This is the girl, he said, and turning to Carrie, You go with him. He then returned, and Carrie followed her new superior to a little desk in a corner, which he used as a kind of official center.
Youve never worked at anything like this before, have you? he questioned, rather sternly.
No, sir, she answered.
He seemed rather annoyed at having to bother with such help, but put down her name and then led her across to where a line of girls occupied stools in front of clacking machines. On the shoulder of one of the girls who was punching eye-holes in one piece of the upper, by the aid of the machine, he put his hand.
You, he said, show this girl how to do what youre doing. When you get through, come to me.
The girl so addressed rose promptly and gave Carrie her place.
It isnt hard to do, she said, bending over. You just take this so, fasten it with this clamp, and start the machine.
She suited action to work, fastened the piece of leather, which was eventually to form the right half of the upper of a mans shoe, by little adjustable clamps, and pushed a small steel rod at the side of the machine. The latter jumped to the task of punching, with sharp, snapping clicks, cutting circular bits of leather out of the side of the upper, leaving the holes which were to hold the laces. After observing a few times, the girl let her work at it alone. Seeing that it was fairly well done, she went away.
The pieces of leather came from the girl at the machine to her right, and were passed on to the girl at her left. Carrie saw at once that an average speed was necessary or the work would pile up on her and all those below would be delayed. She had no time to look about, and bent anxiously to her task. The girls at her left and right realized her predicament and feelings, and, in a way, tried to aid her, as much as they dared, by working slower.
At this task she labored incessantly for some time, finding relief from her own nervous fears and imaginings in the humdrum, mechanical movement of the machine. She felt, as the minutes passed, that the room was not very light. It had a thick odor of fresh leather, but that did not worry her. She felt the eyes of the other help upon her, and troubled lest she was not working fast enough.
Once, when she was fumbling at the little clamp, having made a slight error in setting in the leather, a great hand appeared before her eyes and fastened the clamp for her. It was the foreman. Her heart thumped so that she could scarcely see to go on.
Start your machine, he said, start your machine. Dont keep the line waiting.
This recovered her sufficiently and she went excitedly on, hardly breathing until the shadow moved away from behind her. Then she heaved a great breath.
As the morning wore on the room became hotter. She felt the need of a breath of fresh air and a drink of water but did not venture to stir. The stool she sat on was without a back or foot-rest, and she began to feel uncomfortable. She found, after a time, that her back was beginning to ache. She twisted and turned from one position to another slightly different, but it did not ease her for long. She was beginning to weary.
Stand up, why dont you? said the girl at her right without any form of introduction. They wont care.
Carrie looked at her gratefully. I guess I will, she said.
She stood up from her stool and worked that way for a while, but it was a more difficult position. Her neck and shoulder ached in bending over.
The spirit of the place impressed itself on her in a rough way. She did not venture to look around, but above the clack of the machine she could hear an occasional remark. She could also note a thing or two out of the side of her eye.
Did you see Harry last night? said the girl at her left, addressing her neighbor.
No.
You ought to have seen the tie he had on. Gee, but he was a mark.[17]
S-s-t, said the other girl, bending over her work.
The first, silenced, instantly assumed a solemn face. The foreman passed slowly along, eyeing each worker distinctly. The moment he was gone, the conversation was resumed again.
Say, began the girl at her left, what do you think he said?
I dont know.
He said he saw us with Eddie Harris at Martins last night.
No! They both giggled.
A youth with tan-colored hair, that needed clipping very badly, came shuffling along between the machines, bearing a basket of leather findings under his left arm, and pressed against his stomach. When near Carrie, he stretched out his right hand and gripped one girl under the arm.
Aw, let me go, she exclaimed angrily. Duffer.[18]
He only grinned broadly in return.
Rubber![19] he called back as she looked after him.
There was nothing of the gallant in him.
