SISTER CARRIE

by Theodore Dreiser

Chapter I. THE MAGNET ATTRACTING--A WAIF AMID FORCES

When Caroline Meeber boarded the afternoon train for Chicago, her totaloutfit consisted of a small trunk, a cheap imitation alligator-skinsatchel, a small lunch in a paper box, and a yellow leather snap purse, containing her ticket, a scrap of paper with her sister's address in VanBuren Street, and four dollars in money. It was in August, 1889. Shewas eighteen years of age, bright, timid, and full of the illusions ofignorance and youth. Whatever touch of regret at parting characterisedher thoughts, it was certainly not for advantages now being given up. Agush of tears at her mother's farewell kiss, a touch in her throat whenthe cars clacked by the flour mill where her father worked by the day, a pathetic sigh as the familiar green environs of the village passed inreview, and the threads which bound her so lightly to girlhood and homewere irretrievably broken. 

To be sure there was always the next station, where one might descendand return. There was the great city, bound more closely by these verytrains which came up daily. Columbia City was not so very far away, even once she was in Chicago. What, pray, is a few hours--a few hundredmiles? She looked at the little slip bearing her sister's address andwondered. She gazed at the green landscape, now passing in swiftreview, until her swifter thoughts replaced its impression with vagueconjectures of what Chicago might be. 

When a girl leaves her home at eighteen, she does one of two things. Either she falls into saving hands and becomes better, or she rapidlyassumes the cosmopolitan standard of virtue and becomes worse. Of anintermediate balance, under the circumstances, there is no possibility. The city has its cunning wiles, no less than the infinitely smaller andmore human tempter. There are large forces which allure with all thesoulfulness of expression possible in the most cultured human. The gleamof a thousand lights is often as effective as the persuasive light in awooing and fascinating eye. Half the undoing of the unsophisticated andnatural mind is accomplished by forces wholly superhuman. A blareof sound, a roar of life, a vast array of human hives, appeal to theastonished senses in equivocal terms. Without a counsellor at hand towhisper cautious interpretations, what falsehoods may not these thingsbreathe into the unguarded ear! Unrecognised for what they are, theirbeauty, like music, too often relaxes, then weakens, then perverts thesimpler human perceptions. 

Caroline, or Sister Carrie, as she had been half affectionately termedby the family, was possessed of a mind rudimentary in its power ofobservation and analysis. Self-interest with her was high, but notstrong. It was, nevertheless, her guiding characteristic. Warm with thefancies of youth, pretty with the insipid prettiness of the formativeperiod, possessed of a figure promising eventual shapeliness and an eyealight with certain native intelligence, she was a fair example of themiddle American class--two generations removed from the emigrant. Bookswere beyond her interest--knowledge a sealed book. In the intuitivegraces she was still crude. She could scarcely toss her head gracefully. Her hands were almost ineffectual. The feet, though small, were setflatly. And yet she was interested in her charms, quick to understandthe keener pleasures of life, ambitious to gain in material things. A half-equipped little knight she was, venturing to reconnoitrethe mysterious city and dreaming wild dreams of some vague, far-offsupremacy, which should make it prey and subject--the proper penitent, grovelling at a woman's slipper. 

"That, " said a voice in her ear, "is one of the prettiest little resortsin Wisconsin. "

"Is it?" she answered nervously. 

The train was just pulling out of Waukesha. For some time she had beenconscious of a man behind. She felt him observing her mass of hair. He had been fidgetting, and with natural intuition she felt a certaininterest growing in that quarter. Her maidenly reserve, and a certainsense of what was conventional under the circumstances, called her toforestall and deny this familiarity, but the daring and magnetism ofthe individual, born of past experiences and triumphs, prevailed. Sheanswered. 

He leaned forward to put his elbows upon the back of her seat andproceeded to make himself volubly agreeable. 

"Yes, that is a great resort for Chicago people. The hotels are swell. You are not familiar with this part of the country, are you?"

"Oh, yes, I am, " answered Carrie. "That is, I live at Columbia City. Ihave never been through here, though. "

"And so this is your first visit to Chicago, " he observed. 

All the time she was conscious of certain features out of the side ofher eye. Flush, colourful cheeks, a light moustache, a grey fedorahat. She now turned and looked upon him in full, the instincts ofself-protection and coquetry mingling confusedly in her brain. 

"I didn't say that, " she said. 

"Oh, " he answered, in a very pleasing way and with an assumed air ofmistake, "I thought you did. "

Here was a type of the travelling canvasser for a manufacturing house--aclass which at that time was first being dubbed by the slang of the day"drummers. " He came within the meaning of a still newer term, which hadsprung into general use among Americans in 1880, and which conciselyexpressed the thought of one whose dress or manners are calculated toelicit the admiration of susceptible young women--a "masher. " His suitwas of a striped and crossed pattern of brown wool, new at that time, but since become familiar as a business suit. The low crotch of the vestrevealed a stiff shirt bosom of white and pink stripes. From his coatsleeves protruded a pair of linen cuffs of the same pattern, fastenedwith large, gold plate buttons, set with the common yellow agates knownas "cat's-eyes. " His fingers bore several rings--one, the ever-enduringheavy seal--and from his vest dangled a neat gold watch chain, fromwhich was suspended the secret insignia of the Order of Elks. The wholesuit was rather tight-fitting, and was finished off with heavy-soled tanshoes, highly polished, and the grey fedora hat. He was, for the orderof intellect represented, attractive, and whatever he had to recommendhim, you may be sure was not lost upon Carrie, in this, her firstglance. 

Lest this order of individual should permanently pass, let me put downsome of the most striking characteristics of his most successful mannerand method. Good clothes, of course, were the first essential, thethings without which he was nothing. A strong physical nature, actuatedby a keen desire for the feminine, was the next. A mind free of anyconsideration of the problems or forces of the world and actuated notby greed, but an insatiable love of variable pleasure. His method wasalways simple. Its principal element was daring, backed, of course, byan intense desire and admiration for the sex. Let him meet with a youngwoman once and he would approach her with an air of kindly familiarity, not unmixed with pleading, which would result in most cases in atolerant acceptance. If she showed any tendency to coquetry he would beapt to straighten her tie, or if she "took up" with him at all, to callher by her first name. If he visited a department store it was to loungefamiliarly over the counter and ask some leading questions. In moreexclusive circles, on the train or in waiting stations, he went slower. If some seemingly vulnerable object appeared he was all attention--topass the compliments of the day, to lead the way to the parlor car, carrying her grip, or, failing that, to take a seat next her with thehope of being able to court her to her destination. Pillows, books, afootstool, the shade lowered; all these figured in the things which hecould do. If, when she reached her destination he did not alight andattend her baggage for her, it was because, in his own estimation, hehad signally failed. 

A woman should some day write the complete philosophy of clothes. Nomatter how young, it is one of the things she wholly comprehends. Thereis an indescribably faint line in the matter of man's apparel whichsomehow divides for her those who are worth glancing at and thosewho are not. Once an individual has passed this faint line on the waydownward he will get no glance from her. There is another line atwhich the dress of a man will cause her to study her own. This line theindividual at her elbow now marked for Carrie. She became consciousof an inequality. Her own plain blue dress, with its black cotton tapetrimmings, now seemed to her shabby. She felt the worn state of hershoes. 

"Let's see, " he went on, "I know quite a number of people in your town. Morgenroth the clothier and Gibson the dry goods man. "

"Oh, do you?" she interrupted, aroused by memories of longings theirshow windows had cost her. 

At last he had a clew to her interest, and followed it deftly. In a fewminutes he had come about into her seat. He talked of sales of clothing, his travels, Chicago, and the amusements of that city. 

"If you are going there, you will enjoy it immensely. Have yourelatives?"

"I am going to visit my sister, " she explained. 

"You want to see Lincoln Park, " he said, "and Michigan Boulevard. Theyare putting up great buildings there. It's a second New York--great. Somuch to see--theatres, crowds, fine houses--oh, you'll like that. "

There was a little ache in her fancy of all he described. Herinsignificance in the presence of so much magnificence faintly affectedher. She realised that hers was not to be a round of pleasure, and yetthere was something promising in all the material prospect he set forth. There was something satisfactory in the attention of this individualwith his good clothes. She could not help smiling as he told her of somepopular actress of whom she reminded him. She was not silly, and yetattention of this sort had its weight. 

"You will be in Chicago some little time, won't you?" he observed at oneturn of the now easy conversation. 

"I don't know, " said Carrie vaguely--a flash vision of the possibilityof her not securing employment rising in her mind. 

"Several weeks, anyhow, " he said, looking steadily into her eyes. 

There was much more passing now than the mere words indicated. Herecognised the indescribable thing that made up for fascination andbeauty in her. She realised that she was of interest to him from theone standpoint which a woman both delights in and fears. Her manner wassimple, though for the very reason that she had not yet learned the manylittle affectations with which women conceal their true feelings. Somethings she did appeared bold. A clever companion--had she ever hadone--would have warned her never to look a man in the eyes so steadily. 

"Why do you ask?" she said. 

"Well, I'm going to be there several weeks. I'm going to study stock atour place and get new samples. I might show you 'round. "

"I don't know whether you can or not. I mean I don't know whether I can. I shall be living with my sister, and----"

"Well, if she minds, we'll fix that. " He took out his pencil and alittle pocket note-book as if it were all settled. "What is your addressthere?"

She fumbled her purse which contained the address slip. 

He reached down in his hip pocket and took out a fat purse. It wasfilled with slips of paper, some mileage books, a roll of greenbacks. It impressed her deeply. Such a purse had never been carried by any oneattentive to her. Indeed, an experienced traveller, a brisk man of theworld, had never come within such close range before. The purse, theshiny tan shoes, the smart new suit, and the air with which he didthings, built up for her a dim world of fortune, of which he was thecentre. It disposed her pleasantly toward all he might do. 

He took out a neat business card, on which was engraved Bartlett, Caryoe& Company, and down in the left-hand corner, Chas. H. Drouet. 

"That's me, " he said, putting the card in her hand and touching hisname. "It's pronounced Drew-eh. Our family was French, on my father'sside. "

She looked at it while he put up his purse. Then he got out a letterfrom a bunch in his coat pocket. "This is the house I travel for, " hewent on, pointing to a picture on it, "corner of State and Lake. " Therewas pride in his voice. He felt that it was something to be connectedwith such a place, and he made her feel that way. 

"What is your address?" he began again, fixing his pencil to write. 

She looked at his hand. 

"Carrie Meeber, " she said slowly. "Three hundred and fifty-four West VanBuren Street, care S. C. Hanson. "

He wrote it carefully down and got out the purse again. "You'll be athome if I come around Monday night?" he said. 

"I think so, " she answered. 

How true it is that words are but the vague shadows of the volumes wemean. Little audible links, they are, chaining together great inaudiblefeelings and purposes. Here were these two, bandying little phrases, drawing purses, looking at cards, and both unconscious of howinarticulate all their real feelings were. Neither was wise enough to besure of the working of the mind of the other. He could not tell how hisluring succeeded. She could not realise that she was drifting, until hesecured her address. Now she felt that she had yielded something--he, that he had gained a victory. Already they felt that they were somehowassociated. Already he took control in directing the conversation. Hiswords were easy. Her manner was relaxed. 

They were nearing Chicago. Signs were everywhere numerous. Trainsflashed by them. Across wide stretches of flat, open prairie they couldsee lines of telegraph poles stalking across the fields toward the greatcity. Far away were indications of suburban towns, some big smokestackstowering high in the air. 

Frequently there were two-story frame houses standing out in the openfields, without fence or trees, lone outposts of the approaching army ofhomes. 

To the child, the genius with imagination, or the wholly untravelled, the approach to a great city for the first time is a wonderful thing. Particularly if it be evening--that mystic period between the glare andgloom of the world when life is changing from one sphere or conditionto another. Ah, the promise of the night. What does it not hold for theweary! What old illusion of hope is not here forever repeated! Says thesoul of the toiler to itself, "I shall soon be free. I shall be in theways and the hosts of the merry. The streets, the lamps, the lightedchamber set for dining, are for me. The theatre, the halls, the parties, the ways of rest and the paths of song--these are mine in the night. "Though all humanity be still enclosed in the shops, the thrill runsabroad. It is in the air. The dullest feel something which they may notalways express or describe. It is the lifting of the burden of toil. 

Sister Carrie gazed out of the window. Her companion, affected by herwonder, so contagious are all things, felt anew some interest in thecity and pointed out its marvels. 

"This is Northwest Chicago, " said Drouet. "This is the Chicago River, "and he pointed to a little muddy creek, crowded with the huge mastedwanderers from far-off waters nosing the black-posted banks. With apuff, a clang, and a clatter of rails it was gone. "Chicago is gettingto be a great town, " he went on. "It's a wonder. You'll find lots to seehere. "

She did not hear this very well. Her heart was troubled by a kind ofterror. The fact that she was alone, away from home, rushing into agreat sea of life and endeavour, began to tell. She could not help butfeel a little choked for breath--a little sick as her heart beat sofast. She half closed her eyes and tried to think it was nothing, thatColumbia City was only a little way off. 

"Chicago! Chicago!" called the brakeman, slamming open the door. Theywere rushing into a more crowded yard, alive with the clatter and clangof life. She began to gather up her poor little grip and closed her handfirmly upon her purse. Drouet arose, kicked his legs to straighten histrousers, and seized his clean yellow grip. 

"I suppose your people will be here to meet you?" he said. "Let me carryyour grip. "

"Oh, no, " she said. "I'd rather you wouldn't. I'd rather you wouldn't bewith me when I meet my sister. "

"All right, " he said in all kindness. "I'll be near, though, in case sheisn't here, and take you out there safely. "

"You're so kind, " said Carrie, feeling the goodness of such attention inher strange situation. 

"Chicago!" called the brakeman, drawing the word out long. They wereunder a great shadowy train shed, where the lamps were already beginningto shine out, with passenger cars all about and the train moving at asnail's pace. The people in the car were all up and crowding about thedoor. 

"Well, here we are, " said Drouet, leading the way to the door. "Good-bye, till I see you Monday. "

"Good-bye, " she answered, taking his proffered hand. 

"Remember, I'll be looking till you find your sister. "

She smiled into his eyes. 

They filed out, and he affected to take no notice of her. A lean-faced, rather commonplace woman recognised Carrie on the platform and hurriedforward. 

"Why, Sister Carrie!" she began, and there was embrace of welcome. 

Carrie realised the change of affectional atmosphere at once. Amid allthe maze, uproar, and novelty she felt cold reality taking her by thehand. No world of light and merriment. No round of amusement. Her sistercarried with her most of the grimness of shift and toil. 

"Why, how are all the folks at home?" she began; "how is father, andmother?"

Carrie answered, but was looking away. Down the aisle, toward the gateleading into the waiting-room and the street, stood Drouet. He waslooking back. When he saw that she saw him and was safe with her sisterhe turned to go, sending back the shadow of a smile. Only Carrie saw it. She felt something lost to her when he moved away. When he disappearedshe felt his absence thoroughly. With her sister she was much alone, alone figure in a tossing, thoughtless sea. 

Chapter II. WHAT POVERTY THREATENED--OF GRANITE AND BRASS

Minnie's flat, as the one-floor resident apartments were then beingcalled, was in a part of West Van Buren Street inhabited by families oflabourers and clerks, men who had come, and were still coming, with therush of population pouring in at the rate of 50, 000 a year. It was onthe third floor, the front windows looking down into the street, where, at night, the lights of grocery stores were shining and children wereplaying. To Carrie, the sound of the little bells upon the horse-cars, as they tinkled in and out of hearing, was as pleasing as it was novel. She gazed into the lighted street when Minnie brought her into the frontroom, and wondered at the sounds, the movement, the murmur of the vastcity which stretched for miles and miles in every direction. 

Mrs. Hanson, after the first greetings were over, gave Carrie the babyand proceeded to get supper. Her husband asked a few questions and satdown to read the evening paper. He was a silent man, American born, of aSwede father, and now employed as a cleaner of refrigerator cars at thestock-yards. To him the presence or absence of his wife's sister was amatter of indifference. Her personal appearance did not affect him oneway or the other. His one observation to the point was concerning thechances of work in Chicago. 

"It's a big place, " he said. "You can get in somewhere in a few days. Everybody does. "

It had been tacitly understood beforehand that she was to get work andpay her board. He was of a clean, saving disposition, and had alreadypaid a number of monthly instalments on two lots far out on the WestSide. His ambition was some day to build a house on them. 

In the interval which marked the preparation of the meal Carrie foundtime to study the flat. She had some slight gift of observation and thatsense, so rich in every woman--intuition. 

She felt the drag of a lean and narrow life. The walls of the rooms werediscordantly papered. The floors were covered with matting and the halllaid with a thin rag carpet. One could see that the furniture was ofthat poor, hurriedly patched together quality sold by the instalmenthouses. 

She sat with Minnie, in the kitchen, holding the baby until it beganto cry. Then she walked and sang to it, until Hanson, disturbed in hisreading, came and took it. A pleasant side to his nature came out here. He was patient. One could see that he was very much wrapped up in hisoffspring. 

"Now, now, " he said, walking. "There, there, " and there was a certainSwedish accent noticeable in his voice. 

"You'll want to see the city first, won't you?" said Minnie, when theywere eating. "Well, we'll go out Sunday and see Lincoln Park. "

Carrie noticed that Hanson had said nothing to this. He seemed to bethinking of something else. 

"Well, " she said, "I think I'll look around tomorrow. I've got Fridayand Saturday, and it won't be any trouble. Which way is the businesspart?"

Minnie began to explain, but her husband took this part of theconversation to himself. 

"It's that way, " he said, pointing east. "That's east. " Then he went offinto the longest speech he had yet indulged in, concerning the lay ofChicago. "You'd better look in those big manufacturing houses alongFranklin Street and just the other side of the river, " he concluded. "Lots of girls work there. You could get home easy, too. It isn't veryfar. "

Carrie nodded and asked her sister about the neighbourhood. The lattertalked in a subdued tone, telling the little she knew about it, whileHanson concerned himself with the baby. Finally he jumped up and handedthe child to his wife. 

"I've got to get up early in the morning, so I'll go to bed, " and offhe went, disappearing into the dark little bedroom off the hall, for thenight. 

"He works way down at the stock-yards, " explained Minnie, "so he's gotto get up at half-past five. "

"What time do you get up to get breakfast?" asked Carrie. 

"At about twenty minutes of five. "

Together they finished the labour of the day, Carrie washing the disheswhile Minnie undressed the baby and put it to bed. Minnie's manner wasone of trained industry, and Carrie could see that it was a steady roundof toil with her. 

She began to see that her relations with Drouet would have to beabandoned. He could not come here. She read from the manner of Hanson, in the subdued air of Minnie, and, indeed, the whole atmosphere of theflat, a settled opposition to anything save a conservative round oftoil. If Hanson sat every evening in the front room and read his paper, if he went to bed at nine, and Minnie a little later, what wouldthey expect of her? She saw that she would first need to get work andestablish herself on a paying basis before she could think of havingcompany of any sort. Her little flirtation with Drouet seemed now anextraordinary thing. 

