Sister Carrie (Barnes & Noble Classics S - Theodore Dreiser [162]
As she was going through the room to begin preparing dinner, Carrie said:
“The man was here for the rent to-day.”
“Oh, was he?” said Hurstwood.
The least wrinkle crept into his brow as he remembered that this was February 2d, the time the man always called. He fished down in his pocket for his purse, getting the first taste of paying out when nothing is coming in. He looked at the fat, green roll as a sick man looks at the one possible saving cure. Then he counted off twenty-eight dollars.
“Here you are,” he said to Carrie, when she came through again.
He buried himself in his papers and read. Oh, the rest of it—the relief from walking and thinking! What Lethean waters were these floods of telegraphed intelligence! He forgot his troubles, in part. Here was a young, handsome woman, if you might believe the newspaper drawing, suing a rich, fat, candy-making husband in Brooklyn for divorce. Here was another item detailing the wrecking of a vessel in ice and snow off Prince’s Bay on Staten Island. A long, bright, column told of the doings in the theatrical world—the plays produced, the actors appearing, the managers making announcements. Fannie Davenport was just opening at the Fifth Avenue. Daly was producing “King Lear.”af He read of the early departure for the season of a party composed of the Vanderbilts and their friends for Florida. An interesting shooting affray was on in the mountains of Kentucky. So he read, read, read, rocking in the warm room near the radiator and waiting for dinner to be served.
CHAPTER XXXV
THE PASSING OF EFFORT:
THE VISAGE OF CARE
THE NEXT MORNING HE looked over the papers and waded through a long list of advertisements, making a few notes. Then he turned to the male-help-wanted column, but with disagreeable feelings. The day was before him—a long day in which to discover something—and this was how he must begin to discover. He scanned the long column, which mostly concerned bakers, bushel-men, cooks, compositors, drivers, and the like, finding two things only which arrested his eye. One was a cashier wanted in a wholesale furniture house, and the other a salesman for a whiskey house. He had never thought of the latter. At once he decided to look that up.
The firm in question was Alsbery & Co., whiskey brokers.
He was admitted almost at once to the manager on his appearance. “Good-morning, sir,” said the latter, thinking at first that he was encountering one of his out-of-town customers.
“Good-morning,” said Hurstwood. “You advertised, I believe, for a salesman?”
“Oh,” said the man, showing plainly the enlightenment which had come to him. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
“I thought I’d drop in,” said Hurstwood, with dignity. “I’ve had some experience in that line myself.”
“Oh, have you?” said the man. “What experience have you had?”
“Well, I’ve managed several liquor houses in my time. Recently I owned a third-interest in a saloon at Warren and Hudson streets.”
“I see,” said the man.
Hurstwood ceased, waiting for some suggestion.
“We did want a salesman,” said the man. “I don’t know as it’s anything you’d care to take hold of, though.”
“I see,” said Hurstwood. “Well, I’m in no position to choose, at present. If it were open, I should be glad to get it.”
The man did not take kindly at all to his “No position to choose.” He wanted some one who wasn’t thinking of a choice or something better. Especially not an old man. He wanted some one young, active, and glad to work actively for a moderate sum. Hurstwood did not please him at all. He had more of an air than his employers.
“Well,” he said in answer, “we’d be glad to consider your application. We shan’t decide for a few days yet. Suppose you send us your references.”
“I will,” said Hurstwood.
He nodded good-morning and came away. At the corner he looked at the furniture company’s address, and saw that it was in West Twenty-third