Carrie at last could scarcely sit still. Her legs began to tire and she wanted to get up and stretch. Would noon never come? It seemed as if she had worked an entire day. She was not hungry at all, but weak, and her eyes were tired, straining at the one point where the eye-punch came down. The girl at the right noticed her squirmings and felt sorry for her. She was concentrating herself too thoroughly-what she did really required less mental and physical strain. There was nothing to be done, however. When she was wondering whether the strain would ever cease, a dull-sounding bell clanged somewhere down an elevator shaft, and the end came. In a instant there was a buzz of action and conversation. All the girls instantly left their stools and hurried away in an adjoining room, men passed through, coming from some department which opened on the right. The whirling wheels began to sing in a steadily modifying key, until at last they died away in a low buzz. There was an audible stillness, in which the common voice sounded strange.
Carrie got up and sought her lunch box. She was stiff, a little dizzy, and very thirsty. On the way to the small space portioned off by wood, where all the wraps and lunches were kept, she encountered the foreman, who started at her hard.
Well, he said, did you get along all right?
I think so, she replied, very respectfully.
Um, he replied, for want of something better, and walked on.
Under better material conditions, this kind of work would not have been so bad, but the new socialism which involves pleasant working conditions for employees had not then taken hold upon manufacturing companies.
Carrie looked about her, after she had drunk a tinful of water from a bucket in one corner, for a place to sit and eat. She saw no place which did not hold a couple or a group of girls, and being too timid to think of intruding herself, she sought out her machine and, seated upon her stool, opened her lunch on her lap. There she sat listening to the chatter and comment about her. It was for the most part, silly and graced by the current slang. Several of the men in the room exchanged compliments with the girls at long range.
Say, Kitty, called one to a girl who was doing a waltz step in a few feet of space near one of the windows, are you going to the ball with me?
Look out, Kitty, called another, youll jar your back hair.
Go on, Rubber, was her only comment.
She was glad when the short half hour was over and the wheels began to whirr again. Though wearied, she would be inconspicuous. This illusion ended when another young man passed along the aisle and poked her indifferently in the ribs with his thumb. She turned about, indignation leaping to her eyes, but he had gone on and only once turned to grin. She found it difficult to conquer an inclination to cry.
Look out, Kitty, called another, youll jar your back hair.
Go on, Rubber, was her only comment.
She was glad when the short half hour was over and the wheels began to whirr again. Though wearied, she would be inconspicuous. This illusion ended when another young man passed along the aisle and poked her indifferently in the ribs with his thumb. She turned about, indignation leaping to her eyes, but he had gone on and only once turned to grin. She found it difficult to conquer an inclination to cry.
The girl next her noticed her state of mind. Dont you mind, she said. Hes too fresh.[20]
Carrie said nothing, but bent over her work. When six oclock came she hurried eagerly away, her arms aching and her limbs stiff from sitting in one position.
As she passed out along the hall after getting her hat, a young machine hand, attracted by her looks, made bold to jest with her.
Say, Maggie, he called, if you wait, Ill walk with you.
It was thrown so straight in her direction that she knew who was meant, but never turned to look.
In the crowded elevator, another dusty, toil-stained youth tried to make an impression on her by leering in her face.
One young man, waiting on the walk outside for the appearance of another, grinned at her as she passed.
Aint going my way, are you? he called jocosely.
Carrie turned her face to the west with a subdued heart.
As she turned the corner, she saw through the great shiny window the small desk at which she had applied. There were the crowds, hurrying with the same buzz and energy yielding enthusiasm. She felt a slight relief, but it was only at her escape. She felt ashamed in the face of better dressed girls who went by. She felt as though she should be better served, and her heart revolted.
Chapter V
A Glittering Night Flower: The Use of a Name
Drouet did not call that evening. After receiving the letter, he had laid aside all thought of Carrie for the time being and was floating around having what he considered a gay time. On this particular evening he dined at Rectors, a restaurant of some local fame, which occupied a basement at Clark and Monroe Streets. Thereafter he visited the resort of Fitzgerald and Moys in Adams Street, opposite the imposing Federal Building. There he leaned over the splendid bar and swallowed a glass of plain whiskey and purchased a couple of cigars, one of which he lighted. This to him represented in part high life a fair sample of what the whole must be.