"No, " she said to herself, "he can't come here. "

She asked Minnie for ink and paper, which were upon the mantel inthe dining-room, and when the latter had gone to bed at ten, got outDrouet's card and wrote him. 

"I cannot have you call on me here. You will have to wait until you hearfrom me again. My sister's place is so small. "

She troubled herself over what else to put in the letter. She wantedto make some reference to their relations upon the train, but was tootimid. She concluded by thanking him for his kindness in a crude way, then puzzled over the formality of signing her name, and finally decidedupon the severe, winding up with a "Very truly, " which she subsequentlychanged to "Sincerely. " She scaled and addressed the letter, and goingin the front room, the alcove of which contained her bed, drew the onesmall rocking-chair up to the open window, and sat looking out uponthe night and streets in silent wonder. Finally, wearied by her ownreflections, she began to grow dull in her chair, and feeling the needof sleep, arranged her clothing for the night and went to bed. 

When she awoke at eight the next morning, Hanson had gone. Her sisterwas busy in the dining-room, which was also the sitting-room, sewing. She worked, after dressing, to arrange a little breakfast for herself, and then advised with Minnie as to which way to look. The latter hadchanged considerably since Carrie had seen her. She was now a thin, though rugged, woman of twenty-seven, with ideas of life coloured by herhusband's, and fast hardening into narrower conceptions of pleasure andduty than had ever been hers in a thoroughly circumscribed youth. Shehad invited Carrie, not because she longed for her presence, but becausethe latter was dissatisfied at home, and could probably get work and payher board here. She was pleased to see her in a way but reflected herhusband's point of view in the matter of work. Anything was good enoughso long as it paid--say, five dollars a week to begin with. A shop girlwas the destiny prefigured for the newcomer. She would get in one of thegreat shops and do well enough until--well, until something happened. Neither of them knew exactly what. They did not figure on promotion. They did not exactly count on marriage. Things would go on, though, in adim kind of way until the better thing would eventuate, and Carriewould be rewarded for coming and toiling in the city. It was under suchauspicious circumstances that she started out this morning to look forwork. 

Before following her in her round of seeking, let us look at thesphere in which her future was to lie. In 1889 Chicago had the peculiarqualifications of growth which made such adventuresome pilgrimages evenon the part of young girls plausible. Its many and growing commercialopportunities gave it widespread fame, which made of it a giantmagnet, drawing to itself, from all quarters, the hopeful and thehopeless--those who had their fortune yet to make and those whosefortunes and affairs had reached a disastrous climax elsewhere. It wasa city of over 500, 000, with the ambition, the daring, the activity ofa metropolis of a million. Its streets and houses were already scatteredover an area of seventy-five square miles. Its population was not somuch thriving upon established commerce as upon the industries whichprepared for the arrival of others. The sound of the hammer engaged uponthe erection of new structures was everywhere heard. Great industrieswere moving in. The huge railroad corporations which had long beforerecognised the prospects of the place had seized upon vast tracts ofland for transfer and shipping purposes. Street-car lines had beenextended far out into the open country in anticipation of rapid growth. The city had laid miles and miles of streets and sewers through regionswhere, perhaps, one solitary house stood out alone--a pioneer of thepopulous ways to be. There were regions open to the sweeping winds andrain, which were yet lighted throughout the night with long, blinkinglines of gas-lamps, fluttering in the wind. Narrow board walks extendedout, passing here a house, and there a store, at far intervals, eventually ending on the open prairie. 

In the central portion was the vast wholesale and shopping district, to which the uninformed seeker for work usually drifted. It was acharacteristic of Chicago then, and one not generally shared by othercities, that individual firms of any pretension occupied individualbuildings. The presence of ample ground made this possible. It gave animposing appearance to most of the wholesale houses, whose offices wereupon the ground floor and in plain view of the street. The large platesof window glass, now so common, were then rapidly coming into use, andgave to the ground floor offices a distinguished and prosperous look. The casual wanderer could see as he passed a polished array ofoffice fixtures, much frosted glass, clerks hard at work, and genteelbusinessmen in "nobby" suits and clean linen lounging about or sittingin groups. Polished brass or nickel signs at the square stone entrancesannounced the firm and the nature of the business in rather neat andreserved terms. The entire metropolitan centre possessed a high andmighty air calculated to overawe and abash the common applicant, and tomake the gulf between poverty and success seem both wide and deep. 

Into this important commercial region the timid Carrie went. She walkedeast along Van Buren Street through a region of lessening importance, until it deteriorated into a mass of shanties and coal-yards, andfinally verged upon the river. She walked bravely forward, led byan honest desire to find employment and delayed at every step by theinterest of the unfolding scene, and a sense of helplessness amid somuch evidence of power and force which she did not understand. Thesevast buildings, what were they? These strange energies and hugeinterests, for what purposes were they there? She could have understoodthe meaning of a little stone-cutter's yard at Columbia City, carvinglittle pieces of marble for individual use, but when the yards of somehuge stone corporation came into view, filled with spur tracks and flatcars, transpierced by docks from the river and traversed overhead byimmense trundling cranes of wood and steel, it lost all significance inher little world. 

It was so with the vast railroad yards, with the crowded array ofvessels she saw at the river, and the huge factories over the way, lining the water's edge. Through the open windows she could see thefigures of men and women in working aprons, moving busily about. Thegreat streets were wall-lined mysteries to her; the vast offices, strange mazes which concerned far-off individuals of importance. Shecould only think of people connected with them as counting money, dressing magnificently, and riding in carriages. What they dealt in, how they laboured, to what end it all came, she had only the vaguestconception. It was all wonderful, all vast, all far removed, and shesank in spirit inwardly and fluttered feebly at the heart as she thoughtof entering any one of these mighty concerns and asking for something todo--something that she could do--anything. 

Chapter III. WEE QUESTION OF FORTUNE--FOUR-FIFTY A WEEK

Once across the river and into the wholesale district, she glanced abouther for some likely door at which to apply. As she contemplated the widewindows and imposing signs, she became conscious of being gazed uponand understood for what she was--a wage-seeker. She had never done thisthing before, and lacked courage. To avoid a certain indefinable shameshe felt at being caught spying about for a position, she quickened hersteps and assumed an air of indifference supposedly common to one uponan errand. In this way she passed many manufacturing and wholesalehouses without once glancing in. At last, after several blocks ofwalking, she felt that this would not do, and began to look about again, though without relaxing her pace. A little way on she saw a great doorwhich, for some reason, attracted her attention. It was ornamented by asmall brass sign, and seemed to be the entrance to a vast hive of sixor seven floors. "Perhaps, " she thought, "they may want some one, "and crossed over to enter. When she came within a score of feet of thedesired goal, she saw through the window a young man in a grey checkedsuit. That he had anything to do with the concern, she could not tell, but because he happened to be looking in her direction her weakeningheart misgave her and she hurried by, too overcome with shame to enter. Over the way stood a great six-story structure, labelled Storm and King, which she viewed with rising hope. It was a wholesale dry goods concernand employed women. She could see them moving about now and then uponthe upper floors. This place she decided to enter, no matter what. Shecrossed over and walked directly toward the entrance. As she did so, two men came out and paused in the door. A telegraph messenger inblue dashed past her and up the few steps that led to the entrance anddisappeared. Several pedestrians out of the hurrying throng which filledthe sidewalks passed about her as she paused, hesitating. She lookedhelplessly around, and then, seeing herself observed, retreated. It wastoo difficult a task. She could not go past them. 

So severe a defeat told sadly upon her nerves. Her feet carried hermechanically forward, every foot of her progress being a satisfactoryportion of a flight which she gladly made. Block after block passed by. Upon streetlamps at the various corners she read names such as Madison, Monroe, La Salle, Clark, Dearborn, State, and still she went, her feetbeginning to tire upon the broad stone flagging. She was pleased in partthat the streets were bright and clean. The morning sun, shining downwith steadily increasing warmth, made the shady side of the streetspleasantly cool. She looked at the blue sky overhead with morerealisation of its charm than had ever come to her before. 

Her cowardice began to trouble her in a way. She turned back, resolvingto hunt up Storm and King and enter. On the way, she encountered a greatwholesale shoe company, through the broad plate windows of which she sawan enclosed executive department, hidden by frosted glass. Withoutthis enclosure, but just within the street entrance, sat a grey-hairedgentleman at a small table, with a large open ledger before him. Shewalked by this institution several times hesitating, but, findingherself unobserved, faltered past the screen door and stood humblewaiting. 

"Well, young lady, " observed the old gentleman, looking at her somewhatkindly, "what is it you wish?"

"I am, that is, do you--I mean, do you need any help?" she stammered. 

"Not just at present, " he answered smiling. "Not just at present. Comein some time next week. Occasionally we need some one. "

She received the answer in silence and backed awkwardly out. Thepleasant nature of her reception rather astonished her. She had expectedthat it would be more difficult, that something cold and harsh would besaid--she knew not what. That she had not been put to shame and made tofeel her unfortunate position, seemed remarkable. 

Somewhat encouraged, she ventured into another large structure. It was aclothing company, and more people were in evidence--well-dressed men offorty and more, surrounded by brass railings. 

An office boy approached her. 

"Who is it you wish to see?" he asked. 

"I want to see the manager, " she said. He ran away and spoke to one ofa group of three men who were conferring together. One of these cametowards her. 

"Well?" he said coldly. The greeting drove all courage from her at once. 

"Do you need any help?" she stammered. 

"No, " he replied abruptly, and turned upon his heel. 

She went foolishly out, the office boy deferentially swinging the doorfor her, and gladly sank into the obscuring crowd. It was a severesetback to her recently pleased mental state. 

Now she walked quite aimlessly for a time, turning here and there, seeing one great company after another, but finding no courage toprosecute her single inquiry. High noon came, and with it hunger. Shehunted out an unassuming restaurant and entered, but was disturbed tofind that the prices were exorbitant for the size of her purse. A bowlof soup was all that she could afford, and, with this quickly eaten, she went out again. It restored her strength somewhat and made hermoderately bold to pursue the search. 

In walking a few blocks to fix upon some probable place, she againencountered the firm of Storm and King, and this time managed to get in. Some gentlemen were conferring close at hand, but took no notice of her. She was left standing, gazing nervously upon the floor. When the limitof her distress had been nearly reached, she was beckoned to by a man atone of the many desks within the near-by railing. 

"Who is it you wish to see?" he required. 

"Why, any one, if you please, " she answered. "I am looking for somethingto do. "

"Oh, you want to see Mr. McManus, " he returned. "Sit down, " and hepointed to a chair against the neighbouring wall. He went on leisurelywriting, until after a time a short, stout gentleman came in from thestreet. 

"Mr. McManus, " called the man at the desk, "this young woman wants tosee you. "

The short gentleman turned about towards Carrie, and she arose and cameforward. 

"What can I do for you, miss?" he inquired, surveying her curiously. 

"I want to know if I can get a position, " she inquired. 

"As what?" he asked. 

"Not as anything in particular, " she faltered. 

"Have you ever had any experience in the wholesale dry goods business?"he questioned. 

"No, sir, " she replied. 

"Are you a stenographer or typewriter?"

"No, sir. " "Well, we haven't anything here, " he said. "We employ onlyexperienced help. "

She began to step backward toward the door, when something about herplaintive face attracted him. 

"Have you ever worked at anything before?" he inquired. 

"No, sir, " she said. 

"Well, now, it's hardly possible that you would get anything to do in awholesale house of this kind. Have you tried the department stores?"

She acknowledged that she had not. 

"Well, if I were you, " he said, looking at her rather genially, "I wouldtry the department stores. They often need young women as clerks. "

"Thank you, " she said, her whole nature relieved by this spark offriendly interest. 

"Yes, " he said, as she moved toward the door, "you try the departmentstores, " and off he went. 

At that time the department store was in its earliest form of successfuloperation, and there were not many. The first three in the UnitedStates, established about 1884, were in Chicago. Carrie was familiarwith the names of several through the advertisements in the "DailyNews, " and now proceeded to seek them. The words of Mr. McManus hadsomehow managed to restore her courage, which had fallen low, and shedared to hope that this new line would offer her something. Some timeshe spent in wandering up and down, thinking to encounter the buildingsby chance, so readily is the mind, bent upon prosecuting a hard butneedful errand, eased by that self-deception which the semblance ofsearch, without the reality, gives. At last she inquired of a policeofficer, and was directed to proceed "two blocks up, " where she wouldfind "The Fair. "

The nature of these vast retail combinations, should they everpermanently disappear, will form an interesting chapter in thecommercial history of our nation. Such a flowering out of a modest tradeprinciple the world had never witnessed up to that time. They were alongthe line of the most effective retail organisation, with hundreds ofstores coordinated into one and laid out upon the most imposing andeconomic basis. They were handsome, bustling, successful affairs, witha host of clerks and a swarm of patrons. Carrie passed along the busyaisles, much affected by the remarkable displays of trinkets, dressgoods, stationery, and jewelry. Each separate counter was a show placeof dazzling interest and attraction. She could not help feeling theclaim of each trinket and valuable upon her personally, and yet she didnot stop. There was nothing there which she could not have used--nothingwhich she did not long to own. The dainty slippers and stockings, the delicately frilled skirts and petticoats, the laces, ribbons, hair-combs, purses, all touched her with individual desire, and she feltkeenly the fact that not any of these things were in the range of herpurchase. She was a work-seeker, an outcast without employment, one whomthe average employee could tell at a glance was poor and in need of asituation. 

It must not be thought that any one could have mistaken her for anervous, sensitive, high-strung nature, cast unduly upon a cold, calculating, and unpoetic world. Such certainly she was not. But womenare peculiarly sensitive to their adornment. 

Not only did Carrie feel the drag of desire for all which was new andpleasing in apparel for women, but she noticed too, with a touch at theheart, the fine ladies who elbowed and ignored her, brushing past inutter disregard of her presence, themselves eagerly enlisted in thematerials which the store contained. Carrie was not familiar with theappearance of her more fortunate sisters of the city. Neither had shebefore known the nature and appearance of the shop girls with whom shenow compared poorly. They were pretty in the main, some even handsome, with an air of independence and indifference which added, in the case ofthe more favoured, a certain piquancy. Their clothes were neat, in manyinstances fine, and wherever she encountered the eye of one it was onlyto recognise in it a keen analysis of her own position--her individualshortcomings of dress and that shadow of manner which she thought musthang about her and make clear to all who and what she was. A flame ofenvy lighted in her heart. She realised in a dim way how much the cityheld--wealth, fashion, ease--every adornment for women, and she longedfor dress and beauty with a whole heart. 

On the second floor were the managerial offices, to which, after someinquiry, she was now directed. There she found other girls ahead ofher, applicants like herself, but with more of that self-satisfiedand independent air which experience of the city lends; girlswho scrutinised her in a painful manner. After a wait of perhapsthree-quarters of an hour, she was called in turn. 

"Now, " said a sharp, quick-mannered Jew, who was sitting at a roll-topdesk near the window, "have you ever worked in any other store?"

"No, sir, " said Carrie. 

"Oh, you haven't, " he said, eyeing her keenly. 

"No, sir, " she replied. 

"Well, we prefer young women just now with some experience. I guess wecan't use you. "

Carrie stood waiting a moment, hardly certain whether the interview hadterminated. 

"Don't wait!" he exclaimed. "Remember we are very busy here. "

Carrie began to move quickly to the door. 

"Hold on, " he said, calling her back. "Give me your name and address. Wewant girls occasionally. "

When she had gotten safely into the street, she could scarcely restrainthe tears. It was not so much the particular rebuff which she had justexperienced, but the whole abashing trend of the day. She was tired andnervous. She abandoned the thought of appealing to the other departmentstores and now wandered on, feeling a certain safety and relief inmingling with the crowd. 

In her indifferent wandering she turned into Jackson Street, not farfrom the river, and was keeping her way along the south side of thatimposing thoroughfare, when a piece of wrapping paper, written on withmarking ink and tacked up on the door, attracted her attention. Itread, "Girls wanted--wrappers & stitchers. " She hesitated a moment, thenentered. 

The firm of Speigelheim & Co. , makers of boys' caps, occupied one floorof the building, fifty feet in width and some eighty feet in depth. It was a place rather dingily lighted, the darkest portions havingincandescent lights, filled with machines and work benches. At thelatter laboured quite a company of girls and some men. The former weredrabby-looking creatures, stained in face with oil and dust, clad inthin, shapeless, cotton dresses and shod with more or less worn shoes. Many of them had their sleeves rolled up, revealing bare arms, and insome cases, owing to the heat, their dresses were open at the neck. Theywere a fair type of nearly the lowest order of shop-girls--careless, slouchy, and more or less pale from confinement. They were not timid, however; were rich in curiosity, and strong in daring and slang. 

Carrie looked about her, very much disturbed and quite sure that she didnot want to work here. Aside from making her uncomfortable by sidelongglances, no one paid her the least attention. She waited until the wholedepartment was aware of her presence. Then some word was sent around, and a foreman, in an apron and shirt sleeves, the latter rolled up tohis shoulders, approached. 

"Do you want to see me?" he asked. 

"Do you need any help?" said Carrie, already learning directness ofaddress. 

"Do you know how to stitch caps?" he returned. 

"No, sir, " she replied. 

"Have you ever had any experience at this kind of work?" he inquired. 

She answered that she had not. 

"Well, " said the foreman, scratching his ear meditatively, "we do needa stitcher. We like experienced help, though. We've hardly got timeto break people in. " He paused and looked away out of the window. "Wemight, though, put you at finishing, " he concluded reflectively. 

"How much do you pay a week?" ventured Carrie, emboldened by a certainsoftness in the man's manner and his simplicity of address. 

"Three and a half, " he answered. 

"Oh, " she was about to exclaim, but checked herself and allowed herthoughts to die without expression. 

"We're not exactly in need of anybody, " he went on vaguely, looking herover as one would a package. "You can come on Monday morning, though, "he added, "and I'll put you to work. "

"Thank you, " said Carrie weakly. 

"If you come, bring an apron, " he added. 

He walked away and left her standing by the elevator, never so much asinquiring her name. 

While the appearance of the shop and the announcement of the price paidper week operated very much as a blow to Carrie's fancy, the fact thatwork of any kind was offered after so rude a round of experience wasgratifying. She could not begin to believe that she would take theplace, modest as her aspirations were. She had been used to better thanthat. Her mere experience and the free out-of-door life of the countrycaused her nature to revolt at such confinement. Dirt had never been hershare. Her sister's flat was clean. This place was grimy and low, thegirls were careless and hardened. They must be bad-minded and hearted, she imagined. Still, a place had been offered her. Surely Chicagowas not so bad if she could find one place in one day. She might findanother and better later. 

Her subsequent experiences were not of a reassuring nature, however. From all the more pleasing or imposing places she was turned awayabruptly with the most chilling formality. In others where she appliedonly the experienced were required. She met with painful rebuffs, themost trying of which had been in a manufacturing cloak house, where shehad gone to the fourth floor to inquire. 

