Now, said Drouet, why dont you move to-night?
Oh, I cant, said Carrie.
Why not?
I dont want to leave them so.
He took that up as they walked along the avenue. It was a warm afternoon. The sun had come out and the wind had died down. As he talked with Carrie, he secured an accurate detail of the atmosphere of the flat.
Come out of it, he said, they wont care. Ill help you get along.
She listened until her misgiving vanished. He would show her about a little and then help her get something. He really imagined that he would. He would be out on the road and she could be working.[31]Now, Ill tell you what you do, he said, you go out there and get whatever you want and come away.
She thought a long time about this. Finally she agreed. He would come out as far as Peoria Street and wait for her. She was to meet him at half-past eight. At half-past five she reached home, and at six her determination was hardened.
So you didnt get it? said Minnie, referring to Carries story of the Boston Store.
Carrie looked at her out of the corner of her eye. No, she answered.
I dont think youd better try any more this fall, said Minnie.
Carrie said nothing.
When Hanson came home he wore the same inscrutable demeanour. He washed in silence and went off to read his paper. At dinner Carrie felt a little nervous. The strain of her own plans was considerable, and the feeling that she was not welcome here was strong.
Didnt find anything, eh? said Hanson.
No.
He turned to his eating again, the thought that it was a burden to have her here dwelling in his mind. She would have to go home, that was all. Once she was away, there would be no more coming back in the spring.
Carrie was afraid of what she was going to do, but she was relieved to know that this condition was ending. They would not care. Hanson particularly would be glad when she went. He would not care what became of her.
After dinner she went into the bathroom, where they could not disturb her, and wrote a little note.
Good-bye, Minnie, it read. Im not going home. Im going to stay in Chicago a little while and look for work. Dont worry. Ill be all right.
In the front room Hanson was reading his paper. As usual, she helped Minnie clear away the dishes and straighten up. Then she said:
I guess Ill stand down at the door a little while. She could scarcely prevent her voice from trembling.
Minnie remembered Hansons remonstrance.
Sven doesnt think it looks good to stand down there, she said.
Doesnt he? said Carrie. I wont do it any more after this. She put on her hat and fidgeted around the table in the little bedroom, wondering where to slip the note. Finally she put it under Minnies hair-brush.
When she had closed the hall-door, she paused a moment and wondered what they would think. Some thought of the queerness of her deed affected her. She went slowly down the stairs. She looked back up the lighted step, and then affected to stroll up the street. When she reached the corner she quickened her pace.
As she was hurrying away, Hanson came back to his wife.
Is Carrie down at the door again? he asked.
Yes, said Minnie; she said she wasnt going to do it any more. He went over to the baby where it was playing on the floor and began to poke his finger at it.
Drouet was on the corner waiting, in good spirits.
Hello, Carrie, he said, as a sprightly figure of a girl drew near him. Got here safe, did you? Well, well take a car.
Chapter VIII
Intimations by Winter: An Ambassador Summoned
When Minnie found the note next morning, after a night of mingled wonder and anxiety, which was not exactly touched by yearning, sorrow, or love, she exclaimed:
Well, what do you think of that?
What? said Hanson.
Sister Carrie has gone to live somewhere else.
Hanson jumped out of bed with more celerity than he usually displayed and looked at the note. The only indication of his thoughts came in the form of a little clicking sound made by his tongue; the sound some people make when they wish to urge on a horse.
Where do you suppose shes gone to? said Minnie thoroughly aroused.
I dont know, a touch of cynicism lighting his eye.
Now she has gone and done it.
Minnie moved her head in a puzzled way.
Oh, oh, she said, she doesnt know what she has done.
Well, said Hanson after a while, sticking his hands out before him, what can you do?
Minnies womanly nature was higher than this. She figured the possibilities in such cases.
Oh, she said at least, poor Sister Carrie!
At the time of this particular conversation, which occurred at 5 a.m., that little soldier of fortune was sleeping in rather troubled sleep in her new room, alone.
