Carrie was in tears.
There would be no dinner that night.
"What the deuce," he said, swaggering mentally to hide his own shame from himself.

"I'm not so bad.

I'm not down yet." He looked around the square, and seeing the several large hotels, decided to go to one for dinner.

He would get his papers and make himself comfortable there.
He ascended into the fine parlor of the Morton House, then one of the best New York hotels, and, finding a cushioned seat, read.

It did not trouble him much that his decreasing sum of money did not allow of such extravagance.