"No, no, " said the foreman, a rough, heavily built individual, wholooked after a miserably lighted workshop, "we don't want any one. Don'tcome here. "

With the wane of the afternoon went her hopes, her courage, and herstrength. She had been astonishingly persistent. So earnest an effortwas well deserving of a better reward. On every hand, to her fatiguedsenses, the great business portion grew larger, harder, more stolid inits indifference. It seemed as if it was all closed to her, that thestruggle was too fierce for her to hope to do anything at all. Men andwomen hurried by in long, shifting lines. She felt the flow of thetide of effort and interest--felt her own helplessness without quiterealising the wisp on the tide that she was. She cast about vainlyfor some possible place to apply, but found no door which she hadthe courage to enter. It would be the same thing all over. The oldhumiliation of her plea, rewarded by curt denial. Sick at heart and inbody, she turned to the west, the direction of Minnie's flat, which shehad now fixed in mind, and began that wearisome, baffled retreat whichthe seeker for employment at nightfall too often makes. In passingthrough Fifth Avenue, south towards Van Buren Street, where she intendedto take a car, she passed the door of a large wholesale shoe house, through the plate-glass windows of which she could see a middle-agedgentleman sitting at a small desk. One of those forlorn impulses whichoften grow out of a fixed sense of defeat, the last sprouting of abaffled and uprooted growth of ideas, seized upon her. She walkeddeliberately through the door and up to the gentleman, who looked at herweary face with partially awakened interest. 

"What is it?" he said. 

"Can you give me something to do?" said Carrie. 

"Now, I really don't know, " he said kindly. "What kind of work is it youwant--you're not a typewriter, are you?"

"Oh, no, " answered Carrie. 

"Well, we only employ book-keepers and typewriters here. You mightgo around to the side and inquire upstairs. They did want some helpupstairs a few days ago. Ask for Mr. Brown. "

She hastened around to the side entrance and was taken up by theelevator to the fourth floor. 

"Call Mr. Brown, Willie, " said the elevator man to a boy near by. 

Willie went off and presently returned with the information that Mr. Brown said she should sit down and that he would be around in a littlewhile. 

It was a portion of the stock room which gave no idea of the generalcharacter of the place, and Carrie could form no opinion of the natureof the work. 

"So you want something to do, " said Mr. Brown, after he inquiredconcerning the nature of her errand. "Have you ever been employed in ashoe factory before?"

"No, sir, " said Carrie. 

"What is your name?" he inquired, and being informed, "Well, I don'tknow as I have anything for you. Would you work for four and a half aweek?"

Carrie was too worn by defeat not to feel that it was considerable. Shehad not expected that he would offer her less than six. She acquiesced, however, and he took her name and address. 

"Well, " he said, finally, "you report here at eight o'clock Mondaymorning. I think I can find something for you to do. "

He left her revived by the possibilities, sure that she had foundsomething at last. Instantly the blood crept warmly over her body. Her nervous tension relaxed. She walked out into the busy street anddiscovered a new atmosphere. Behold, the throng was moving with alightsome step. She noticed that men and women were smiling. Scraps ofconversation and notes of laughter floated to her. The air was light. People were already pouring out of the buildings, their labour endedfor the day. She noticed that they were pleased, and thoughts of hersister's home and the meal that would be awaiting her quickened hersteps. She hurried on, tired perhaps, but no longer weary of foot. Whatwould not Minnie say! Ah, the long winter in Chicago--the lights, thecrowd, the amusement! This was a great, pleasing metropolis after all. Her new firm was a goodly institution. Its windows were of huge plateglass. She could probably do well there. Thoughts of Drouet returned--ofthe things he had told her. She now felt that life was better, that itwas livelier, sprightlier. She boarded a car in the best of spirits, feeling her blood still flowing pleasantly. She would live in Chicago, her mind kept saying to itself. She would have a better time than shehad ever had before--she would be happy. 

Chapter IV. THE SPENDINGS OF FANCY--FACTS ANSWER WITH SNEERS

For the next two days Carrie indulged in the most high-flownspeculations. 

Her fancy plunged recklessly into privileges and amusements which wouldhave been much more becoming had she been cradled a child of fortune. With ready will and quick mental selection she scattered her meagrefour-fifty per week with a swift and graceful hand. Indeed, as she satin her rocking-chair these several evenings before going to bed andlooked out upon the pleasantly lighted street, this money cleared forits prospective possessor the way to every joy and every bauble whichthe heart of woman may desire. "I will have a fine time, " she thought. 

Her sister Minnie knew nothing of these rather wild cerebrations, thoughthey exhausted the markets of delight. She was too busy scrubbing thekitchen woodwork and calculating the purchasing power of eighty centsfor Sunday's dinner. When Carrie had returned home, flushed with herfirst success and ready, for all her weariness, to discuss the nowinteresting events which led up to her achievement, the former hadmerely smiled approvingly and inquired whether she would have to spendany of it for car fare. This consideration had not entered in before, and it did not now for long affect the glow of Carrie's enthusiasm. Disposed as she then was to calculate upon that vague basis whichallows the subtraction of one sum from another without any perceptiblediminution, she was happy. 

When Hanson came home at seven o'clock, he was inclined to be a littlecrusty--his usual demeanour before supper. This never showed so much inanything he said as in a certain solemnity of countenance and thesilent manner in which he slopped about. He had a pair of yellow carpetslippers which he enjoyed wearing, and these he would immediatelysubstitute for his solid pair of shoes. This, and washing his face withthe aid of common washing soap until it glowed a shiny red, constitutedhis only preparation for his evening meal. He would then get his eveningpaper and read in silence. 

For a young man, this was rather a morbid turn of character, and soaffected Carrie. Indeed, it affected the entire atmosphere of the flat, as such things are inclined to do, and gave to his wife's mind itssubdued and tactful turn, anxious to avoid taciturn replies. Under theinfluence of Carrie's announcement he brightened up somewhat. 

"You didn't lose any time, did you?" he remarked, smiling a little. 

"No, " returned Carrie with a touch of pride. 

He asked her one or two more questions and then turned to play with thebaby, leaving the subject until it was brought up again by Minnie at thetable. 

Carrie, however, was not to be reduced to the common level ofobservation which prevailed in the flat. 

"It seems to be such a large company, " she said, at one place. 

"Great big plate-glass windows and lots of clerks. The man I saw saidthey hired ever so many people. "

"It's not very hard to get work now, " put in Hanson, "if you lookright. "

Minnie, under the warming influence of Carrie's good spirits and herhusband's somewhat conversational mood, began to tell Carrie of someof the well-known things to see--things the enjoyment of which costnothing. 

"You'd like to see Michigan Avenue. There are such fine houses. It issuch a fine street. "

"Where is H. R. Jacob's?" interrupted Carrie, mentioning one of thetheatres devoted to melodrama which went by that name at the time. 

"Oh, it's not very far from here, " answered Minnie. "It's in HalsteadStreet, right up here. "

"How I'd like to go there. I crossed Halstead Street to-day, didn't I?"

At this there was a slight halt in the natural reply. Thoughts are astrangely permeating factor. At her suggestion of going to the theatre, the unspoken shade of disapproval to the doing of those things whichinvolved the expenditure of money--shades of feeling which arose in themind of Hanson and then in Minnie--slightly affected the atmosphere ofthe table. Minnie answered "yes, " but Carrie could feel that going tothe theatre was poorly advocated here. The subject was put off for alittle while until Hanson, through with his meal, took his paper andwent into the front room. 

When they were alone, the two sisters began a somewhat freerconversation, Carrie interrupting it to hum a little, as they worked atthe dishes. 

"I should like to walk up and see Halstead Street, if it isn't too far, "said Carrie, after a time. "Why don't we go to the theatre to-night?"

"Oh, I don't think Sven would want to go to-night, " returned Minnie. "Hehas to get up so early. "

"He wouldn't mind--he'd enjoy it, " said Carrie. 

"No, he doesn't go very often, " returned Minnie. 

"Well, I'd like to go, " rejoined Carrie. "Let's you and me go. "

Minnie pondered a while, not upon whether she could or would go--forthat point was already negatively settled with her--but upon some meansof diverting the thoughts of her sister to some other topic. 

"We'll go some other time, " she said at last, finding no ready means ofescape. 

Carrie sensed the root of the opposition at once. 

"I have some money, " she said. "You go with me. " Minnie shook her head. 

"He could go along, " said Carrie. 

"No, " returned Minnie softly, and rattling the dishes to drown theconversation. "He wouldn't. "

It had been several years since Minnie had seen Carrie, and in that timethe latter's character had developed a few shades. Naturally timid inall things that related to her own advancement, and especially so whenwithout power or resource, her craving for pleasure was so strong thatit was the one stay of her nature. She would speak for that when silenton all else. 

"Ask him, " she pleaded softly. 

Minnie was thinking of the resource which Carrie's board would add. Itwould pay the rent and would make the subject of expenditure a littleless difficult to talk about with her husband. But if Carrie was goingto think of running around in the beginning there would be a hitchsomewhere. Unless Carrie submitted to a solemn round of industry and sawthe need of hard work without longing for play, how was her coming tothe city to profit them? These thoughts were not those of a cold, hard nature at all. They were the serious reflections of a mindwhich invariably adjusted itself, without much complaining, to suchsurroundings as its industry could make for it. 

At last she yielded enough to ask Hanson. It was a half-heartedprocedure without a shade of desire on her part. 

"Carrie wants us to go to the theatre, " she said, looking in upon herhusband. Hanson looked up from his paper, and they exchanged a mildlook, which said as plainly as anything: "This isn't what we expected. "

"I don't care to go, " he returned. "What does she want to see?"

"H. R. Jacob's, " said Minnie. 

He looked down at his paper and shook his head negatively. 

When Carrie saw how they looked upon her proposition, she gained a stillclearer feeling of their way of life. It weighed on her, but took nodefinite form of opposition. 

"I think I'll go down and stand at the foot of the stairs, " she said, after a time. 

Minnie made no objection to this, and Carrie put on her hat and wentbelow. 

"Where has Carrie gone?" asked Hanson, coming back into the dining-roomwhen he heard the door close. 

"She said she was going down to the foot of the stairs, " answeredMinnie. "I guess she just wants to look out a while. "

"She oughtn't to be thinking about spending her money on theatresalready, do you think?" he said. 

"She just feels a little curious, I guess, " ventured Minnie. "Everythingis so new. "

"I don't know, " said Hanson, and went over to the baby, his foreheadslightly wrinkled. 

He was thinking of a full career of vanity and wastefulness which ayoung girl might indulge in, and wondering how Carrie could contemplatesuch a course when she had so little, as yet, with which to do. 

On Saturday Carrie went out by herself--first toward the river, whichinterested her, and then back along Jackson Street, which was then linedby the pretty houses and fine lawns which subsequently caused it tobe made into a boulevard. She was struck with the evidences of wealth, although there was, perhaps, not a person on the street worth more thana hundred thousand dollars. She was glad to be out of the flat, becausealready she felt that it was a narrow, humdrum place, and thatinterest and joy lay elsewhere. Her thoughts now were of a moreliberal character, and she punctuated them with speculations as to thewhereabouts of Drouet. She was not sure but that he might call anyhowMonday night, and, while she felt a little disturbed at the possibility, there was, nevertheless, just the shade of a wish that he would. 

On Monday she arose early and prepared to go to work. She dressedherself in a worn shirt-waist of dotted blue percale, a skirt oflight-brown serge rather faded, and a small straw hat which she had wornall summer at Columbia City. Her shoes were old, and her necktie was inthat crumpled, flattened state which time and much wearing impart. She made a very average looking shop-girl with the exception of herfeatures. These were slightly more even than common, and gave her asweet, reserved, and pleasing appearance. 

It is no easy thing to get up early in the morning when one is used tosleeping until seven and eight, as Carrie had been at home. She gainedsome inkling of the character of Hanson's life when, half asleep, shelooked out into the dining-room at six o'clock and saw him silentlyfinishing his breakfast. By the time she was dressed he was gone, andshe, Minnie, and the baby ate together, the latter being just old enoughto sit in a high chair and disturb the dishes with a spoon. Her spiritswere greatly subdued now when the fact of entering upon strange anduntried duties confronted her. Only the ashes of all her fine fancieswere remaining--ashes still concealing, nevertheless, a few red embersof hope. So subdued was she by her weakening nerves, that she ate quitein silence going over imaginary conceptions of the character of theshoe company, the nature of the work, her employer's attitude. She wasvaguely feeling that she would come in contact with the great owners, that her work would be where grave, stylishly dressed men occasionallylook on. 

"Well, good luck, " said Minnie, when she was ready to go. They hadagreed it was best to walk, that morning at least, to see if she coulddo it every day--sixty cents a week for car fare being quite an itemunder the circumstances. 

"I'll tell you how it goes to-night, " said Carrie. 

Once in the sunlit street, with labourers tramping by in eitherdirection, the horse-cars passing crowded to the rails with the smallclerks and floor help in the great wholesale houses, and men and womengenerally coming out of doors and passing about the neighbourhood, Carrie felt slightly reassured. In the sunshine of the morning, beneaththe wide, blue heavens, with a fresh wind astir, what fears, exceptthe most desperate, can find a harbourage? In the night, or the gloomychambers of the day, fears and misgivings wax strong, but out in thesunlight there is, for a time, cessation even of the terror of death. 

Carrie went straight forward until she crossed the river, and thenturned into Fifth Avenue. The thoroughfare, in this part, was like awalled canon of brown stone and dark red brick. The big windows lookedshiny and clean. Trucks were rumbling in increasing numbers; men andwomen, girls and boys were moving onward in all directions. She metgirls of her own age, who looked at her as if with contempt for herdiffidence. She wondered at the magnitude of this life and at theimportance of knowing much in order to do anything in it at all. Dreadat her own inefficiency crept upon her. She would not know how, shewould not be quick enough. Had not all the other places refused herbecause she did not know something or other? She would be scolded, abused, ignominiously discharged. 

It was with weak knees and a slight catch in her breathing that she cameup to the great shoe company at Adams and Fifth Avenue and entered theelevator. When she stepped out on the fourth floor there was no one athand, only great aisles of boxes piled to the ceiling. She stood, verymuch frightened, awaiting some one. 

Presently Mr. Brown came up. He did not seem to recognise her. 

"What is it you want?" he inquired. 

Carrie's heart sank. 

"You said I should come this morning to see about work--"

"Oh, " he interrupted. "Um--yes. What is your name?"

"Carrie Meeber. "

"Yes, " said he. "You come with me. "

He led the way through dark, box-lined aisles which had the smell ofnew shoes, until they came to an iron door which opened into the factoryproper. There was a large, low-ceiled room, with clacking, rattlingmachines at which men in white shirt sleeves and blue gingham apronswere working. She followed him diffidently through the clatteringautomatons, keeping her eyes straight before her, and flushing slightly. They crossed to a far corner and took an elevator to the sixth floor. Out of the array of machines and benches, Mr. Brown signalled a foreman. 

"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 deskin a corner, which he used as a kind of official centre. 

"You've never worked at anything like this before, have you?" hequestioned, rather sternly. 

"No, sir, " she answered. 

He seemed rather annoyed at having to bother with such help, but putdown her name and then led her across to where a line of girls occupiedstools in front of clacking machines. On the shoulder of one of thegirls who was punching eye-holes in one piece of the upper, by the aidof the machine, he put his hand. 

"You, " he said, "show this girl how to do what you're doing. When youget through, come to me. "

The girl so addressed rose promptly and gave Carrie her place. 

"It isn't 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 word, fastened the piece of leather, which waseventually to form the right half of the upper of a man's shoe, bylittle adjustable clamps, and pushed a small steel rod at the side ofthe machine. The latter jumped to the task of punching, with sharp, snapping clicks, cutting circular bits of leather out of the side of theupper, leaving the holes which were to hold the laces. After observing afew times, the girl let her work at it alone. Seeing that it was fairlywell 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 anaverage speed was necessary or the work would pile up on her and allthose below would be delayed. She had no time to look about, and bentanxiously to her task. The girls at her left and right realised herpredicament and feelings, and, in a way, tried to aid her, as much asthey dared, by working slower. 

At this task she laboured incessantly for some time, finding relief fromher own nervous fears and imaginings in the humdrum, mechanical movementof the machine. She felt, as the minutes passed, that the room was notvery light. It had a thick odour of fresh leather, but that did notworry her. She felt the eyes of the other help upon her, and troubledlest she was not working fast enough. 

Once, when she was fumbling at the little clamp, having made a slighterror in setting in the leather, a great hand appeared before her eyesand fastened the clamp for her. It was the foreman. Her heart thumped sothat she could scarcely see to go on. 

"Start your machine, " he said, "start your machine. Don't keep the linewaiting. "

This recovered her sufficiently and she went excitedly on, hardlybreathing until the shadow moved away from behind her. Then she heaved agreat breath. 

As the morning wore on the room became hotter. She felt the need of abreath 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 tofeel uncomfortable. She found, after a time, that her back was beginningto ache. She twisted and turned from one position to another slightlydifferent, but it did not ease her for long. She was beginning to weary. 

"Stand up, why don't you?" said the girl at her right, without any formof introduction. "They won't 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 wasa more difficult position. Her neck and shoulders ached in bending over. 

The spirit of the place impressed itself on her in a rough way. She didnot venture to look around, but above the clack of the machine she couldhear an occasional remark. She could also note a thing or two out of theside of her eye. 

"Did you see Harry last night?" said the girl at her left, addressingher neighbour. 

"No. "

"You ought to have seen the tie he had on. Gee, but he was a mark. "

"S-s-t, " said the other girl, bending over her work. The first, silenced, instantly assumed a solemn face. The foreman passed slowlyalong, eyeing each worker distinctly. The moment he was gone, theconversation was resumed again. 

"Say, " began the girl at her left, "what jeh think he said?"

"I don't know. "

"He said he saw us with Eddie Harris at Martin's last night. " "No!" Theyboth giggled. 

A youth with tan-coloured hair, that needed clipping very badly, cameshuffling along between the machines, bearing a basket of leatherfindings under his left arm, and pressed against his stomach. When nearCarrie, he stretched out his right hand and gripped one girl under thearm. 

"Aw, let me go, " she exclaimed angrily. "Duffer. "

He only grinned broadly in return. 

"Rubber!" he called back as she looked after him. There was nothing ofthe gallant in him. 

Carrie at last could scarcely sit still. Her legs began to tire and shewanted to get up and stretch. Would noon never come? It seemed as if shehad worked an entire day. She was not hungry at all, but weak, and hereyes were tired, straining at the one point where the eye-punch camedown. The girl at the right noticed her squirmings and felt sorry forher. She was concentrating herself too thoroughly--what she did reallyrequired less mental and physical strain. There was nothing to be done, however. The halves of the uppers came piling steadily down. Her handsbegan to ache at the wrists and then in the fingers, and towards thelast she seemed one mass of dull, complaining muscles, fixed in aneternal position and performing a single mechanical movement whichbecame more and more distasteful, until as last it was absolutelynauseating. When she was wondering whether the strain would ever cease, a dull-sounding bell clanged somewhere down an elevator shaft, and theend came. In an instant there was a buzz of action and conversation. Allthe girls instantly left their stools and hurried away in an adjoiningroom, men passed through, coming from some department which opened onthe right. The whirling wheels began to sing in a steadily modifyingkey, until at last they died away in a low buzz. There was an audiblestillness, 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 stared 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 beenso bad, but the new socialism which involves pleasant working conditionsfor employees had not then taken hold upon manufacturing companies. 

