Chicago (Ill.) -- Fiction; Didactic fiction; Mistresses -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
He tried to show Carrie that there was no cause for financial alarm,
but only congratulation over the chance he would have at the end of the
year by taking her rather more frequently to the theatre and by
providing a liberal table. This was for the time only. He was getting
in the frame of mind where he wanted principally to be alone and to be
allowed to think. The disease of brooding was beginning to claim him as
a victim. Only the newspapers and his own thoughts were worth while.
The delight of love had again slipped away. It was a case of live, now,
making the best you can out of a very commonplace station in life.
The road downward has but few landings and level places. The very state
of his mind, superinduced by his condition, caused the breach to widen
between him and his partner. At last that individual began to wish that
Hurstwood was out of it. It so happened, however, that a real estate
deal on the part of the owner of the land arranged things even more
effectually than ill-will could have schemed.
“Did you see that?” said Shaughnessy one morning to Hurstwood, pointing
to the real estate column in a copy of the “Herald,” which he held.
“No, what is it?” said Hurstwood, looking down the items of news.
“The man who owns this ground has sold it.”
“You don’t say so?” said Hurstwood.
He looked, and there was the notice. Mr. August Viele had yesterday
registered the transfer of the lot, 25 x 75 feet, at the corner of
Warren and Hudson Streets, to J. F. Slawson for the sum of $57,000.
“Our lease expires when?” asked Hurstwood, thinking. “Next February,
isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” said Shaughnessy.
“It doesn’t say what the new man’s going to do with it,” remarked
Hurstwood, looking back to the paper.
“We’ll hear, I guess, soon enough,” said Shaughnessy.
Sure enough, it did develop. Mr. Slawson owned the property adjoining,
and was going to put up a modern office building. The present one was
to be torn down. It would take probably a year and a half to complete
the other one.
All these things developed by degrees, and Hurstwood began to ponder
over what would become of the saloon. One day he spoke about it to his
partner.
“Do you think it would be worth while to open up somewhere else in the
neighbourhood?”
“What would be the use?” said Shaughnessy. “We couldn’t get another
corner around here.”
“It wouldn’t pay anywhere else, do you think?”
“I wouldn’t try it,” said the other. The approaching change now took on
a most serious aspect to Hurstwood. Dissolution meant the loss of his
thousand dollars, and he could not save another thousand in the time.
He understood that Shaughnessy was merely tired of the arrangement, and
would probably lease the new corner, when completed, alone. He began to
worry about the necessity of a new connection and to see impending
serious financial straits unless something turned up. This left him in
no mood to enjoy his flat or Carrie, and consequently the depression
invaded that quarter.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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