Carries new state was remarkable in that she saw possibilities in it. She was no sensualist, longing to drowse sleepily in the lap of luxury. She turned about, troubled by her daring, glad of her release, wondering whether she would get something to do, wondering what Drouet would do. That worthy had his future fixed for him beyond a peradventure. He could not help what he was going to do. He could not see clearly enough to wish to do differently. He was drawn by his innate desire to act the old pursuing part. He would need to delight himself with Carrie as surely as he would need to eat his heavy breakfast. He might suffer the least rudimentary twinge of conscience in whatever he did, and in just so far he was evil and sinning. But whatever twinges of conscience he might have would be rudimentary, you may be sure.
The next day he called upon Carrie, and she saw him in her chamber. He was the same jolly, enlivening soul.
Aw, he said, what are you looking so blue about[32]? Come on out to breakfast. You want to get your other clothes to-day.
Carrie looked at him with the hue of shifting thought in her large eyes.
I wish I could get something to do, she said.
Youll get that all right, said Drouet. Whats the use worrying right now? Get yourself fixed up. See the city. I wont hurt you.
I know you wont, she remarked, half truthfully.
Got on the new shoes, havent you? Stickem out. George, they look fine. Put on your jacket.
Carrie obeyed.
Say, that fits like a T[33], dont it? he remarked, feeling the set of it at the waist and eyeing it from a few paces with real pleasure. What you need now is a new skirt. Lets go to breakfast.
Carrie put on her hat.
Where are the gloves? he inquired.
Here, she said, taking them out of the bureau drawer.
Now, come on, he said.
Thus the first hour of misgiving was swept away.
It went this way on every occasion. Drouet did not leave her much alone. She had time for some lone wanderings, but mostly he filled her hours with sight-seeing. At Carson, Piries he bought her a nice skirt and shirt waist. With his money she purchased the little necessaries of toilet, until at last she looked quite another maiden. The mirror convinced her of a few things which she had long believed. She was pretty, yes, indeed! How nice her hat set, and werent her eyes pretty. She caught her little red lip with her teeth and felt her first thrill of power. Drouet was so good.
They went to see The Mikado one evening, an opera which was hilariously popular at that time. Before going, they made off for the Windsor dinning-room, which was in Dearborn Street, a considerable distance from Carries room. It was blowing up cold, and out of her window Carrie could see the western sky, still pink with the fading light, but steely blue at the top where it met the darkness. A long, thin cloud of pink hung in midair, shaped like some island in a far-off sea. Somehow the swaying of some dead branches of trees across the way brought back the picture with which she was familiar when she looked from their front window in December days at home.
They went to see The Mikado one evening, an opera which was hilariously popular at that time. Before going, they made off for the Windsor dinning-room, which was in Dearborn Street, a considerable distance from Carries room. It was blowing up cold, and out of her window Carrie could see the western sky, still pink with the fading light, but steely blue at the top where it met the darkness. A long, thin cloud of pink hung in midair, shaped like some island in a far-off sea. Somehow the swaying of some dead branches of trees across the way brought back the picture with which she was familiar when she looked from their front window in December days at home.
She paused and wrung her little hands.
Whats the matter? said Drouet.
Oh, I dont know, she said, her lip trembling.
He sensed something, and slipped his arm over her shoulder, patting her arm.
Come on, he said gently, youre all right.
She turned to slip on her jacket.
Better wear that boa about your throat to-night.
They walked north on Wabash to Adams Street and then west. They dined and went to the theatre. That spectacle pleased Carrie immensely. The color and grace of it caught her eye. She had vain imaginings about place and power, about far-off lands and magnificent people. When it was over, the clatter of coaches and the throng of fine ladies made her stare.
Wait a minute, said Drouet, holding her back in the showy foyer where ladies and gentlemen were moving in a social crush, skirts rustling, lace-covered heads nodding, white teeth showing through parted lips. Lets see.
Sixty-seven, the coach-caller was saying, his voice lifted in a sort of euphonious cry. Sixty-seven.
Isnt it fine? said Carrie.
Great, said Drouet. He was as much affected by this show of finery and gayety as she. He pressed her arm warmly. Once she looked up, her even teeth glistening through her smiling lips, her eyes alight. As they were moving out he whispered down to her, You look lovely! They were right where the coach-caller was swinging open a coach-door and ushering in two ladies.
You stick to me and well have a coach[34], laughed Drouet.
Carrie scarcely heard, her head was so full of the swirl of life.