The place smelled of the oil of the machines and the new leather--acombination which, added to the stale odours of the building, was notpleasant even in cold weather. The floor, though regularly swept everyevening, presented a littered surface. Not the slightest provisionhad been made for the comfort of the employees, the idea being thatsomething was gained by giving them as little and making the workas hard and unremunerative as possible. What we know of foot-rests, swivel-back chairs, dining-rooms for the girls, clean aprons and curlingirons supplied free, and a decent cloak room, were unthought of. Thewashrooms were disagreeable, crude, if not foul places, and the wholeatmosphere was sordid. 

Carrie looked about her, after she had drunk a tinful of water from abucket in one corner, for a place to sit and eat. The other girls hadranged themselves about the windows or the work-benches of those of themen who had gone out. She saw no place which did not hold a couple or agroup of girls, and being too timid to think of intruding herself, shesought out her machine and, seated upon her stool, opened her lunch onher lap. There she sat listening to the chatter and comment abouther. 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 atlong range. 

"Say, Kitty, " called one to a girl who was doing a waltz step in a fewfeet of space near one of the windows, "are you going to the ball withme?"

"Look out, Kitty, " called another, "you'll jar your back hair. "

"Go on, Rubber, " was her only comment. 

As Carrie listened to this and much more of similar familiar badinageamong the men and girls, she instinctively withdrew into herself. Shewas not used to this type, and felt that there was something hard andlow about it all. She feared that the young boys about would addresssuch remarks to her--boys who, beside Drouet, seemed uncouth andridiculous. She made the average feminine distinction between clothes, putting worth, goodness, and distinction in a dress suit, and leavingall the unlovely qualities and those beneath notice in overalls andjumper. 

She was glad when the short half hour was over and the wheels began towhirr again. Though wearied, she would be inconspicuous. This illusionended when another young man passed along the aisle and poked herindifferently in the ribs with his thumb. She turned about, indignationleaping 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. "Don't you mind, " she said. "He's too fresh. "

Carrie said nothing, but bent over her work. She felt as though shecould hardly endure such a life. Her idea of work had been so entirelydifferent. All during the long afternoon she thought of the city outsideand its imposing show, crowds, and fine buildings. Columbia City and thebetter side of her home life came back. By three o'clock she was sure itmust be six, and by four it seemed as if they had forgotten to note thehour and were letting all work overtime. The foreman became a true ogre, prowling constantly about, keeping her tied down to her miserable task. What she heard of the conversation about her only made her feel surethat she did not want to make friends with any of these. When sixo'clock came she hurried eagerly away, her arms aching and her limbsstiff from sitting in one position. 

As she passed out along the hall after getting her hat, a young machinehand, attracted by her looks, made bold to jest with her. 

"Say, Maggie, " he called, "if you wait, I'll 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 makean impression on her by leering in her face. 

One young man, waiting on the walk outside for the appearance ofanother, grinned at her as she passed. 

"Ain't going my way, are you?" he called jocosely. 

Carrie turned her face to the west with a subdued heart. As she turnedthe corner, she saw through the great shiny window the small desk atwhich she had applied. There were the crowds, hurrying with the samebuzz and energy-yielding enthusiasm. She felt a slight relief, but itwas only at her escape. She felt ashamed in the face of better dressedgirls who went by. She felt as though she should be better served, andher heart revolted. 

Chapter V. A GLITTERING NIGHT FLOWER--THE USE OF A NAME

Drouet did not call that evening. After receiving the letter, he hadlaid aside all thought of Carrie for the time being and was floatingaround having what he considered a gay time. On this particular eveninghe dined at "Rector's, " a restaurant of some local fame, which occupieda basement at Clark and Monroe Streets. There--after he visited theresort of Fitzgerald and Moy's in Adams Street, opposite the imposingFederal Building. There he leaned over the splendid bar and swallowed aglass of plain whiskey and purchased a couple of cigars, one of whichhe lighted. This to him represented in part high life--a fair sample ofwhat the whole must be. Drouet was not a drinker in excess. He was not amoneyed man. He only craved the best, as his mind conceived it, and suchdoings seemed to him a part of the best. Rector's, with its polishedmarble walls and floor, its profusion of lights, its show of china andsilverware, and, above all, its reputation as a resort for actors andprofessional men, seemed to him the proper place for a successful man togo. He loved fine clothes, good eating, and particularly the company andacquaintanceship of successful men. When dining, it was a source of keensatisfaction to him to know that Joseph Jefferson was wont to come tothis same place, or that Henry E. Dixie, a well-known performer of theday, was then only a few tables off. At Rector's he could always obtainthis satisfaction, for there one could encounter politicians, brokers, actors, some rich young "rounders" of the town, all eating and drinkingamid a buzz of popular commonplace conversation. 

"That's So-and-so over there, " was a common remark of these gentlemenamong themselves, particularly among those who had not yet reached, buthoped to do so, the dazzling height which money to dine here lavishlyrepresented. 

"You don't say so, " would be the reply. 

"Why, yes, didn't you know that? Why, he's manager of the Grand OperaHouse. "

When these things would fall upon Drouet's ears, he would straightenhimself a little more stiffly and eat with solid comfort. If he had anyvanity, 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. 

His preference for Fitzgerald and Moy's Adams Street place was anotheryard off the same cloth. This was really a gorgeous saloon from aChicago standpoint. Like Rector's, it was also ornamented with a blazeof incandescent lights, held in handsome chandeliers. The floors were ofbrightly coloured tiles, the walls a composition of rich, dark, polishedwood, which reflected the light, and coloured stucco-work, which gavethe place a very sumptuous appearance. The long bar was a blaze oflights, polished woodwork, coloured and cut glassware, and many fancybottles. It was a truly swell saloon, with rich screens, fancy wines, and a line of bar goods unsurpassed in the country. 

At Rector's, Drouet had met Mr. G. W. Hurstwood, manager of Fitzgeraldand Moy's. He had been pointed out as a very successful and well-knownman about town. Hurstwood looked the part, for, besides being slightlyunder forty, he had a good, stout constitution, an active manner, and asolid, substantial air, which was composed in part of his fine clothes, his clean linen, his jewels, and, above all, his own sense of hisimportance. Drouet immediately conceived a notion of him as being someone worth knowing, and was glad not only to meet him, but to visit theAdams Street bar thereafter whenever he wanted a drink or a cigar. 

Hurstwood was an interesting character after his kind. He was shrewd andclever in many little things, and capable of creating a good impression. His managerial position was fairly important--a kind of stewardshipwhich was imposing, but lacked financial control. He had risen byperseverance and industry, through long years of service, from theposition of barkeeper in a commonplace saloon to his present altitude. He had a little office in the place, set off in polished cherry andgrill-work, where he kept, in a roll-top desk, the rather simpleaccounts of the place--supplies ordered and needed. The chief executiveand financial functions devolved upon the owners--Messrs. Fitzgerald andMoy--and upon a cashier who looked after the money taken in. 

For the most part he lounged about, dressed in excellent tailored suitsof 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 andengraving. He knew by name, and could greet personally with a "Well, oldfellow, " hundreds of actors, merchants, politicians, and the general runof successful characters about town, and it was part of his success todo so. He had a finely graduated scale of informality andfriendship, which improved from the "How do you do?" addressed tothe fifteen-dollar-a-week clerks and office attaches, who, by longfrequenting of the place, became aware of his position, to the "Why, oldman, how are you?" which he addressed to those noted or rich individualswho knew him and were inclined to be friendly. There was a class, however, too rich, too famous, or too successful, with whom he could notattempt any familiarity of address, and with these he was professionallytactful, assuming a grave and dignified attitude, paying them thedeference which would win their good feeling without in the leastcompromising his own bearing and opinions. There were, in the lastplace, a few 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 would converselongest and most seriously. He loved to go out and have a good timeonce in a while--to go to the races, the theatres, the sportingentertainments at some of the clubs. He kept a horse and neat trap, hadhis wife and two children, who were well established in a neat house onthe North Side near Lincoln Park, and was altogether a very acceptableindividual of our great American upper class--the first grade below theluxuriously rich. 

Hurstwood liked Drouet. The latter's genial nature and dressy appearancepleased him. He knew that Drouet was only a travelling salesman--and notone of many years at that--but the firm of Bartlett, Caryoe & Companywas a large and prosperous house, and Drouet stood well. Hurstwoodknew Caryoe quite well, having drunk a glass now and then with him, incompany with several others, when the conversation was general. Drouethad what was a help in his business, a moderate sense of humour, andcould tell a good story when the occasion required. He could talk raceswith Hurstwood, tell interesting incidents concerning himself and hisexperiences with women, and report the state of trade in the citieswhich he visited, and so managed to make himself almost invariablyagreeable. To-night he was particularly so, since his report to thecompany had been favourably commented upon, his new samples had beensatisfactorily selected, and his trip marked out for the next six weeks. 

"Why, hello, Charlie, old man, " said Hurstwood, as Drouet came in thatevening about eight o'clock. "How goes it?" The room was crowded. 

Drouet shook hands, beaming good nature, and they strolled towards thebar. 

"Oh, all right. "

"I haven't 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 whichhalf displaced the cold make-believe that usually dwelt in them. "Whatare you going to take?" he added, as the barkeeper, in snowy jacket andtie, 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. I'm going up to St. Paul. "

"George Evans was in here Saturday and said he saw you in Milwaukee lastweek. "

"Yes, I saw George, " returned Drouet. "Great old boy, isn't he? We hadquite a time there together. "

The barkeeper was setting out the glasses and bottle before them, andthey now poured out the draught as they talked, Drouet filling his towithin a third of full, as was considered proper, and Hurstwood takingthe barest suggestion of whiskey and modifying it with seltzer. 

"What's become of Caryoe?" remarked Hurstwood. "I haven't seen himaround here in two weeks. "

"Laid up, they say, " exclaimed Drouet. "Say, he's a gouty old boy!"

"Made a lot of money in his time, though, hasn't he?"

"Yes, wads of it, " returned Drouet. "He won't live much longer. Barelycomes down to the office now. "

"Just one boy, hasn't he?" asked Hurstwood. 

"Yes, and a swift-pacer, " laughed Drouet. 

"I guess he can't hurt the business very much, though, with the othermembers all there. "

"No, he can't injure that any, I guess. "

Hurstwood was standing, his coat open, his thumbs in his pockets, the light on his jewels and rings relieving them with agreeabledistinctness. He was the picture of fastidious comfort. 

To one not inclined to drink, and gifted with a more serious turn ofmind, such a bubbling, chattering, glittering chamber must ever seem ananomaly, a strange commentary on nature and life. Here come themoths, in endless procession, to bask in the light of the flame. Suchconversation as one may hear would not warrant a commendation of thescene upon intellectual grounds. It seems plain that schemerswould choose more sequestered quarters to arrange their plans, thatpoliticians would not gather here in company to discuss anything saveformalities, where the sharp-eared may hear, and it would scarcely bejustified on the score of thirst, for the majority of those who frequentthese more gorgeous places have no craving for liquor. Nevertheless, the fact that here men gather, here chatter, here love to pass and rubelbows, must be explained upon some grounds. It must be that a strangebundle of passions and vague desires give rise to such a curious socialinstitution or it would not be. 

Drouet, for one, was lured as much by his longing for pleasure as by hisdesire to shine among his betters. The many friends he met here droppedin because they craved, without, perhaps, consciously analysing it, thecompany, the glow, the atmosphere which they found. One might take it, after all, as an augur of the better social order, for the things whichthey satisfied here, though sensory, were not evil. No evil could comeout of the contemplation of an expensively decorated chamber. Theworst effect of such a thing would be, perhaps, to stir up in thematerial-minded an ambition to arrange their lives upon a similarlysplendid basis. In the last analysis, that would scarcely be called thefault of the decorations, but rather of the innate trend of the mind. That such a scene might stir the less expensively dressed to emulate themore expensively dressed could scarcely be laid at the door of anythingsave the false ambition of the minds of those so affected. Remove theelement so thoroughly and solely complained of--liquor--and there wouldnot be one to gainsay the qualities of beauty and enthusiasm which wouldremain. The pleased eye with which our modern restaurants of fashion arelooked upon is proof of this assertion. 

Yet, here is the fact of the lighted chamber, the dressy, greedycompany, the small, self-interested palaver, the disorganized, aimless, wandering mental action which it represents--the love of light and showand finery which, to one outside, under the serene light of the eternalstars, must seem a strange and shiny thing. Under the stars and sweepingnight winds, what a lamp-flower it must bloom; a strange, glitteringnight-flower, odour-yielding, insect-drawing, insect-infested rose ofpleasure. 

"See that fellow coming in there?" said Hurstwood, glancing at agentleman just entering, arrayed in a high hat and Prince Albert coat, his fat cheeks puffed and red as with good eating. 

"No, where?" said Drouet. 

"There, " said Hurstwood, indicating the direction by a cast of his eye, "the man with the silk hat. "

"Oh, yes, " said Drouet, now affecting not to see. "Who is he?"

"That's Jules Wallace, the spiritualist. "

Drouet followed him with his eyes, much interested. 

"Doesn't look much like a man who sees spirits, does he?" said Drouet. 

"Oh, I don't know, " returned Hurstwood. "He's got the money, all right, "and a little twinkle passed over his eyes. 

"I don't go much on those things, do you?" asked Drouet. 

"Well, you never can tell, " said Hurstwood. "There may be something toit. I wouldn't bother about it myself, though. By the way, " he added, "are you going anywhere to-night?"

"'The Hole in the Ground, '" said Drouet, mentioning the popular farce ofthe time. 

"Well, you'd better be going. It's half after eight already, " and hedrew out his watch. 

The crowd was already thinning out considerably--some bound for thetheatres, some to their clubs, and some to that most fascinating ofall the pleasures--for the type of man there represented, at least--theladies. 

"Yes, I will, " said Drouet. 

"Come around after the show. I have something I want to show you, " saidHurstwood. 

"Sure, " said Drouet, elated. 

"You haven't anything on hand for the night, have you?" added Hurstwood. 

"Not a thing. "

"Well, come round, then. "

"I struck a little peach coming in on the train Friday, " remarkedDrouet, by way of parting. "By George, that's so, I must go and call onher before I go away. "

"Oh, never mind her, " Hurstwood remarked. 

"Say, she was a little dandy, I tell you, " went on Drouetconfidentially, and trying to impress his friend. 

"Twelve o'clock, " said Hurstwood. 

"That's right, " said Drouet, going out. 

Thus was Carrie's name bandied about in the most frivolous and gay ofplaces, and that also when the little toiler was bemoaning her narrowlot, which was almost inseparable from the early stages of this, herunfolding fate. 

Chapter VI. THE MACHINE AND THE MAIDEN--A KNIGHT OF TO-DAY

At the flat that evening Carrie felt a new phase of its atmosphere. Thefact that it was unchanged, while her feelings were different, increasedher knowledge of its character. Minnie, after the good spirits Carriemanifested at first, expected a fair report. Hanson supposed that Carriewould be satisfied. 

"Well, " he said, as he came in from the hall in his working clothes, andlooked at Carrie through the dining-room door, "how did you make out?"

"Oh, " said Carrie, "it's pretty hard. I don't like it. "

There was an air about her which showed plainer than any words that shewas both weary and disappointed. 

"What sort of work is it?" he asked, lingering a moment as he turnedupon his heel to go into the bathroom. 

"Running a machine, " answered Carrie. 

It was very evident that it did not concern him much, save from the sideof the flat's success. He was irritated a shade because it could nothave come about in the throw of fortune for Carrie to be pleased. 

Minnie worked with less elation than she had just before Carrie arrived. The sizzle of the meat frying did not sound quite so pleasing now thatCarrie had reported her discontent. To Carrie, the one relief of thewhole day would have been a jolly home, a sympathetic reception, abright supper table, and some one to say: "Oh, well, stand it a littlewhile. You will get something better, " but now this was ashes. She beganto see that they looked upon her complaint as unwarranted, and that shewas supposed to work on and say nothing. She knew that she was to payfour dollars for her board and room, and now she felt that it would bean exceedingly gloomy round, living with these people. 

Minnie was no companion for her sister--she was too old. Her thoughtswere staid and solemnly adapted to a condition. If Hanson had anypleasant thoughts or happy feelings he concealed them. He seemed to doall his mental operations without the aid of physical expression. He wasas still as a deserted chamber. Carrie, on the other hand, had the bloodof youth and some imagination. Her day of love and the mysteries ofcourtship were still ahead. She could think of things she would like todo, of clothes she would like to wear, and of places she would like tovisit. These were the things upon which her mind ran, and it was likemeeting with opposition at every turn to find no one here to call forthor respond to her feelings. 

She had forgotten, in considering and explaining the result of her day, that Drouet might come. Now, when she saw how unreceptive these twopeople were, she hoped he would not. She did not know exactly what shewould do or how she would explain to Drouet, if he came. After suppershe changed her clothes. When she was trimly dressed she was rather asweet little being, with large eyes and a sad mouth. Her face expressedthe mingled expectancy, dissatisfaction, and depression she felt. Shewandered about after the dishes were put away, talked a little withMinnie, and then decided to go down and stand in the door at the foot ofthe stairs. If Drouet came, she could meet him there. Her face took onthe semblance of a look of happiness as she put on her hat to go below. 

"Carrie doesn't seem to like her place very well, " said Minnie toher husband when the latter came out, paper in hand, to sit in thedining-room a few minutes. 

"She ought to keep it for a time, anyhow, " said Hanson. "Has she gonedownstairs?"

"Yes, " said Minnie. 

"I'd tell her to keep it if I were you. She might be here weeks withoutgetting another one. "

Minnie said she would, and Hanson read his paper. 

"If I were you, " he said a little later, "I wouldn't let her stand inthe door down there. It don't look good. "

"I'll tell her, " said Minnie. 

The life of the streets continued for a long time to interest Carrie. She never wearied of wondering where the people in the cars were goingor what their enjoyments were. Her imagination trod a very narrow round, always winding up at points which concerned money, looks, clothes, orenjoyment. She would have a far-off thought of Columbia City now andthen, or an irritating rush of feeling concerning her experiences of thepresent day, but, on the whole, the little world about her enlisted herwhole attention. 

The first floor of the building, of which Hanson's flat was the third, was occupied by a bakery, and to this, while she was standing there, Hanson came down to buy a loaf of bread. She was not aware of hispresence until he was quite near her. 

"I'm after bread, " was all he said as he passed. 

The contagion of thought here demonstrated itself. While Hanson reallycame for bread, the thought dwelt with him that now he would see whatCarrie was doing. No sooner did he draw near her with that in mind thanshe felt it. Of course, she had no understanding of what put it intoher head, but, nevertheless, it aroused in her the first shade ofreal antipathy to him. She knew now that she did not like him. He wassuspicious. 

