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Coming down Sixth Avenue this evening, Hurstwood chanced to crosseast through Twenty-sixth Street toward Third Avenue. He waswholly disconsolate in spirit, hungry to what he deemed an almostmortal extent, weary, and defeated. How should he get at Carrienow? It would be eleven before the show was over. If she came ina coach, she would go away in one. He would need to interruptunder most trying circumstances. Worst of all, he was hungry andweary, and at best a whole day must intervene, for he had notheart to try again to-night. He had no food and no bed.。， "Do you suppose the boat will sail promptly?" asked Jessica, "ifit keeps up like this?"
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The hotel physician looked at him.。， This seemed to renew the general interest in the closed door, andmany gazed in that direction. They looked at it as dumb bruteslook, as dogs paw and whine and study the knob. They shifted andblinked and muttered, now a curse, now a comment. Still theywaited and still the snow whirled and cut them with bitingflakes. On the old hats and peaked shoulders it was piling. Itgathered in little heaps and curves and no one brushed it off.In the centre of the crowd the warmth and steam melted it, andwater trickled off hat rims and down noses, which the ownerscould not reach to scratch. On the outer rim the piles remainedunmelted. Hurstwood, who could not get in the centre, stood withhead lowered to the weather and bent his form.
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In her comfortable chambers at the Waldorf, Carrie was reading atthis time "Pere Goriot," which Ames had recommended to her. Itwas so strong, and Ames's mere recommendation had so aroused herinterest, that she caught nearly the full sympatheticsignificance of it. For the first time, it was being borne inupon her how silly and worthless had been her earlier reading, asa whole. Becoming wearied, however, she yawned and came to thewindow, looking out upon the old winding procession of carriagesrolling up Fifth Avenue.。，
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"I can't stand much of this," said Hurstwood, whose legs achedhim painfully, as he sat down upon the miserable bunk in thesmall, lightless chamber allotted to him. "I've got to eat, orI'll die."。， Accordingly, he was carted away.
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Suddenly a coach rolled up and the driver jumped down to open thedoor. Before Hurstwood could act, two ladies flounced across thebroad walk and disappeared in the stage door. He thought he sawCarrie, but it was so unexpected, so elegant and far away, hecould hardly tell. He waited a while longer, growing feverishwith want, and then seeing that the stage door no longer opened,and that a merry audience was arriving, he concluded it must havebeen Carrie and turned away.。，
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At this moment Hurstwood stood before a dirty four story buildingin a side street quite near the Bowery, whose one-time coat ofbuff had been changed by soot and rain. He mingled with a crowdof men--a crowd which had been, and was still, gathering bydegrees.。， "It wasn't a hotel," said Hurstwood. "I was manager ofFitzgerald and Moy's place in Chicago for fifteen years."