, butsecretly troubled beyond the expression of words.At one-thirty he went to Rector's for lunch, and when he returneda messenger was waiting for him. He looked at the little chapwith a feeling of doubt."I'm to bring an answer," said the boy.Hurstwood recognised his wife's writing. He tore it open andread without a show of feeling. It began in the most formalmanner and was sharply and coldly worded throughout."I want you to send the money I asked for at once. I need it tocarry out my plans. You can stay away if you want to. Itdoesn't matter in the least. But I must have some money. Sodon't delay, but send it by the boy."When he had finished it, he stood holding it in his hands. Theaudacity of the thing took his breath. It roused his ire also--the deepest element of revolt in him. His first impulse was towrite but four words in reply--"Go to the devil!"--but hecompromised by telling the boy that there would be no reply.Then he sat down in his chair and gazed without seeing,contemplating the result of his work. What would she do aboutthat? The confounded wretch! Was she going to try to bulldoze himinto submission? He would go up there and have it out with her,that's what he would do. She was carrying things with too high ahand. These were his first thoughts.Later, however, his old discretion asserted itself. Somethinghad to be done. A climax was near and she would not sit idle.He knew her well enough to know that when she had decided upon aplan she would follow it up. Possibly matters would go into alawyer's hands at once."Damn her!" he said softly, with his teeth firmly set, "I'll makeit hot for her if she causes me trouble. I'll make her changeher tone if I have to use force to do it!"He arose from his chair and went and looked out into the street.The long drizzle had begun. Pedestrians had turned up collars,and trousers at the bottom. Hands were hidden in the pockets ofthe umbrellaless; umbrellas were up. The street looked like asea of round black cloth roofs, twisting, bobbing, moving.Trucks and vans were rattling in a noisy line and everywhere menwere shielding themselves as best they could. He scarcelynoticed the picture. He was forever confronting his wife,demanding of her to change her attitude toward him before heworked her bodily harm.At four o'clock another note came, which simply said that if themoney was not forthcoming that evening the matter would be laidbefore Fitzgerald and Moy on the morrow, and other steps would betaken to get it.Hurstwood almost exclaimed out loud at the insistency of thisthing. Yes, he would send her the money. He'd take it to her--he would go up there and have a talk with her, and that at once.He put on his hat and looked around for his umbrella. He wouldhave some arrangement of this thing.He called a cab and was driven through the dreary rain to theNorth Side. On the way his temper cooled as he thought of thedetails of the case. What did she know? What had she done? Maybeshe'd got hold of Carrie, who knows--or--or Drouet. Perhaps shereally had evidence, and was prepared to fell him as a man doesanother from secret ambush. She was shrewd. Why should shetaunt him this way unless she had good grounds?He began to wish that he had compromised in some way or other--that he had sent the money. Perhaps he could do it up here. Hewould go in and see, anyhow. He would have no row. By the timehe reached his own street he was keenly alive to the difficultiesof his situation and wished over and over that some solutionwould offer itself, that he could see his way out. He alightedand went up the steps to the front door, but it was with anervous palpitation of the heart. He pulled out his key andtried to insert it, but another key was on the inside. He shookat the knob, but the door was locked. Then he rang the bell. Noanswer. He rang again--this time harder. Still no answer. Hejangled it fiercely several times in succession, but withoutavail. Then he went below.There was a door which opened under the steps into the kitchen,protected by an iron grating, intended as a safeguard againstburglars. When he reached this he noticed that it also wasbolted and that the kitchen windows were down. What could itmean? He rang the bell and then waited. Finally, seeing that noone was coming, he turned and went back to his cab."I guess they've gone out," he said apologetically to theindividual who was hiding his red face in a loose tarpaulinraincoat."I saw a young girl up in that winder," returned the cabby.Hurstwood looked, but there was no face there now. He climbedmoodily into the cab, relieved and distressed.So this was the game, was it? Shut him out and make him pay.Well, by the Lord, that did beat all!