A thought will colour a world for us. The flow of Carrie's meditationshad been disturbed, and Hanson had not long gone upstairs before shefollowed. She had realised with the lapse of the quarter hours thatDrouet was not coming, and somehow she felt a little resentful, a littleas if she had been forsaken--was not good enough. She went upstairs, where everything was silent. Minnie was sewing by a lamp at the table. Hanson had already turned in for the night. In her weariness anddisappointment Carrie did no more than announce that she was going tobed. 

"Yes, you'd better, " returned Minnie. "You've got to get up early, youknow. "

The morning was no better. Hanson was just going out the door as Carriecame from her room. Minnie tried to talk with her during breakfast, butthere was not much of interest which they could mutually discuss. As onthe previous morning, Carrie walked down town, for she began to realisenow that her four-fifty would not even allow her car fare after she paidher board. This seemed a miserable arrangement. But the morning lightswept away the first misgivings of the day, as morning light is everwont to do. 

At the shoe factory she put in a long day, scarcely so wearisome as thepreceding, but considerably less novel. The head foreman, on his round, stopped by her machine. 

"Where did you come from?" he inquired. 

"Mr. Brown hired me, " she replied. 

"Oh, he did, eh!" and then, "See that you keep things going. "

The machine girls impressed her even less favourably. They seemedsatisfied with their lot, and were in a sense "common. " Carrie had moreimagination than they. She was not used to slang. Her instinct in thematter of dress was naturally better. She disliked to listen to the girlnext to her, who was rather hardened by experience. 

"I'm going to quit this, " she heard her remark to her neighbour. "Whatwith the stipend and being up late, it's too much for me health. "

They were free with the fellows, young and old, about the place, andexchanged banter in rude phrases, which at first shocked her. She sawthat she was taken to be of the same sort and addressed accordingly. 

"Hello, " remarked one of the stout-wristed sole-workers to her at noon. "You're a daisy. " He really expected to hear the common "Aw! go chaseyourself!" in return, and was sufficiently abashed, by Carrie's silentlymoving away, to retreat, awkwardly grinning. 

That night at the flat she was even more lonely--the dull situationwas becoming harder to endure. She could see that the Hansons seldomor never had any company. Standing at the street door looking out, she ventured to walk out a little way. Her easy gait and idle mannerattracted attention of an offensive but common sort. She was slightlytaken back at the overtures of a well-dressed man of thirty, who inpassing looked at her, reduced his pace, turned back, and said:

"Out for a little stroll, are you, this evening?"

Carrie looked at him in amazement, and then summoned sufficient thoughtto reply: "Why, I don't know you, " backing away as she did so. 

"Oh, that don't matter, " said the other affably. 

She bandied no more words with him, but hurried away, reaching her owndoor quite out of breath. There was something in the man's look whichfrightened her. 

During the remainder of the week it was very much the same. One or twonights she found herself too tired to walk home, and expended car fare. She was not very strong, and sitting all day affected her back. She wentto bed one night before Hanson. 

Transplantation is not always successful in the matter of flowers ormaidens. It requires sometimes a richer soil, a better atmosphereto continue even a natural growth. It would have been better if heracclimatization had been more gradual--less rigid. She would have donebetter if she had not secured a position so quickly, and had seen moreof the city which she constantly troubled to know about. 

On the first morning it rained she found that she had no umbrella. Minnie loaned her one of hers, which was worn and faded. There was thekind of vanity in Carrie that troubled at this. She went to one of thegreat department stores and bought herself one, using a dollar and aquarter of her small store to pay for it. 

"What did you do that for, Carrie?" asked Minnie when she saw it. 

"Oh, I need one, " said Carrie. 

"You foolish girl. "

Carrie resented this, though she did not reply. She was not going to bea common shop-girl, she thought; they need not think it, either. 

On the first Saturday night Carrie paid her board, four dollars. Minniehad a quaver of conscience as she took it, but did not know how toexplain to Hanson if she took less. That worthy gave up just fourdollars less toward the household expenses with a smile of satisfaction. He contemplated increasing his Building and Loan payments. As forCarrie, she studied over the problem of finding clothes and amusementon fifty cents a week. She brooded over this until she was in a state ofmental rebellion. 

"I'm going up the street for a walk, " she said after supper. 

"Not alone, are you?" asked Hanson. 

"Yes, " returned Carrie. 

"I wouldn't, " said Minnie. 

"I want to see SOMETHING, " said Carrie, and by the tone she put intothe last word they realised for the first time she was not pleased withthem. 

"What's the matter with her?" asked Hanson, when she went into the frontroom to get her hat. 

"I don't know, " said Minnie. 

"Well, she ought to know better than to want to go out alone. "

Carrie did not go very far, after all. She returned and stood in thedoor. The next day they went out to Garfield Park, but it did not pleaseher. She did not look well enough. In the shop next day she heard thehighly coloured reports which girls give of their trivial amusements. They had been happy. On several days it rained and she used up car fare. One night she got thoroughly soaked, going to catch the car at Van BurenStreet. All that evening she sat alone in the front room looking outupon the street, where the lights were reflected on the wet pavements, thinking. She had imagination enough to be moody. 

On Saturday she paid another four dollars and pocketed her fifty centsin despair. The speaking acquaintanceship which she formed with some ofthe girls at the shop discovered to her the fact that they had more oftheir earnings to use for themselves than she did. They had young menof the kind whom she, since her experience with Drouet, felt above, whotook them about. She came to thoroughly dislike the light-headed youngfellows of the shop. Not one of them had a show of refinement. She sawonly their workday side. 

There came a day when the first premonitory blast of winter swept overthe city. It scudded the fleecy clouds in the heavens, trailed long, thin streamers of smoke from the tall stacks, and raced about thestreets and corners in sharp and sudden puffs. Carrie now felt theproblem of winter clothes. What was she to do? She had no winter jacket, no hat, no shoes. It was difficult to speak to Minnie about this, but atlast she summoned the courage. 

"I don't know what I'm going to do about clothes, " she said one eveningwhen they were together. "I need a hat. "

Minnie looked serious. 

"Why don't you keep part of your money and buy yourself one?" shesuggested, worried over the situation which the withholding of Carrie'smoney would create. 

"I'd like to for a week or so, if you don't mind, " ventured Carrie. 

"Could you pay two dollars?" asked Minnie. 

Carrie readily acquiesced, glad to escape the trying situation, andliberal now that she saw a way out. She was elated and began figuring atonce. She needed a hat first of all. How Minnie explained to Hanson shenever knew. He said nothing at all, but there were thoughts in the airwhich left disagreeable impressions. 

The new arrangement might have worked if sickness had not intervened. Itblew up cold after a rain one afternoon when Carrie was still withouta jacket. She came out of the warm shop at six and shivered as the windstruck her. In the morning she was sneezing, and going down town madeit worse. That day her bones ached and she felt light-headed. Towardsevening she felt very ill, and when she reached home was not hungry. Minnie noticed her drooping actions and asked her about herself. 

"I don't know, " said Carrie. "I feel real bad. "

She hung about the stove, suffered a chattering chill, and went to bedsick. The next morning she was thoroughly feverish. 

Minnie was truly distressed at this, but maintained a kindly demeanour. Hanson said perhaps she had better go back home for a while. When shegot up after three days, it was taken for granted that her position waslost. The winter was near at hand, she had no clothes, and now she wasout of work. 

"I don't know, " said Carrie; "I'll go down Monday and see if I can't getsomething. "

If anything, her efforts were more poorly rewarded on this trial thanthe last. Her clothes were nothing suitable for fall wearing. Herlast money she had spent for a hat. For three days she wanderedabout, utterly dispirited. The attitude of the flat was fast becomingunbearable. She hated to think of going back there each evening. Hansonwas so cold. She knew it could not last much longer. Shortly she wouldhave to give up and go home. 

On the fourth day she was down town all day, having borrowed ten centsfor lunch from Minnie. She had applied in the cheapest kind of placeswithout success. She even answered for a waitress in a small restaurantwhere she saw a card in the window, but they wanted an experienced girl. She moved through the thick throng of strangers, utterly subdued inspirit. Suddenly a hand pulled her arm and turned her about. 

"Well, well!" said a voice. In the first glance she beheld Drouet. Hewas not only rosy-cheeked, but radiant. He was the essence of sunshineand good-humour. "Why, how are you, Carrie?" he said. "You're a daisy. Where have you been?"

Carrie smiled under his irresistible flood of geniality. 

"I've been out home, " she said. 

"Well, " he said, "I saw you across the street there. I thought it wasyou. I was just coming out to your place. How are you, anyhow?"

"I'm all right, " said Carrie, smiling. 

Drouet looked her over and saw something different. 

"Well, " he said, "I want to talk to you. You're not going anywhere inparticular, are you?"

"Not just now, " said Carrie. 

"Let's go up here and have something to eat. George! but I'm glad to seeyou again. "

She felt so relieved in his radiant presence, so much looked after andcared for, that she assented gladly, though with the slightest air ofholding back. 

"Well, " he said, as he took her arm--and there was an exuberance ofgood-fellowship in the word which fairly warmed the cockles of herheart. 

They went through Monroe Street to the old Windsor dining-room, whichwas then a large, comfortable place, with an excellent cuisine andsubstantial service. Drouet selected a table close by the window, where the busy rout of the street could be seen. He loved the changingpanorama of the street--to see and be seen as he dined. 

"Now, " he said, getting Carrie and himself comfortably settled, "whatwill you have?"

Carrie looked over the large bill of fare which the waiter handed herwithout really considering it. She was very hungry, and the things shesaw there awakened her desires, but the high prices held her attention. "Half broiled spring chicken--seventy-five. Sirloin steak withmushrooms--one twenty-five. " She had dimly heard of these things, but itseemed strange to be called to order from the list. 

"I'll fix this, " exclaimed Drouet. "Sst! waiter. "

That officer of the board, a full-chested, round-faced negro, approached, and inclined his ear. 

"Sirloin with mushrooms, " said Drouet. "Stuffed tomatoes. "

"Yassah, " assented the negro, nodding his head. 

"Hashed brown potatoes. "

"Yassah. "

"Asparagus. "

"Yassah. "

"And a pot of coffee. "

Drouet turned to Carrie. "I haven't had a thing since breakfast. Justgot in from Rock Island. I was going off to dine when I saw you. "

Carrie smiled and smiled. 

"What have you been doing?" he went on. "Tell me all about yourself. Howis your sister?"

"She's well, " returned Carrie, answering the last query. 

He looked at her hard. 

"Say, " he said, "you haven't been sick, have you?"

Carrie nodded. 

"Well, now, that's a blooming shame, isn't it? You don't look very well. I thought you looked a little pale. What have you been doing?"

"Working, " said Carrie. 

"You don't say so! At what?"

She told him. 

"Rhodes, Morgenthau and Scott--why, I know that house over here onFifth Avenue, isn't it? They're a close-fisted concern. What made you gothere?"

"I couldn't get anything else, " said Carrie frankly. 

"Well, that's an outrage, " said Drouet. "You oughtn't to be working forthose people. Have the factory right back of the store, don't they?"

"Yes, " said Carrie. 

"That isn't a good house, " said Drouet. "You don't want to work atanything like that, anyhow. "

He chatted on at a great rate, asking questions, explaining things abouthimself, telling her what a good restaurant it was, until the waiterreturned with an immense tray, bearing the hot savoury dishes which hadbeen ordered. Drouet fairly shone in the matter of serving. He appearedto great advantage behind the white napery and silver platters of thetable and displaying his arms with a knife and fork. As he cut the meathis rings almost spoke. His new suit creaked as he stretched to reachthe plates, break the bread, and pour the coffee. He helped Carrie toa rousing plateful and contributed the warmth of his spirit to her bodyuntil she was a new girl. He was a splendid fellow in the true popularunderstanding of the term, and captivated Carrie completely. 

That little soldier of fortune took her good turn in an easy way. Shefelt a little out of place, but the great room soothed her and the viewof the well-dressed throng outside seemed a splendid thing. Ah, what wasit not to have money! What a thing it was to be able to come in here anddine! Drouet must be fortunate. He rode on trains, dressed in such niceclothes, was so strong, and ate in these fine places. He seemed quite afigure of a man, and she wondered at his friendship and regard for her. 

"So you lost your place because you got sick, eh?" he said. "What areyou going to do now?"

"Look around, " she said, a thought of the need that hung outside thisfine restaurant like a hungry dog at her heels passing into her eyes. 

"Oh, no, " said Drouet, "that won't do. How long have you been looking?"

"Four days, " she answered. 

"Think of that!" he said, addressing some problematical individual. "Yououghtn't to be doing anything like that. These girls, " and he waved aninclusion of all shop and factory girls, "don't get anything. Why, youcan't live on it, can you?"

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 wasreally very pretty. Even then, in her commonplace garb, her figure wasevidently not bad, and her eyes were large and gentle. Drouet lookedat her and his thoughts reached home. She felt his admiration. It waspowerfully backed by his liberality and good-humour. She felt that sheliked him--that she could continue to like him ever so much. There wassomething even richer than that, running as a hidden strain, in hermind. Every little while her eyes would meet his, and by that means theinterchanging current of feeling would be fully connected. 

"Why don't you stay down town and go to the theatre with me?" he said, hitching his chair closer. The table was not very wide. 

"Oh, I can't, " she said. 

"What are you going to do to-night?"

"Nothing, " she answered, a little drearily. 

"You don't like out there where you are, do you?"

"Oh, I don't know. "

"What are you going to do if you don't get work?"

"Go back home, I guess. "

There was the least quaver in her voice as she said this. Somehow, theinfluence he was exerting was powerful. They came to an understanding ofeach other without words--he of her situation, she of the fact thathe realised it. "No, " he said, "you can't make it!" genuine sympathyfilling his mind for the time. "Let me help you. You take some of mymoney. "

"Oh, no!" she said, leaning back. 

"What are you going to do?" he said. 

She sat meditating, merely shaking her head. 

He looked at her quite tenderly for his kind. There were some loosebills in his vest pocket--greenbacks. They were soft and noiseless, andhe got his fingers about them and crumpled them up in his hand. 

"Come on, " he said, "I'll see you through all right. Get yourself someclothes. "

It was the first reference he had made to that subject, and now sherealised how bad off she was. In his crude way he had struck thekey-note. Her lips trembled a little. 

She had her hand out on the table before her. They were quite alone intheir corner, and he put his larger, warmer hand over it. 

"Aw, come, Carrie, " he said, "what can you do alone? Let me help you. "

He pressed her hand gently and she tried to withdraw it. At this he heldit fast, and she no longer protested. Then he slipped the greenbacks hehad into her palm, and when she began to protest, he whispered:

"I'll loan it to you--that's all right. I'll loan it to you. "

He made her take it. She felt bound to him by a strange tie of affectionnow. They went out, and he walked with her far out south toward PolkStreet, talking. 

"You don't want to live with those people?" he said in one place, abstractedly. Carrie heard it, but it made only a slight impression. 

"Come down and meet me to morrow, " he said, "and we'll go to thematinee. Will you?"

Carrie protested a while, but acquiesced. 

"You're not doing anything. Get yourself a nice pair of shoes and ajacket. "

She scarcely gave a thought to the complication which would troubleher when he was gone. In his presence, she was of his own hopeful, easy-way-out mood. 

"Don't you bother about those people out there, " he said at parting. "I'll help you. "

Carrie left him, feeling as though a great arm had slipped out beforeher to draw off trouble. The money she had accepted was two soft, green, handsome ten-dollar bills. 

Chapter VII. THE LURE OF THE MATERIAL--BEAUTY SPEAKS FOR ITSELF

The true meaning of money yet remains to be popularly explained andcomprehended. When each individual realises for himself that this thingprimarily stands for and should only be accepted as a moral due--thatit should be paid out as honestly stored energy, and not as a usurpedprivilege--many of our social, religious, and political troubles willhave permanently passed. As for Carrie, her understanding of the moralsignificance of money was the popular understanding, nothing more. Theold definition: "Money: something everybody else has and I must get, "would have expressed her understanding of it thoroughly. Some of it shenow held in her hand--two soft, green ten-dollar bills--and she feltthat she was immensely better off for the having of them. It wassomething that was power in itself. One of her order of mind wouldhave been content to be cast away upon a desert island with a bundle ofmoney, and only the long strain of starvation would have taught her thatin some cases it could have no value. Even then she would have had noconception of the relative value of the thing; her one thought would, undoubtedly, have concerned the pity of having so much power and theinability to use it. 

The poor girl thrilled as she walked away from Drouet. She felt ashamedin part because she had been weak enough to take it, but her need was sodire, she was still glad. Now she would have a nice new jacket! Now shewould buy a nice pair of pretty button shoes. She would get stockings, too, and a skirt, and, and--until already, as in the matter of herprospective salary, she had got beyond, in her desires, twice thepurchasing power of her bills. 

She conceived a true estimate of Drouet. To her, and indeed to all theworld, he was a nice, good-hearted man. There was nothing evil in thefellow. He gave her the money out of a good heart--out of a realisationof her want. He would not have given the same amount to a poor youngman, but we must not forget that a poor young man could not, inthe nature of things, have appealed to him like a poor young girl. Femininity affected his feelings. He was the creature of an inborndesire. Yet no beggar could have caught his eye and said, "My God, mister, I'm starving, " but he would gladly have handed out what wasconsidered the proper portion to give beggars and thought no more aboutit. There would have been no speculation, no philosophising. He had nomental process in him worthy the dignity of either of those terms. Inhis good clothes and fine health, he was a merry, unthinking moth of thelamp. Deprived of his position, and struck by a few of the involved andbaffling forces which sometimes play upon man, he would have been ashelpless as Carrie--as helpless, as non-understanding, as pitiable, ifyou will, as she. 

Now, in regard to his pursuit of women, he meant them no harm, becausehe did not conceive of the relation which he hoped to hold with them asbeing harmful. He loved to make advances to women, to have them succumbto his charms, not because he was a cold-blooded, dark, schemingvillain, but because his inborn desire urged him to that as a chiefdelight. He was vain, he was boastful, he was as deluded by fineclothes as any silly-headed girl. A truly deep-dyed villain couldhave hornswaggled him as readily as he could have flattered a prettyshop-girl. His fine success as a salesman lay in his geniality and thethoroughly reputable standing of his house. He bobbed about among men, a veritable bundle of enthusiasm--no power worthy the name of intellect, no thoughts worthy the adjective noble, no feelings long continued inone strain. A Madame Sappho would have called him a pig; a Shakespearewould have said "my merry child"; old, drinking Caryoe thought hima clever, successful businessman. In short, he was as good as hisintellect conceived. 

The best proof that there was something open and commendable about theman was the fact that Carrie took the money. No deep, sinister soul withulterior motives could have given her fifteen cents under the guise offriendship. The unintellectual are not so helpless. Nature has taughtthe beasts of the field to fly when some unheralded danger threatens. She has put into the small, unwise head of the chipmunk the untutoredfear of poisons. "He keepeth His creatures whole, " was not written ofbeasts alone. Carrie was unwise, and, therefore, like the sheep in itsunwisdom, strong in feeling. The instinct of self-protection, strong inall such natures, was roused but feebly, if at all, by the overtures ofDrouet. 