Drouet was not a drinker in excess. He was not a moneyed man. He only craved the best, as his mind conceived it, and such doings seemed to him a part of the best. Rectors, with its polished marble walls and floor, its profusion of lights, its show of china and silverware, and, above all, its reputation as a resort for actors and professional men, seemed to him the proper place for a successful man to go. He loved fine clothes, good eating, and particularly the company and acquaintanceship of successful men. When dining, it was source of keen satisfaction to him to know that Joseph Jefferson was wont to come to this same place, or that Henry E. Dixie, a well known performer of the day, was then only a few tables off. At Rectors he could always obtain this satisfaction for there one could encounter politicians, brokers, actors, some rich young rounders[21] of the town, all eating and drinking amid a buzz of popular commonplace conversation.
Thats So-and so over there, was a common remark of these gentlemen among themselves, particularly among those who had not yet reached, but hoped to do so, the dazzling height which money to dine here lavishly represented.
You dont say so, would be the reply.
Why, yes, didnt you know that? Why, hes manager of the Grand Opera House.
When these things would fall upon Drouets ears, he would straighten himself a little more stiffly and eat with solid comfort. If he had any vanity, this augmented it, and if he had any ambition, this stirred it. He would be able to flash a roll of greenbacks too some day. As it was, he could eat where they did.
At Rectors Drouet had met Mr. G. W. Hurstwood, manager of Fitgerald and Moys. He had been pointed out as a very successful and well-known man about town. Hurstwood looked the part, for, besides being slightly under forty, he had a good, stout constitution, an active manner, and solid, substantial air, which was composed in part of his fine clothes, his clean linen, his jewels, and, above all, his own sense of his importance.
For the most part he lounged about, dressed in excellent tailored suits of imported goods, a solitaire ring, a fine blue diamond in his tie, a striking vest of some new pattern, and a watch-chain of solid gold, which held a charm of rich design, and a watch of the latest make and engraving. He knew by name, and could greet personally with a Well, old fellow, hundreds of actors, merchants, politicians, and the general run of successful characters 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 the fifteen-dollar-a-week clerks and office attaches, who, by long frequenting of the place, became aware of his position, to the Why old man, how are you? which he addressed to those noted or rich individuals who knew him and were inclined to be friendly. There was a class however, too rich, too famous, or too successful with whom he could not attempt any familiarity of address, and with these he was professionally tactful, assuming a grave and dignified attitude, paying them the deference which would win their good feeling without in the least compromising his own bearing and opinions. There were, in the last place, a few good followers, neither rich nor poor, famous, nor yet remarkably successful, with whom he was friendly on the score of good-fellowship. These were the kind of men with whom he would converse longest and most seriously. He loved to go out and have a good time once in a while to go to the races, the theatres, the sporting entertainments at some of the clubs. He kept a horse and neat trap, had his wife and two children, who were well established in neat house on the North Side near Lincoln Park, and was altogether a very acceptable individual of our great American upper class-the first grade below the luxuriously rich.
Hurstwood liked Douet. The latters genial nature and dressy appearance pleased him. He knew that Drouet was only a traveling salesman and not one of many years at that but the firm of Barlett, Caryoe & Company was large and prosperous house, and Drouet stood well.
Why, hello, Charlie, old man, said Hurstwood, as Drouet came in that evening about eight oclock. How goes it? The room was crowded.
Drouet shook hands, beaming good nature, and they strolled towards the bar.
Oh, all right.
I havent seen you in six weeks. When did you get in?
Friday, said Drouet. Had a fine trip.
Glad of it, said Hurstwood, his black eyes lit with a warmth which half displaced the cold make-believe that usually dwelt in them. What are you going to take? he added, as the barkeeper, in snowy jacket and tie, leaned toward them from behind the bar.
Old Pepper, said Drouet.
A little of the same for me, put in Hurstwood.
How long are you in town this time? inquired Hurstwood.
Only until Wednesday. Im going up to St. Paul.
George Evans was in here Saturday and said he saw you in Milwaukee last week.