Didactic fiction; Political fiction; Social problems -- Fiction
He paid for her admission to the dance-hall, dropped a dollar in her
hand, and left her. Then where to go? How to pass the hours? He was
at an utter loss what to do with himself, like all properly married,
respectable men, when the domestic pattern of their lives is disturbed
for any reason. So, vaguely, without purpose, he began to stroll east
in the direction of the lake, taking off his hat to let the night wind
cool his head. He found walking pleasant in the mild spring air, and
when he came to the end of the street he turned south into a deserted
avenue that was starred in the dark night by a line of arc lamps. It
was a dull, respectable, middle-class district, quite unfamiliar to
him, and he stared inquiringly at the monotonous blocks of brick houses
and cheap apartment buildings. Here was the ugly, comfortable housing
of the modern city, where lived a mass of good citizens,--clerks and
small business men with their wives and children. He wondered vaguely
if this was what his wife would have him come to, this dreary monotony
of small homes, each one like its neighbor, where the two main facts of
existence were shelter and food.
A wave of self-pity swept over him, and his thoughts returned to his
old grievance: if Helen had stayed by him all would have been well. He
wanted his children; he wanted his home, his wife, his neighbors, his
little accustomed world of human relationships,--all as it had been
before. And he blamed her for destroying his happiness, shutting his
mind obstinately to any other consideration, unwilling to admit even to
his secret self that his greed, his thirst for luxury, had aught to do
with the case. He had striven with all his might, even as the bread
winners in these houses strove daily, to get a point of vantage in the
universal struggle. Doubtless these humble citizens had their modicum
of content. But why should he, with his larger appetite, be condemned
to their level? The idea was utterly repugnant to him, and gradually
that heavy weight of depression, which the wine had temporarily lifted,
pressed on his spirits.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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