When Carrie had gone, he felicitated himself upon her good opinion. ByGeorge, it was a shame young girls had to be knocked around like that. Cold weather coming on and no clothes. Tough. He would go around toFitzgerald and Moy's and get a cigar. It made him feel light of foot ashe thought about her. 

Carrie reached home in high good spirits, which she could scarcelyconceal. The possession of the money involved a number of points whichperplexed her seriously. How should she buy any clothes when Minnieknew that she had no money? She had no sooner entered the flat than thispoint was settled for her. It could not be done. She could think of noway of explaining. 

"How did you come out?" asked Minnie, referring to the day. 

Carrie had none of the small deception which could feel one thing andsay something directly opposed. She would prevaricate, but it would bein the line of her feelings at least. So instead of complaining when shefelt so good, she said:

"I have the promise of something. "

"Where?"

"At the Boston Store. "

"Is it sure promised?" questioned Minnie. 

"Well, I'm to find out to-morrow, " returned Carrie disliking to draw outa lie any longer than was necessary. 

Minnie felt the atmosphere of good feeling which Carrie brought withher. She felt now was the time to express to Carrie the state ofHanson's feeling about her entire Chicago venture. 

"If you shouldn't get it--" she paused, troubled for an easy way. 

"If I don't get something pretty soon, I think I'll go home. "

Minnie saw her chance. 

"Sven thinks it might be best for the winter, anyhow. "

The situation flashed on Carrie at once. They were unwilling to keepher any longer, out of work. She did not blame Minnie, she did not blameHanson very much. Now, as she sat there digesting the remark, she wasglad she had Drouet's money. "Yes, " she said after a few moments, "Ithought of doing that. "

She did not explain that the thought, however, had aroused all theantagonism of her nature. Columbia City, what was there for her? Sheknew its dull, little round by heart. Here was the great, mysteriouscity which was still a magnet for her. What she had seen only suggestedits possibilities. Now to turn back on it and live the little old lifeout there--she almost exclaimed against the thought. 

She had reached home early and went in the front room to think. Whatcould she do? She could not buy new shoes and wear them here. She wouldneed to save part of the twenty to pay her fare home. She did not wantto borrow of Minnie for that. And yet, how could she explain where sheeven got that money? If she could only get enough to let her out easy. 

She went over the tangle again and again. Here, in the morning, Drouetwould expect to see her in a new jacket, and that couldn't be. TheHansons expected her to go home, and she wanted to get away, and yet shedid not want to go home. In the light of the way they would look on hergetting money without work, the taking of it now seemed dreadful. Shebegan to be ashamed. The whole situation depressed her. It was allso clear when she was with Drouet. Now it was all so tangled, sohopeless--much worse than it was before, because she had the semblanceof aid in her hand which she could not use. 

Her spirits sank so that at supper Minnie felt that she must have hadanother hard day. Carrie finally decided that she would give the moneyback. It was wrong to take it. She would go down in the morning and huntfor work. At noon she would meet Drouet as agreed and tell him. At thisdecision her heart sank, until she was the old Carrie of distress. 

Curiously, she could not hold the money in her hand without feeling somerelief. Even after all her depressing conclusions, she could sweepaway all thought about the matter and then the twenty dollars seemed awonderful and delightful thing. Ah, money, money, money! What a thing itwas to have. How plenty of it would clear away all these troubles. 

In the morning she got up and started out a little early. Her decisionto hunt for work was moderately strong, but the money in her pocket, after all her troubling over it, made the work question the leastshade less terrible. She walked into the wholesale district, but as thethought of applying came with each passing concern, her heart shrank. What a coward she was, she thought to herself. Yet she had applied sooften. It would be the same old story. She walked on and on, and finallydid go into one place, with the old result. She came out feeling thatluck was against her. It was no use. 

Without much thinking, she reached Dearborn Street. Here was the greatFair store with its multitude of delivery wagons about its long windowdisplay, its crowd of shoppers. It readily changed her thoughts, she whowas so weary of them. It was here that she had intended to come and gether new things. Now for relief from distress; she thought she would goin and see. She would look at the jackets. 

There is nothing in this world more delightful than that middle statein which we mentally balance at times, possessed of the means, lured bydesire, and yet deterred by conscience or want of decision. When Carriebegan wandering around the store amid the fine displays she was in thismood. Her original experience in this same place had given her a highopinion of its merits. Now she paused at each individual bit of finery, where before she had hurried on. Her woman's heart was warm with desirefor them. How would she look in this, how charming that would make her!She came upon the corset counter and paused in rich reverie as she notedthe dainty concoctions of colour and lace there displayed. If she wouldonly make up her mind, she could have one of those now. She lingered inthe jewelry department. She saw the earrings, the bracelets, the pins, the chains. What would she not have given if she could have had themall! She would look fine too, if only she had some of these things. 

The jackets were the greatest attraction. When she entered the store, she already had her heart fixed upon the peculiar little tan jacket withlarge mother-of-pearl buttons which was all the rage that fall. Stillshe delighted to convince herself that there was nothing she wouldlike better. She went about among the glass cases and racks where thesethings were displayed, and satisfied herself that the one she thoughtof was the proper one. All the time she wavered in mind, now persuadingherself that she could buy it right away if she chose, now recallingto herself the actual condition. At last the noon hour was dangerouslynear, and she had done nothing. She must go now and return the money. 

Drouet was on the corner when she came up. 

"Hello, " he said, "where is the jacket and"--looking down--"the shoes?"

Carrie had thought to lead up to her decision in some intelligent way, but this swept the whole fore-schemed situation by the board. 

"I came to tell you that--that I can't take the money. "

"Oh, that's it, is it?" he returned. "Well, you come on with me. Let'sgo over here to Partridge's. "

Carrie walked with him. Behold, the whole fabric of doubt andimpossibility had slipped from her mind. She could not get at the pointsthat were so serious, the things she was going to make plain to him. 

"Have you had lunch yet? Of course you haven't. Let's go in here, " andDrouet turned into one of the very nicely furnished restaurants offState Street, in Monroe. 

"I mustn't take the money, " said Carrie, after they were settled ina cosey corner, and Drouet had ordered the lunch. "I can't wear thosethings out there. They--they wouldn't know where I got them. "

"What do you want to do, " he smiled, "go without them?"

"I think I'll go home, " she said, wearily. 

"Oh, come, " he said, "you've been thinking it over too long. I'll tellyou what you do. You say you can't wear them out there. Why don't yourent a furnished room and leave them in that for a week?"

Carrie shook her head. Like all women, she was there to object and beconvinced. It was for him to brush the doubts away and clear the path ifhe could. "Why are you going home?" he asked. 

"Oh, I can't get anything here. "

"They won't keep you?" he remarked, intuitively. 

"They can't, " said Carrie. 

"I'll tell you what you do, " he said. "You come with me. I'll take careof you. "

Carrie heard this passively. The peculiar state which she was in made itsound like the welcome breath of an open door. Drouet seemed of herown spirit and pleasing. He was clean, handsome, well-dressed, andsympathetic. His voice was the voice of a friend. 

"What can you do back at Columbia City?" he went on, rousing by thewords in Carrie's mind a picture of the dull world she had left. "Thereisn't anything down there. Chicago's the place. You can get a nice roomhere and some clothes, and then you can do something. "

Carrie looked out through the window into the busy street. There it was, the admirable, great city, so fine when you are not poor. An elegantcoach, with a prancing pair of bays, passed by, carrying in itsupholstered depths a young lady. 

"What will you have if you go back?" asked Drouet. There was no subtleundercurrent to the question. He imagined that she would have nothing atall of the things he thought worth while. 

Carrie sat still, looking out. She was wondering what she could do. Theywould be expecting her to go home this week. 

Drouet turned to the subject of the clothes she was going to buy. 

"Why not get yourself a nice little jacket? You've got to have it. I'll loan you the money. You needn't worry about taking it. You can getyourself a nice room by yourself. I won't hurt you. "

Carrie saw the drift, but could not express her thoughts. She felt morethan ever the helplessness of her case. 

"If I could only get something to do, " she said. 

"Maybe you can, " went on Drouet, "if you stay here. You can't if you goaway. They won't let you stay out there. Now, why not let me get you anice room? I won't bother you--you needn't be afraid. Then, when you getfixed up, maybe you could get something. "

He looked at her pretty face and it vivified his mental resources. Shewas a sweet little mortal to him--there was no doubt of that. She seemedto have some power back of her actions. She was not like the common runof store-girls. She wasn't silly. 

In reality, Carrie had more imagination than he--more taste. It wasa finer mental strain in her that made possible her depressionand loneliness. Her poor clothes were neat, and she held her headunconsciously in a dainty way. 

"Do you think I could get something?" she asked. 

"Sure, " he said, reaching over and filling her cup with tea. "I'll helpyou. "

She looked at him, and he laughed reassuringly. 

"Now I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll go over here to Partridge's andyou pick out what you want. Then we'll look around for a room for you. You can leave the things there. Then we'll go to the show to-night. "

Carrie shook her head. 

"Well, you can go out to the flat then, that's all right. You don't needto stay in the room. Just take it and leave your things there. "

She hung in doubt about this until the dinner was over. 

"Let's go over and look at the jackets, " he said. 

Together they went. In the store they found that shine and rustle ofnew things which immediately laid hold of Carrie's heart. Under theinfluence of a good dinner and Drouet's radiating presence, the schemeproposed seemed feasible. She looked about and picked a jacket like theone which she had admired at The Fair. When she got it in her hand itseemed so much nicer. The saleswoman helped her on with it, and, byaccident, it fitted perfectly. Drouet's face lightened as he saw theimprovement. She looked quite smart. 

"That's the thing, " he said. 

Carrie turned before the glass. She could not help feeling pleased asshe looked at herself. A warm glow crept into her cheeks. 

"That's the thing, " said Drouet. "Now pay for it. "

"It's nine dollars, " said Carrie. 

"That's all right--take it, " said Drouet. 

She reached in her purse and took out one of the bills. The woman askedif she would wear the coat and went off. In a few minutes she was backand the purchase was closed. 

From Partridge's they went to a shoe store, where Carrie was fittedfor shoes. Drouet stood by, and when he saw how nice they looked, said, "Wear them. " Carrie shook her head, however. She was thinking ofreturning to the flat. He bought her a purse for one thing, and a pairof gloves for another, and let her buy the stockings. 

"To-morrow, " he said, "you come down here and buy yourself a skirt. "

In all of Carrie's actions there was a touch of misgiving. The deepershe sank into the entanglement, the more she imagined that the thinghung upon the few remaining things she had not done. Since she had notdone these, there was a way out. 

Drouet knew a place in Wabash Avenue where there were rooms. He showedCarrie the outside of these, and said: "Now, you're my sister. " Hecarried the arrangement off with an easy hand when it came to theselection, looking around, criticising, opining. "Her trunk will be herein a day or so, " he observed to the landlady, who was very pleased. 

When they were alone, Drouet did not change in the least. He talked inthe same general way as if they were out in the street. Carrie left herthings. 

"Now, " said Drouet, "why don't you move to-night?"

"Oh, I can't, " said Carrie. 

"Why not?"

"I don't want to leave them so. "

He took that up as they walked along the avenue. It was a warmafternoon. The sun had come out and the wind had died down. As he talkedwith Carrie, he secured an accurate detail of the atmosphere of theflat. 

"Come out of it, " he said, "they won't care. I'll help you get along. "

She listened until her misgivings vanished. He would show her abouta little and then help her get something. He really imagined that hewould. He would be out on the road and she could be working. 

"Now, I'll tell you what you do, " he said, "you go out there and getwhatever you want and come away. "

She thought a long time about this. Finally she agreed. He would comeout as far as Peoria Street and wait for her. She was to meet him athalf-past eight. At half-past five she reached home, and at six herdetermination was hardened. 

"So you didn't get it?" said Minnie, referring to Carrie's story of theBoston Store. 

Carrie looked at her out of the corner of her eye. "No, " she answered. 

"I don't think you'd better try any more this fall, " said Minnie. 

Carrie said nothing. 

When Hanson came home he wore the same inscrutable demeanour. He washedin silence and went off to read his paper. At dinner Carrie felt alittle nervous. The strain of her own plans were considerable, and thefeeling that she was not welcome here was strong. 

"Didn't find anything, eh?" said Hanson. 

"No. "

He turned to his eating again, the thought that it was a burden to haveher 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 relievedto know that this condition was ending. They would not care. Hansonparticularly would be glad when she went. He would not care what becameof her. 

After dinner she went into the bathroom, where they could not disturbher, and wrote a little note. 

"Good-bye, Minnie, " it read. "I'm not going home. I'm going to stayin Chicago a little while and look for work. Don't worry. I'll be allright. "

In the front room Hanson was reading his paper. As usual, she helpedMinnie clear away the dishes and straighten up. Then she said:

"I guess I'll stand down at the door a little while. " She could scarcelyprevent her voice from trembling. 

Minnie remembered Hanson's remonstrance. 

"Sven doesn't think it looks good to stand down there, " she said. 

"Doesn't he?" said Carrie. "I won't 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 Minnie'shair-brush. 

When she had closed the hall-door, she paused a moment and wondered whatthey would think. Some thought of the queerness of her deed affectedher. She went slowly down the stairs. She looked back up the lightedstep, and then affected to stroll up the street. When she reached thecorner 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 wasn't going to do it any more. "

He went over to the baby where it was playing on the floor and began topoke 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, we'll take a car. "

Chapter VIII. INTIMATIONS BY WINTER--AN AMBASSADOR SUMMONED

Among the forces which sweep and play throughout the universe, untutoredman is but a wisp in the wind. Our civilisation is still in a middlestage, scarcely beast, in that it is no longer wholly guided byinstinct; scarcely human, in that it is not yet wholly guided by reason. On the tiger no responsibility rests. We see him aligned by nature withthe forces of life--he is born into their keeping and without thought heis protected. We see man far removed from the lairs of the jungles, his innate instincts dulled by too near an approach to free-will, hisfree-will not sufficiently developed to replace his instincts and affordhim perfect guidance. 

He is becoming too wise to hearken always to instincts and desires; heis still too weak to always prevail against them. As a beast, the forcesof life aligned him with them; as a man, he has not yet wholly learnedto align himself with the forces. In this intermediate stage hewavers--neither drawn in harmony with nature by his instincts nor yetwisely putting himself into harmony by his own free-will. He is even asa wisp in the wind, moved by every breath of passion, acting now by hiswill and now by his instincts, erring with one, only to retrieve bythe other, falling by one, only to rise by the other--a creature ofincalculable variability. We have the consolation of knowing thatevolution is ever in action, that the ideal is a light that cannot fail. He will not forever balance thus between good and evil. When this jangleof free-will instinct shall have been adjusted, when perfect understanding has given the former the power to replace the latter entirely, man will no longer vary. The needle of understanding will yet pointsteadfast and unwavering to the distinct pole of truth. 

In Carrie--as in how many of our worldlings do they not?--instinctand reason, desire and understanding, were at war for the mastery. Shefollowed whither her craving led. She was as yet more drawn than shedrew. 

When Minnie found the note next morning, after a night of mingled wonderand 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 displayedand looked at the note. The only indication of his thoughts came inthe form of a little clicking sound made by his tongue; the sound somepeople make when they wish to urge on a horse. 

"Where do you suppose she's gone to?" said Minnie, thoroughly aroused. 

"I don't know, " a touch of cynicism lighting his eye. "Now she has goneand done it. "

Minnie moved her head in a puzzled way. 

"Oh, oh, " she said, "she doesn't know what she has done. "

"Well, " said Hanson, after a while, sticking his hands out before him, "what can you do?"

Minnie's womanly nature was higher than this. She figured thepossibilities in such cases. 

"Oh, " she said at last, "poor Sister Carrie!"

At the time of this particular conversation, which occurred at 5 A. M. , that little soldier of fortune was sleeping a rather troubled sleep inher new room, alone. 

Carrie's 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, wonderingwhether she would get something to do, wondering what Drouet would do. That worthy had his future fixed for him beyond a peradventure. He couldnot help what he was going to do. He could not see clearly enough towish to do differently. He was drawn by his innate desire to act the oldpursuing part. He would need to delight himself with Carrie as surelyas he would need to eat his heavy breakfast. He might suffer the leastrudimentary twinge of conscience in whatever he did, and in just so farhe was evil and sinning. But whatever twinges of conscience he mighthave would be rudimentary, you may be sure. 

The next day he called upon Carrie, and she saw him in her chamber. Hewas the same jolly, enlivening soul. 

"Aw, " he said, "what are you looking so blue about? Come on out tobreakfast. 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. 

"You'll get that all right, " said Drouet. "What's the use worrying rightnow? Get yourself fixed up. See the city. I won't hurt you. "

"I know you won't, " she remarked, half truthfully. 

"Got on the new shoes, haven't you? Stick 'em out. George, they lookfine. Put on your jacket. "

Carrie obeyed. 

"Say, that fits like a T, don't it?" he remarked, feeling the set of itat the waist and eyeing it from a few paces with real pleasure. "Whatyou need now is a new skirt. Let's 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 hourswith sight-seeing. At Carson, Pirie's he bought her a nice skirt andshirt waist. With his money she purchased the little necessaries oftoilet, until at last she looked quite another maiden. The mirrorconvinced her of a few things which she had long believed. She waspretty, yes, indeed! How nice her hat set, and weren't her eyes pretty. She caught her little red lip with her teeth and felt her first thrillof power. Drouet was so good. 

They went to see "The Mikado" one evening, an opera which washilariously popular at that time. Before going, they made off forthe Windsor dining-room, which was in Dearborn Street, a considerabledistance from Carrie's room. It was blowing up cold, and out of herwindow Carrie could see the western sky, still pink with the fadinglight, 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-offsea. Somehow the swaying of some dead branches of trees across the waybrought back the picture with which she was familiar when she lookedfrom their front window in December days at home. She paused and wrungher little hands. 

"What's the matter?" said Drouet. 

"Oh, I don't know, " she said, her lip trembling. 

He sensed something, and slipped his arm over her shoulder, patting herarm. 

"Come on, " he said gently, "you're 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. The lightsin the stores were already shining out in gushes of golden hue. The arclights were sputtering overhead, and high up were the lighted windowsof the tall office buildings. The chill wind whipped in and out in gustybreaths. Homeward bound, the six o'clock throng bumped and jostled. Light overcoats were turned up about the ears, hats were pulled down. Little shop-girls went fluttering by in pairs and fours, chattering, laughing. It was a spectacle of warm-blooded humanity. 

Suddenly a pair of eyes met Carrie's in recognition. They were lookingout from a group of poorly dressed girls. Their clothes were faded andloose-hanging, their jackets old, their general make-up shabby. 

Carrie recognised the glance and the girl. She was one of those whoworked at the machines in the shoe factory. The latter looked, not quitesure, and then turned her head and looked. Carrie felt as if some greattide had rolled between them. The old dress and the old machine cameback. She actually started. Drouet didn't notice until Carrie bumpedinto a pedestrian. 

"You must be thinking, " he said. 