They stopped in at a restaurant for a little after-theater lunch.
Now the lunch went off with considerable warmth. Under the influence of the varied occurrences, the fine, invisible passion which was emanating from Drouet, the food, the still unusual luxury, she relaxed and heard with open ears. She was again the victim of the citys hypnotic influence.
Well, said Drouet at last, we had better be going.
They had been dawdling over the dishes[35], and their eyes had frequently met. Carrie could not help but feel the vibration of force which followed, which, indeed, was his gaze. He had a way of touching her hand in explanation, as if to impress a fact upon her. He touched it now as he spoke of going.
They arose and went out into the street. The down-town section was now bare, save for a few whistling strollers, a few owl cars, a few open resorts whose windows were still bright. Out Wabash Avenue they strolled, Drouet still pouring forth his volume of small information. He had Carries arm in his, and held it closely as he explained. Once in a while, after some witticism, he would look down, and his eyes would meet hers. At last they came to the steps, and Carrie stood up on the first one, her head now coming even with his own. He took her hand and held it genially. He looked steadily at her as she glanced about, warmly musing.
A week or so later Drouet strolled into Fitzgerald and Moys, spruce in dress and manner.
Hello, Charley, said Hurstwood, looking out from his office door.
Drouet strolled over and looked in upon the manger at his desk.
When do you go out on the road again? he inquired.
Pretty soon, said Drouet.
Havent seen much of you this trip, said Hurstwood.
Well, Ive been busy, said Drouet.
They talked some few minutes on general topics.
Say, said Drouet, as if struck by a sudden idea, I want you to come out some evening.
Out where? inquired Hurstwood.
Out to my house, of course, said Drouet smiling.
Hurstwood looked up quizzically, the least suggestion of a smile hovering about his lips. He studied the face of Drouet in his wise way, and then with the demeanour of a gentlemen, said: Certainly; glad to.
Well have a nice game of euchre[36].
May I bring a nice little bottle of Sec[37]? asked Hurstwood.
Certainly, said Drouet. Ill introduce you.
Chapter IX
ConventionS Own Tinder-Box: The Eye that is Green
Hurstwoods residence on the North Side, near Lincoln Park, was a brick building of a very popular type then, a three-story affair with the first floor sunk a very little below the level of the street. It had a large bay window bulging out from the second floor, and was graced in front by a small grassy plot, twenty-five feet wide and ten feet deep. There was also a small rear yard, walled in by the fences of the neighbours and holding a stable where he kept his horse and trap.
The ten rooms of the house were occupied by himself, his wife Julia, and his son and daughter, George, Jr., and Jessica. There were besides these a maid-servant, represented from time to time by girls of various extraction, for Mrs. Hurstwood was not always easy to please.
George, I let Mary go yesterday, was not an unfrequent salutation at the dinner table.
All right, was his only reply. He had long since wearied of discussing the rancorous subject.
There was a time when he had been considerably enamoured of his Jessica, especially when he was younger and more confined in his success. Now, however, in her seventeenth year, Jessica had developed a certain amount of reserve and independence which was not inviting to the richest form of parental devotion. She was in the high school, and had notions of life which were decidedly those of a patrician. She liked nice clothes and urged for them constantly. Thoughts of love and elegant individual establishments were running in her head. She met girls at the high school whose parents were truly rich and whose fathers had standing locally as partners or owners of solid businesses. These girls gave themselves the airs befitting the thriving domestic establishments from whence they issued. They were the only ones of the school about whom Jessica concerned herself.
Young Hurstwood, Jr., was in his twentieth year, and was already connected in a promising capacity with a large real estate firm. He contributed nothing for the domestic expenses of the family, but was thought to be saving his money to invest in real estate. He had some ability, considerable vanity, and a love of pleasure that had not, as yet, infringed upon his duties, whatever they were. He came in and went out, pursuing his own plans and fancies, addressing a few words to his mother occasionally, relating some little incident to his father, but for the most part confining himself to those generalities with which most conversation concerns itself. He was not laying bare his desires for any one to see. He did not find any one in the house who particularly cared to see.
Mrs. Hurstwood was the type of woman who has ever endeavoured to shine and has been more or less chagrined at the evidences of superior capability in this direction elsewhere.