"Oh, you want to see Mr. McManus," he returned. "Sit down," andhe pointed to a chair against the neighbouring wall. He went onleisurely writing, until after a time a short, stout gentlemancame in from the street.。，
。， For the most part he lounged about, dressed in excellent tailoredsuits of imported goods, a solitaire ring, a fine blue diamond inhis tie, a striking vest of some new pattern, and a watch-chainof solid gold, which held a charm of rich design, and a watch ofthe latest make and engraving. He knew by name, and could greetpersonally with a "Well, old fellow," hundreds of actors,merchants, politicians, and the general run of successfulcharacters about town, and it was part of his success to do so.He had a finely graduated scale of informality and friendship,which improved from the "How do you do?" addressed to thefifteen-dollar-a-week clerks and office attaches, who, by longfrequenting of the place, became aware of his position, to the"Why, old man, how are you?" which he addressed to those noted orrich individuals who knew him and were inclined to be friendly.There was a class, however, too rich, too famous, or toosuccessful, with whom he could not attempt any familiarity ofaddress, and with these he was professionally tactful, assuming agrave and dignified attitude, paying them the deference whichwould win their good feeling without in the least compromisinghis own bearing and opinions. There were, in the last place, afew good followers, neither rich nor poor, famous, nor yetremarkably successful, with whom he was friendly on the score ofgood-fellowship. These were the kind of men with whom he wouldconverse longest and most seriously. He loved to go out and havea good time once in a while--to go to the races, the theatres,the sporting entertainments at some of the clubs. He kept ahorse and neat trap, had his wife and two children, who were wellestablished in a neat house on the North Side near Lincoln Park,and was altogether a very acceptable individual of our greatAmerican upper class--the first grade below the luxuriously rich.
"No, sir," she said.。， He was a brotherly sort of creature in his demeanour. When he hadscouted the idea of that kind of toil, he took another tack.Carrie was really very pretty. Even then, in her commonplacegarb, her figure was evidently not bad, and her eyes were largeand gentle. Drouet looked at her and his thoughts reached home.She felt his admiration. It was powerfully backed by hisliberality and good-humour. She felt that she liked him--thatshe could continue to like him ever so much. There was somethingeven richer than that, running as a hidden strain, in her mind.Every little while her eyes would meet his, and by that means theinterchanging current of feeling would be fully connected.
He looked at her quite tenderly for his kind. There were someloose bills in his vest pocket--greenbacks. They were soft andnoiseless, and he got his fingers about them and crumpled them upin his hand.。，
， Under better material conditions, this kind of work would nothave been so bad, but the new socialism which involves pleasantworking conditions for employees had not then taken hold uponmanufacturing companies.。， Minnie's flat, as the one-floor resident apartments were thenbeing called, was in a part of West Van Buren Street inhabited byfamilies of labourers and clerks, men who had come, and werestill coming, with the rush of population pouring in at the rateof 50,000 a year. It was on the third floor, the front windowslooking down into the street, where, at night, the lights ofgrocery stores were shining and children were playing. To Carrie,the sound of the little bells upon the horse-cars, as theytinkled in and out of hearing, was as pleasing as it was novel.She gazed into the lighted street when Minnie brought her intothe front room, and wondered at the sounds, the movement, themurmur of the vast city which stretched for miles and miles inevery direction.