They dined and went to the theatre. That spectacle pleased Carrieimmensely. The colour and grace of it caught her eye. She had vainimaginings about place and power, about far-off lands and magnificentpeople. When it was over, the clatter of coaches and the throng of fineladies made her stare. 

"Wait a minute, " said Drouet, holding her back in the showy foyer whereladies and gentlemen were moving in a social crush, skirts rustling, lace-covered heads nodding, white teeth showing through parted lips. "Let's see. "

"Sixty-seven, " the coach-caller was saying, his voice lifted in a sortof euphonious cry. "Sixty-seven. "

"Isn't it fine?" said Carrie. 

"Great, " said Drouet. He was as much affected by this show of finery andgayety as she. He pressed her arm warmly. Once she looked up, her eventeeth glistening through her smiling lips, her eyes alight. As they weremoving out he whispered down to her, "You look lovely!" They were rightwhere the coach-caller was swinging open a coach-door and ushering intwo ladies. 

"You stick to me and we'll have a coach, " laughed Drouet. 

Carrie scarcely heard, her head was so full of the swirl of life. Theystopped in at a restaurant for a little after-theatre lunch. Just ashade of a thought of the hour entered Carrie's head, but there was nohousehold law to govern her now. If any habits ever had time to fix uponher, they would have operated here. Habits are peculiar things. Theywill drive the really non-religious mind out of bed to say prayers thatare only a custom and not a devotion. The victim of habit, when hehas neglected the thing which it was his custom to do, feels a littlescratching in the brain, a little irritating something which comes ofbeing out of the rut, and imagines it to be the prick of conscience, the still, small voice that is urging him ever to righteousness. If thedigression is unusual enough, the drag of habit will be heavy enoughto cause the unreasoning victim to return and perform the perfunctorything. "Now, bless me, " says such a mind, "I have done my duty, " when, as a matter of fact, it has merely done its old, unbreakable trick onceagain. 

Carrie had no excellent home principles fixed upon her. If she had, shewould have been more consciously distressed. Now the lunch went off withconsiderable warmth. Under the influence of the varied occurrences, thefine, invisible passion which was emanating from Drouet, the food, thestill unusual luxury, she relaxed and heard with open ears. She wasagain the victim of the city's hypnotic influence. 

"Well, " said Drouet at last, "we had better be going. "

They had been dawdling over the dishes, and their eyes had frequentlymet. Carrie could not help but feel the vibration of force whichfollowed, which, indeed, was his gaze. He had a way of touching her handin explanation, as if to impress a fact upon her. He touched it now ashe spoke of going. 

They arose and went out into the street. The downtown section was nowbare, save for a few whistling strollers, a few owl cars, a fewopen resorts whose windows were still bright. Out Wabash Avenue theystrolled, Drouet still pouring forth his volume of small information. Hehad Carrie's arm in his, and held it closely as he explained. Once in awhile, after some witticism, he would look down, and his eyes would meethers. At last they came to the steps, and Carrie stood up on the firstone, her head now coming even with his own. He took her hand and held itgenially. He looked steadily at her as she glanced about, warmly musing. 

At about that hour, Minnie was soundly sleeping, after a long eveningof troubled thought. She had her elbow in an awkward position under herside. The muscles so held irritated a few nerves, and now a vague scenefloated in on the drowsy mind. She fancied she and Carrie were somewherebeside an old coal-mine. She could see the tall runway and the heapof earth and coal cast out. There was a deep pit, into which they werelooking; they could see the curious wet stones far down where the walldisappeared in vague shadows. An old basket, used for descending, washanging there, fastened by a worn rope. 

"Let's get in, " said Carrie. 

"Oh, no, " said Minnie. 

"Yes, come on, " said Carrie. 

She began to pull the basket over, and now, in spite of all protest, shehad swung over and was going down. 

"Carrie, " she called, "Carrie, come back"; but Carrie was far down nowand the shadow had swallowed her completely. 

She moved her arm. 

Now the mystic scenery merged queerly and the place was by waters shehad never seen. They were upon some board or ground or something thatreached far out, and at the end of this was Carrie. They looked about, and now the thing was sinking, and Minnie heard the low sip of theencroaching water. 

"Come on, Carrie, " she called, but Carrie was reaching farther out. Sheseemed to recede, and now it was difficult to call to her. 

"Carrie, " she called, "Carrie, " but her own voice sounded far away, andthe strange waters were blurring everything. She came away suffering asthough she had lost something. She was more inexpressibly sad than shehad ever been in life. 

It was this way through many shifts of the tired brain, those curiousphantoms of the spirit slipping in, blurring strange scenes, one withthe other. The last one made her cry out, for Carrie was slipping awaysomewhere over a rock, and her fingers had let loose and she had seenher falling. 

"Minnie! What's the matter? Here, wake up, " said Hanson, disturbed, andshaking her by the shoulder. 

"Wha--what's the matter?" said Minnie, drowsily. 

"Wake up, " he said, "and turn over. You're talking in your sleep. "

A week or so later Drouet strolled into Fitzgerald and Moy's, spruce indress and manner. 

"Hello, Charley, " said Hurstwood, looking out from his office door. 

Drouet strolled over and looked in upon the manager at his desk. "Whendo you go out on the road again?" he inquired. 

"Pretty soon, " said Drouet. 

"Haven't seen much of you this trip, " said Hurstwood. 

"Well, I've 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 comeout some evening. "

"Out where?" inquired Hurstwood. 

"Out to my house, of course, " said Drouet, smiling. 

Hurstwood looked up quizzically, the least suggestion of a smilehovering about his lips. He studied the face of Drouet in his wise way, and then with the demeanour of a gentleman, said: "Certainly; glad to. "

"We'll have a nice game of euchre. "

"May I bring a nice little bottle of Sec?" asked Hurstwood. "Certainly, "said Drouet. "I'll introduce you. "

Chapter IX. CONVENTION'S OWN TINDER-BOX--THE EYE THAT IS GREEN

Hurstwood's residence on the North Side, near Lincoln Park, was a brickbuilding of a very popular type then, a three-story affair with thefirst floor sunk a very little below the level of the street. It had alarge bay window bulging out from the second floor, and was graced infront by a small grassy plot, twenty-five feet wide and ten feetdeep. There was also a small rear yard, walled in by the fences of theneighbours and holding a stable where he kept his horse and trap. 

The ten rooms of the house were occupied by himself, his wife Julia, andhis son and daughter, George, Jr. , and Jessica. There were besidesthese a maid-servant, represented from time to time by girls of variousextraction, for Mrs. Hurstwood was not always easy to please. 

"George, I let Mary go yesterday, " was not an unfrequent salutation atthe dinner table. 

"All right, " was his only reply. He had long since wearied of discussingthe rancorous subject. 

A lovely home atmosphere is one of the flowers of the world, thanwhich there is nothing more tender, nothing more delicate, nothing morecalculated to make strong and just the natures cradled and nourishedwithin it. Those who have never experienced such a beneficent influencewill not understand wherefore the tear springs glistening to the eyelidsat some strange breath in lovely music. The mystic chords which bind andthrill the heart of the nation, they will never know. 

Hurstwood's residence could scarcely be said to be infused with thishome spirit. It lacked that toleration and regard without which thehome is nothing. There was fine furniture, arranged as soothingly as theartistic perception of the occupants warranted. There were soft rugs, rich, upholstered chairs and divans, a grand piano, a marble carving ofsome unknown Venus by some unknown artist, and a number of small bronzesgathered from heaven knows where, but generally sold by the largefurniture houses along with everything else which goes to make the"perfectly appointed house. "

In the dining-room stood a sideboard laden with glistening decanters andother utilities and ornaments in glass, the arrangement of which couldnot be questioned. Here was something Hurstwood knew about. He hadstudied the subject for years in his business. He took no littlesatisfaction in telling each Mary, shortly after she arrived, somethingof what the art of the thing required. He was not garrulous by anymeans. On the contrary, there was a fine reserve in his mannertoward the entire domestic economy of his life which was all that iscomprehended by the popular term, gentlemanly. He would not argue, hewould not talk freely. In his manner was something of the dogmatist. What he could not correct, he would ignore. There was a tendency in himto walk away from the impossible thing. 

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 amountof reserve and independence which was not inviting to the richest formof parental devotion. She was in the high school, and had notions oflife which were decidedly those of a patrician. She liked nice clothesand urged for them constantly. Thoughts of love and elegant individualestablishments were running in her head. She met girls at the highschool whose parents were truly rich and whose fathers had standinglocally as partners or owners of solid businesses. These girls gavethemselves the airs befitting the thriving domestic establishments fromwhence they issued. They were the only ones of the school about whomJessica concerned herself. 

Young Hurstwood, Jr. , was in his twentieth year, and was alreadyconnected in a promising capacity with a large real estate firm. Hecontributed nothing for the domestic expenses of the family, but wasthought to be saving his money to invest in real estate. He had someability, considerable vanity, and a love of pleasure that had not, asyet, infringed upon his duties, whatever they were. He came in and wentout, pursuing his own plans and fancies, addressing a few words to hismother occasionally, relating some little incident to his father, butfor the most part confining himself to those generalities with whichmost conversation concerns itself. He was not laying bare hisdesires for any one to see. He did not find any one in the house whoparticularly cared to see. 

Mrs. Hurstwood was the type of woman who has ever endeavoured toshine and has been more or less chagrined at the evidences of superiorcapability in this direction elsewhere. Her knowledge of life extendedto that little conventional round of society of which she was not--butlonged to be--a member. She was not without realisation alreadythat this thing was impossible, so far as she was concerned. For herdaughter, she hoped better things. Through Jessica she might risea little. Through George, Jr. 's, possible success she might draw toherself the privilege of pointing proudly. Even Hurstwood was doing wellenough, and she was anxious that his small real estate adventures shouldprosper. His property holdings, as yet, were rather small, but hisincome was pleasing and his position with Fitzgerald and Moy was fixed. Both those gentlemen were on pleasant and rather informal terms withhim. 

The atmosphere which such personalities would create must be apparent toall. It worked out in a thousand little conversations, all of which wereof the same calibre. 

"I'm going up to Fox Lake to-morrow, " announced George, Jr. , at thedinner table one Friday evening. 

"What's going on up there?" queried Mrs. Hurstwood. 

"Eddie Fahrway's got a new steam launch, and he wants me to come up andsee how it works. "

"How much did it cost him?" asked his mother. 

"Oh, over two thousand dollars. He says it's a dandy. "

"Old Fahrway must be making money, " put in Hurstwood. 

"He is, I guess. Jack told me they were shipping Vegacura to Australianow--said they sent a whole box to Cape Town last week. "

"Just think of that!" said Mrs. Hurstwood, "and only four years ago theyhad that basement in Madison Street. "

"Jack told me they were going to put up a six-story building next springin Robey Street. "

"Just think of that!" said Jessica. 

On this particular occasion Hurstwood wished to leave early. 

"I guess I'll be going down town, " he remarked, rising. 

"Are we going to McVicker's Monday?" questioned Mrs. Hurstwood, withoutrising. 

"Yes, " he said indifferently. 

They went on dining, while he went upstairs for his hat and coat. Presently the door clicked. 

"I guess papa's gone, " said Jessica. 

The latter's school news was of a particular stripe. 

"They're going to give a performance in the Lyceum, upstairs, " shereported one day, "and I'm going to be in it. "

"Are you?" said her mother. 

"Yes, and I'll have to have a new dress. Some of the nicest girls in theschool are going to be in it. Miss Palmer is going to take the part ofPortia. "

"Is she?" said Mrs. Hurstwood. 

"They've got that Martha Griswold in it again. She thinks she can act. "

"Her family doesn't amount to anything, does it?" said Mrs. Hurstwoodsympathetically. "They haven't anything, have they?"

"No, " returned Jessica, "they're poor as church mice. "

She distinguished very carefully between the young boys of the school, many of whom were attracted by her beauty. 

"What do you think?" she remarked to her mother one evening; "thatHerbert Crane tried to make friends with me. "

"Who is he, my dear?" inquired Mrs. Hurstwood. 

"Oh, no one, " said Jessica, pursing her pretty lips. "He's just astudent there. He hasn't anything. "

The other half of this picture came when young Blyford, son of Blyford, the soap manufacturer, walked home with her. Mrs. Hurstwood was on thethird floor, sitting in a rocking-chair reading, and happened to lookout at the time. 

"Who was that with you, Jessica?" she inquired, as Jessica cameupstairs. 

"It's Mr. Blyford, mamma, " she replied. 

"Is it?" said Mrs. Hurstwood. 

"Yes, and he wants me to stroll over into the park with him, " explainedJessica, a little flushed with running up the stairs. 

"All right, my dear, " said Mrs. Hurstwood. "Don't be gone long. "

As the two went down the street, she glanced interestedly out of thewindow. It was a most satisfactory spectacle indeed, most satisfactory. 

In this atmosphere Hurstwood had moved for a number of years, notthinking deeply concerning it. His was not the order of nature totrouble for something better, unless the better was immediately andsharply contrasted. As it was, he received and gave, irritated sometimesby the little displays of selfish indifference, pleased at times by someshow of finery which supposedly made for dignity and social distinction. The life of the resort which he managed was his life. There he spentmost of his time. When he went home evenings the house looked nice. With rare exceptions the meals were acceptable, being the kind that anordinary servant can arrange. In part, he was interested in the talkof his son and daughter, who always looked well. The vanity of Mrs. Hurstwood caused her to keep her person rather showily arrayed, but toHurstwood this was much better than plainness. There was no love lostbetween them. There was no great feeling of dissatisfaction. Her opinionon any subject was not startling. They did not talk enough togetherto come to the argument of any one point. In the accepted and popularphrase, she had her ideas and he had his. Once in a while he would meeta woman whose youth, sprightliness, and humour would make his wife seemrather deficient by contrast, but the temporary dissatisfaction whichsuch an encounter might arouse would be counterbalanced by his socialposition and a certain matter of policy. He could not complicate hishome life, because it might affect his relations with his employers. They wanted no scandals. A man, to hold his position, must havea dignified manner, a clean record, a respectable home anchorage. Therefore he was circumspect in all he did, and whenever he appeared inthe public ways in the afternoon, or on Sunday, it was with his wife, and sometimes his children. He would visit the local resorts, or thosenear by in Wisconsin, and spend a few stiff, polished days strollingabout conventional places doing conventional things. He knew the need ofit. 

When some one of the many middle-class individuals whom he knew, who hadmoney, would get into trouble, he would shake his head. It didn't do totalk about those things. If it came up for discussion among such friendsas with him passed for close, he would deprecate the folly of the thing. "It was all right to do it--all men do those things--but why wasn't hecareful? A man can't be too careful. " He lost sympathy for the man thatmade a mistake and was found out. 

On this account he still devoted some time to showing his wifeabout--time which would have been wearisome indeed if it had not beenfor the people he would meet and the little enjoyments which did notdepend upon her presence or absence. He watched her with considerablecuriosity at times, for she was still attractive in a way and menlooked at her. She was affable, vain, subject to flattery, and thiscombination, he knew quite well, might produce a tragedy in a woman ofher home position. Owing to his order of mind, his confidence in the sexwas not great. His wife never possessed the virtues which would win theconfidence and admiration of a man of his nature. As long as she lovedhim vigorously he could see how confidence could be, but when that wasno longer the binding chain--well, something might happen. 

During the last year or two the expenses of the family seemed a largething. Jessica wanted fine clothes, and Mrs. Hurstwood, not to beoutshone by her daughter, also frequently enlivened her apparel. Hurstwood had said nothing in the past, but one day he murmured. 

"Jessica must have a new dress this month, " said Mrs. Hurstwood onemorning. 

Hurstwood was arraying himself in one of his perfection vests before theglass at the time. 

"I thought she just bought one, " he said. 

"That was just something for evening wear, " returned his wifecomplacently. 

"It seems to me, " returned Hurstwood, "that she's spending a good dealfor dresses of late. "

"Well, she's going out more, " concluded his wife, but the tone of hisvoice impressed her as containing something she had not heard therebefore. 

He was not a man who traveled much, but when he did, he had beenaccustomed to take her along. On one occasion recently a localaldermanic junket had been arranged to visit Philadelphia--a junket thatwas to last ten days. Hurstwood had been invited. 

"Nobody knows us down there, " said one, a gentleman whose face was aslight improvement over gross ignorance and sensuality. He always worea silk hat of most imposing proportions. "We can have a good time. "His left eye moved with just the semblance of a wink. "You want to comealong, George. "

The next day Hurstwood announced his intention to his wife. 

"I'm going away, Julia, " he said, "for a few days. "

"Where?" she asked, looking up. 

"To Philadelphia, on business. "

She looked at him consciously, expecting something else. 

"I'll have to leave you behind this time. "

"All right, " she replied, but he could see that she was thinking that itwas a curious thing. Before he went she asked him a few more questions, and that irritated him. He began to feel that she was a disagreeableattachment. 

On this trip he enjoyed himself thoroughly, and when it was over hewas sorry to get back. He was not willingly a prevaricator, and hatedthoroughly to make explanations concerning it. The whole incident wasglossed over with general remarks, but Mrs. Hurstwood gave the subjectconsiderable thought. She drove out more, dressed better, and attendedtheatres freely to make up for it. 

Such an atmosphere could hardly come under the category of home life. Itran along by force of habit, by force of conventional opinion. Withthe lapse of time it must necessarily become dryer and dryer--musteventually be tinder, easily lighted and destroyed. 

Chapter X. THE COUNSEL OF WINTER--FORTUNE'S AMBASSADOR CALLS

In the light of the world's attitude toward woman and her duties, thenature of Carrie's mental state deserves consideration. Actions suchas hers are measured by an arbitrary scale. Society possesses aconventional standard whereby it judges all things. All men should begood, all women virtuous. Wherefore, villain, hast thou failed?

For all the liberal analysis of Spencer and our modern naturalisticphilosophers, we have but an infantile perception of morals. There ismore in the subject than mere conformity to a law of evolution. It isyet deeper than conformity to things of earth alone. It is more involvedthan we, as yet, perceive. Answer, first, why the heart thrills; explainwherefore some plaintive note goes wandering about the world, undying;make clear the rose's subtle alchemy evolving its ruddy lamp in lightand rain. In the essence of these facts lie the first principles ofmorals. 

"Oh, " thought Drouet, "how delicious is my conquest. "

"Ah, " thought Carrie, with mournful misgivings, "what is it I havelost?"

Before this world-old proposition we stand, serious, interested, confused; endeavouring to evolve the true theory of morals--the trueanswer to what is right. 

In the view of a certain stratum of society, Carrie was comfortablyestablished--in the eyes of the starveling, beaten by every wind andgusty sheet of rain, she was safe in a halcyon harbour. Drouet had takenthree rooms, furnished, in Ogden Place, facing Union Park, on the WestSide. That was a little, green-carpeted breathing spot, than which, to-day, there is nothing more beautiful in Chicago. It afforded a vistapleasant to contemplate. The best room looked out upon the lawn of thepark, now sear and brown, where a little lake lay sheltered. Over thebare limbs of the trees, which now swayed in the wintry wind, rose thesteeple of the Union Park Congregational Church, and far off the towersof several others. 

