“When will I see you again?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, wondering herself.
“Why not come down to The Fair,” he suggested, “next Tuesday?”
She shook her head. “Not so soon,” she answered.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he added. “I’ll write you, care of this West Side Post-office. Could you call next Tuesday?”
Carrie assented.
The cab stopped one door out of the way according to his call.
“Good-night,” he whispered, as the cab rolled away.
Unfortunately for the smooth progression of this affair, Drouet returned.
Hurstwood was sitting in his imposing little office the next afternoon when he saw Drouet enter.
“Why, hello, Charles,” he called affably; “back again?”
“Yes,” smiled Drouet, approaching and looking in at the door.
Hurstwood arose.
“Well,” he said, looking the drummer over, “rosy as ever, eh?”
They began talking of the people they knew and things that had happened.
“Been home yet?” finally asked Hurstwood.
“No, I am going, though,” said Drouet.
“I remembered the little girl out there,” said Hurstwood, “and called once.
Thought you wouldn’t want her left quite alone.”
“Right you are,” agreed Drouet.
“How is she?”
“Very well,” said Hurstwood.
“Rather anxious about you though.
You’d better go out now and cheer her up.”
“I will,” said Drouet, smilingly.
“Like to have you both come down and go to the show with me Wednesday,” concluded Hurstwood at parting.
“Thanks, old man,” said his friend,
“I’ll see what the girl says and let you know.”
They separated in the most cordial manner.
“There’s a nice fellow,” Drouet thought to himself as he turned the corner towards Madison.
“Drouet is a good fellow,” Hurstwood thought to himself as he went back into his office, “but he’s no man for Carrie.”
The thought of the latter turned his mind into a most pleasant vein, and he wandered how he would get ahead of the drummer.
When Drouet entered Carrie’s presence, he caught her in his arms as usual, but she responded to his kiss with a tremour of opposition.
“Well,” he said, “I had a great trip.”
“Did you?
How did you come out with that La Crosse man you were telling me about?”
“Oh, fine; sold him a complete line.
There was another fellow there, representing Burnstein, a regular hook-nosed sheeny, but he wasn’t in it.
I made him look like nothing at all.”
As he undid his collar and unfastened his studs, preparatory to washing his face and changing his clothes, he dilated upon his trip.
Carrie could not help listening with amusement to his animated descriptions.
“I tell you,” he said, “I surprised the people at the office.
I’ve sold more goods this last quarter than any other man of our house on the road.
I sold three thousand dollars’ worth in La Crosse.”
He plunged his face in a basin of water, and puffed and blew as he rubbed his neck and ears with his hands, while Carrie gazed upon him with mingled thoughts of recollection and present judgment.
He was still wiping his face, when he continued:
“I’m going to strike for a raise in June.
They can afford to pay it, as much business as I turn in.
I’ll get it too, don’t you forget.”
“I hope you do,” said Carrie.