The rooms were comfortably enough furnished. There was a good Brusselscarpet on the floor, rich in dull red and lemon shades, and representinglarge jardinieres filled with gorgeous, impossible flowers. There was alarge pier-glass mirror between the two windows. A large, soft, green, plush-covered couch occupied one corner, and several rocking-chairswere set about. Some pictures, several rugs, a few small pieces ofbric-a-brac, and the tale of contents is told. 

In the bedroom, off the front room, was Carrie's trunk, bought byDrouet, and in the wardrobe built into the wall quite an array ofclothing--more than she had ever possessed before, and of very becomingdesigns. There was a third room for possible use as a kitchen, whereDrouet had Carrie establish a little portable gas stove for thepreparation of small lunches, oysters, Welsh rarebits, and the like, ofwhich he was exceedingly fond; and, lastly, a bath. The whole place wascosey, in that it was lighted by gas and heated by furnace registers, possessing also a small grate, set with an asbestos back, a method ofcheerful warming which was then first coming into use. By her industryand natural love of order, which now developed, the place maintained anair pleasing in the extreme. 

Here, then, was Carrie, established in a pleasant fashion, free ofcertain difficulties which most ominously confronted her, laden withmany new ones which were of a mental order, and altogether so turnedabout in all of her earthly relationships that she might well have beena new and different individual. She looked into her glass and saw aprettier Carrie than she had seen before; she looked into her mind, amirror prepared of her own and the world's opinions, and saw a worse. Between these two images she wavered, hesitating which to believe. 

"My, but you're a little beauty, " Drouet was wont to exclaim to her. 

She would look at him with large, pleased eyes. 

"You know it, don't you?" he would continue. 

"Oh, I don't know, " she would reply, feeling delight in the fact thatone should think so, hesitating to believe, though she really did, thatshe was vain enough to think so much of herself. 

Her conscience, however, was not a Drouet, interested to praise. Thereshe heard a different voice, with which she argued, pleaded, excused. Itwas no just and sapient counsellor, in its last analysis. It was only anaverage little conscience, a thing which represented the world, her pastenvironment, habit, convention, in a confused way. With it, the voice ofthe people was truly the voice of God. 

"Oh, thou failure!" said the voice. 

"Why?" she questioned. 

"Look at those about, " came the whispered answer. "Look at those who aregood. How would they scorn to do what you have done. Look at the goodgirls; how will they draw away from such as you when they know you havebeen weak. You had not tried before you failed. "

It was when Carrie was alone, looking out across the park, that shewould be listening to this. It would come infrequently--when somethingelse did not interfere, when the pleasant side was not too apparent, when Drouet was not there. It was somewhat clear in utterance at first, but never wholly convincing. There was always an answer, always theDecember days threatened. She was alone; she was desireful; she wasfearful of the whistling wind. The voice of want made answer for her. 

Once the bright days of summer pass by, a city takes on that sombregarb of grey, wrapt in which it goes about its labours during the longwinter. Its endless buildings look grey, its sky and its streets assumea sombre hue; the scattered, leafless trees and wind-blown dust andpaper but add to the general solemnity of colour. There seems to besomething in the chill breezes which scurry through the long, narrowthoroughfares productive of rueful thoughts. Not poets alone, norartists, nor that superior order of mind which arrogates to itself allrefinement, feel this, but dogs and all men. These feel as much as thepoet, though they have not the same power of expression. The sparrowupon the wire, the cat in the doorway, the dray horse tugging his wearyload, feel the long, keen breaths of winter. It strikes to the heart ofall life, animate and inanimate. If it were not for the artificial firesof merriment, the rush of profit-seeking trade, and pleasure-sellingamusements; if the various merchants failed to make the customarydisplay within and without their establishments; if our streets werenot strung with signs of gorgeous hues and thronged with hurryingpurchasers, we would quickly discover how firmly the chill hand ofwinter lays upon the heart; how dispiriting are the days during whichthe sun withholds a portion of our allowance of light and warmth. We aremore dependent upon these things than is often thought. We are insectsproduced by heat, and pass without it. 

In the drag of such a grey day the secret voice would reassert itself, feebly and more feebly. 

Such mental conflict was not always uppermost. Carrie was not by anymeans a gloomy soul. More, she had not the mind to get firm hold upon adefinite truth. When she could not find her way out of the labyrinth ofill-logic which thought upon the subject created, she would turn awayentirely. 

Drouet, all the time, was conducting himself in a model way for one ofhis sort. He took her about a great deal, spent money upon her, and whenhe travelled took her with him. There were times when she would bealone for two or three days, while he made the shorter circuits of hisbusiness, but, as a rule, she saw a great deal of him. 

"Say, Carrie, " he said one morning, shortly after they had soestablished themselves, "I've invited my friend Hurstwood to come outsome day and spend the evening with us. "

"Who is he?" asked Carrie doubtfully. 

"Oh, he's a nice man. He's manager of Fitzgerald and Moy's. "

"What's that?" said Carrie. 

"The finest resort in town. It's a way-up, swell place. "

Carrie puzzled a moment. She was wondering what Drouet had told him, what her attitude would be. 

"That's all right, " said Drouet, feeling her thought. "He doesn't knowanything. You're Mrs. Drouet now. "

There was something about this which struck Carrie as slightlyinconsiderate. She could see that Drouet did not have the keenestsensibilities. 

"Why don't we get married?" she inquired, thinking of the volublepromises he had made. 

"Well, we will, " he said, "just as soon as I get this little deal ofmine closed up. "

He was referring to some property which he said he had, and whichrequired so much attention, adjustment, and what not, that somehow orother it interfered with his free moral, personal actions. 

"Just as soon as I get back from my Denver trip in January we'll do it. "

Carrie accepted this as basis for hope--it was a sort of salve to herconscience, a pleasant way out. Under the circumstances, things would berighted. Her actions would be justified. She really was not enamoured ofDrouet. She was more clever than he. In a dim way, she was beginning tosee where he lacked. If it had not been for this, if she had not beenable to measure and judge him in a way, she would have been worse offthan she was. She would have adored him. She would have been utterlywretched in her fear of not gaining his affection, of losing hisinterest, of being swept away and left without an anchorage. As itwas, she wavered a little, slightly anxious, at first, to gain himcompletely, but later feeling at ease in waiting. She was not exactlysure what she thought of him--what she wanted to do. 

When Hurstwood called, she met a man who was more clever than Drouetin a hundred ways. He paid that peculiar deference to women which everymember of the sex appreciates. He was not overawed, he was not overbold. His great charm was attentiveness. Schooled in winning those birds offine feather among his own sex, the merchants and professionals whovisited his resort, he could use even greater tact when endeavouring toprove agreeable to some one who charmed him. In a pretty woman of anyrefinement of feeling whatsoever he found his greatest incentive. Hewas mild, placid, assured, giving the impression that he wished to be ofservice only--to do something which would make the lady more pleased. 

Drouet had ability in this line himself when the game was worth thecandle, but he was too much the egotist to reach the polish whichHurstwood possessed. He was too buoyant, too full of ruddy life, tooassured. He succeeded with many who were not quite schooled in the artof love. He failed dismally where the woman was slightly experienced andpossessed innate refinement. In the case of Carrie he found a woman whowas all of the latter, but none of the former. He was lucky in the factthat opportunity tumbled into his lap, as it were. A few years later, with a little more experience, the slightest tide of success, and he hadnot been able to approach Carrie at all. 

"You ought to have a piano here, Drouet, " said Hurstwood, smiling atCarrie, on the evening in question, "so that your wife could play. "

Drouet had not thought of that. 

"So we ought, " he observed readily. 

"Oh, I don't play, " ventured Carrie. 

"It isn't very difficult, " returned Hurstwood. "You could do very wellin a few weeks. "

He was in the best form for entertaining this evening. His clothes wereparticularly new and rich in appearance. The coat lapels stood out withthat medium stiffness which excellent cloth possesses. The vest was ofa rich Scotch plaid, set with a double row of round mother-of-pearlbuttons. His cravat was a shiny combination of silken threads, not loud, not inconspicuous. What he wore did not strike the eye so forciblyas that which Drouet had on, but Carrie could see the elegance of thematerial. Hurstwood's shoes were of soft, black calf, polished only to adull shine. Drouet wore patent leather but Carrie could not help feelingthat there was a distinction in favour of the soft leather, where allelse was so rich. She noticed these things almost unconsciously. Theywere things which would naturally flow from the situation. She was usedto Drouet's appearance. 

"Suppose we have a little game of euchre?" suggested Hurstwood, aftera light round of conversation. He was rather dexterous in avoidingeverything that would suggest that he knew anything of Carrie's past. Hekept away from personalities altogether, and confined himself to thosethings which did not concern individuals at all. By his manner, he putCarrie at her ease, and by his deference and pleasantries he amused her. He pretended to be seriously interested in all she said. 

"I don't know how to play, " said Carrie. 

"Charlie, you are neglecting a part of your duty, " he observed to Drouetmost affably. "Between us, though, " he went on, "we can show you. "

By his tact he made Drouet feel that he admired his choice. There wassomething in his manner that showed that he was pleased to be there. Drouet felt really closer to him than ever before. It gave him morerespect for Carrie. Her appearance came into a new light, underHurstwood's appreciation. The situation livened considerably. 

"Now, let me see, " said Hurstwood, looking over Carrie's shoulder verydeferentially. "What have you?" He studied for a moment. "That's rathergood, " he said. 

"You're lucky. Now, I'll show you how to trounce your husband. You takemy advice. "

"Here, " said Drouet, "if you two are going to scheme together, I won'tstand a ghost of a show. Hurstwood's a regular sharp. "

"No, it's your wife. She brings me luck. Why shouldn't she win?"

Carrie looked gratefully at Hurstwood, and smiled at Drouet. The formertook the air of a mere friend. He was simply there to enjoy himself. Anything that Carrie did was pleasing to him, nothing more. 

"There, " he said, holding back one of his own good cards, and givingCarrie a chance to take a trick. "I count that clever playing for abeginner. "

The latter laughed gleefully as she saw the hand coming her way. It wasas if she were invincible when Hurstwood helped her. 

He did not look at her often. When he did, it was with a mild light inhis eye. Not a shade was there of anything save geniality and kindness. He took back the shifty, clever gleam, and replaced it with one ofinnocence. Carrie could not guess but that it was pleasure with him inthe immediate thing. She felt that he considered she was doing a greatdeal. 

"It's unfair to let such playing go without earning something, " he saidafter a time, slipping his finger into the little coin pocket of hiscoat. "Let's play for dimes. "

"All right, " said Drouet, fishing for bills. 

Hurstwood was quicker. His fingers were full of new ten-cent pieces. "Here we are, " he said, supplying each one with a little stack. 

"Oh, this is gambling, " smiled Carrie. "It's bad. "

"No, " said Drouet, "only fun. If you never play for more than that, youwill go to Heaven. "

"Don't you moralise, " said Hurstwood to Carrie gently, "until you seewhat becomes of the money. "

Drouet smiled. 

"If your husband gets them, he'll tell you how bad it is. "

Drouet laughed loud. 

There was such an ingratiating tone about Hurstwood's voice, theinsinuation was so perceptible that even Carrie got the humour of it. 

"When do you leave?" said Hurstwood to Drouet. 

"On Wednesday, " he replied. 

"It's rather hard to have your husband running about like that, isn'tit?" said Hurstwood, addressing Carrie. 

"She's going along with me this time, " said Drouet. 

"You must both go with me to the theatre before you go. "

"Certainly, " said Drouet. "Eh, Carrie?"

"I'd like it ever so much, " she replied. 

Hurstwood did his best to see that Carrie won the money. He rejoiced inher success, kept counting her winnings, and finally gathered and putthem in her extended hand. They spread a little lunch, at which heserved the wine, and afterwards he used fine tact in going. 

"Now, " he said, addressing first Carrie and then Drouet with his eyes, "you must be ready at 7. 30. I'll come and get you. "

They went with him to the door and there was his cab waiting, its redlamps gleaming cheerfully in the shadow. 

"Now, " he observed to Drouet, with a tone of good-fellowship, "when youleave your wife alone, you must let me show her around a little. It willbreak up her loneliness. "

"Sure, " said Drouet, quite pleased at the attention shown. 

"You're so kind, " observed Carrie. 

"Not at all, " said Hurstwood, "I would want your husband to do as muchfor me. "

He smiled and went lightly away. Carrie was thoroughly impressed. Shehad never come in contact with such grace. As for Drouet, he was equallypleased. 

"There's a nice man, " he remarked to Carrie, as they returned to theircosey chamber. "A good friend of mine, too. "

"He seems to be, " said Carrie. 

Chapter XI. THE PERSUASION OF FASHION--FEELING GUARDS O'ER ITS OWN

Carrie was an apt student of fortune's ways--of fortune'ssuperficialities. Seeing a thing, she would immediately set to inquiringhow she would look, properly related to it. Be it known that this is notfine feeling, it is not wisdom. The greatest minds are not so afflicted;and on the contrary, the lowest order of mind is not so disturbed. Fine clothes to her were a vast persuasion; they spoke tenderly andJesuitically for themselves. When she came within earshot of theirpleading, desire in her bent a willing ear. The voice of the so-calledinanimate! Who shall translate for us the language of the stones?

"My dear, " said the lace collar she secured from Partridge's, "I fit youbeautifully; don't give me up. "

"Ah, such little feet, " said the leather of the soft new shoes; "howeffectively I cover them. What a pity they should ever want my aid. "

Once these things were in her hand, on her person, she might dream ofgiving them up; the method by which they came might intrude itself soforcibly that she would ache to be rid of the thought of it, but shewould not give them up. "Put on the old clothes--that torn pair ofshoes, " was called to her by her conscience in vain. She could possiblyhave conquered the fear of hunger and gone back; the thought of hardwork and a narrow round of suffering would, under the last pressure ofconscience, have yielded, but spoil her appearance?--be old-clothed andpoor-appearing?--never!

Drouet heightened her opinion on this and allied subjects in such amanner as to weaken her power of resisting their influence. It is soeasy to do this when the thing opined is in the line of what we desire. In his hearty way, he insisted upon her good looks. He looked at heradmiringly, and she took it at its full value. Under the circumstances, she did not need to carry herself as pretty women do. She picked thatknowledge up fast enough for herself. Drouet had a habit, characteristicof his kind, of looking after stylishly dressed or pretty women on thestreet and remarking upon them. He had just enough of the feminine loveof dress to be a good judge--not of intellect, but of clothes. He sawhow they set their little feet, how they carried their chins, with whatgrace and sinuosity they swung their bodies. A dainty, self-consciousswaying of the hips by a woman was to him as alluring as the glint ofrare wine to a toper. He would turn and follow the disappearing visionwith his eyes. He would thrill as a child with the unhindered passionthat was in him. He loved the thing that women love in themselves, grace. At this, their own shrine, he knelt with them, an ardent devotee. 

"Did you see that woman who went by just now?" he said to Carrie on thefirst day they took a walk together. "Fine stepper, wasn't she?"

Carrie looked, and observed the grace commended. 

"Yes, she is, " she returned, cheerfully, a little suggestion of possibledefect in herself awakening in her mind. If that was so fine, she mustlook at it more closely. Instinctively, she felt a desire to imitate it. Surely she could do that too. 

When one of her mind sees many things emphasized and re-emphasized andadmired, she gathers the logic of it and applies accordingly. Drouetwas not shrewd enough to see that this was not tactful. He could notsee that it would be better to make her feel that she was competing withherself, not others better than herself. He would not have done it withan older, wiser woman, but in Carrie he saw only the novice. Less cleverthan she, he was naturally unable to comprehend her sensibility. Hewent on educating and wounding her, a thing rather foolish in one whoseadmiration for his pupil and victim was apt to grow. 

Carrie took the instructions affably. She saw what Drouet liked; in avague way she saw where he was weak. It lessens a woman's opinion of aman when she learns that his admiration is so pointedly and generouslydistributed. She sees but one object of supreme compliment in thisworld, and that is herself. If a man is to succeed with many women, hemust be all in all to each. 

In her own apartments Carrie saw things which were lessons in the sameschool. 

In the same house with her lived an official of one of the theatres, Mr. Frank A. Hale, manager of the Standard, and his wife, a pleasing-lookingbrunette of thirty-five. They were people of a sort very common inAmerica today, who live respectably from hand to mouth. Hale receiveda salary of forty-five dollars a week. His wife, quite attractive, affected the feeling of youth, and objected to that sort of home lifewhich means the care of a house and the raising of a family. Like Drouetand Carrie, they also occupied three rooms on the floor above. 

Not long after she arrived Mrs. Hale established social relations withher, and together they went about. For a long time this was her onlycompanionship, and the gossip of the manager's wife formed the mediumthrough which she saw the world. Such trivialities, such praises ofwealth, such conventional expression of morals as sifted through thispassive creature's mind, fell upon Carrie and for the while confusedher. 

On the other hand, her own feelings were a corrective influence. Theconstant drag to something better was not to be denied. By those thingswhich address the heart was she steadily recalled. In the apartmentsacross the hall were a young girl and her mother. They were fromEvansville, Indiana, the wife and daughter of a railroad treasurer. Thedaughter was here to study music, the mother to keep her company. 

Carrie did not make their acquaintance, but she saw the daughter comingin and going out. A few times she had seen her at the piano in theparlour, and not infrequently had heard her play. This young woman wasparticularly dressy for her station, and wore a jewelled ring or twowhich flashed upon her white fingers as she played. 

Now Carrie was affected by music. Her nervous composition respondedto certain strains, much as certain strings of a harp vibrate when acorresponding key of a piano is struck. She was delicately mouldedin sentiment, and answered with vague ruminations to certain wistfulchords. They awoke longings for those things which she did not have. They caused her to cling closer to things she possessed. One short songthe young lady played in a most soulful and tender mood. Carrie heardit through the open door from the parlour below. It was at that hourbetween afternoon and night when, for the idle, the wanderer, things areapt to take on a wistful aspect. The mind wanders forth on far journeysand returns with sheaves of withered and departed joys. Carrie sat ather window looking out. Drouet had been away since ten in the morning. She had amused herself with a walk, a book by Bertha M. Clay whichDrouet had left there, though she did not wholly enjoy the latter, andby changing her dress for the evening. Now she sat looking out acrossthe park as wistful and depressed as the nature which craves variety andlife can be under such circumstances. As she contemplated her new state, the strain from the parlour below stole upward. With it her thoughtsbecame coloured and enmeshed. She reverted to the things which were bestand saddest within the small limit of her experience. She became for themoment a repentant. 

While she was in this mood Drouet came in, bringing with him an entirelydifferent atmosphere. It was dusk and Carrie had neglected to light thelamp. The fire in the grate, too, had burned low. 

"Where are you, Cad?" he said, using a pet name he had given her. 

"Here, " she answered. 

There was something delicate and lonely in her voice, but he could nothear it. He had not the poetry in him that would seek a woman out undersuch circumstances and console her for the tragedy of life. Instead, hestruck a match and lighted the gas. 

"Hello, " he exclaimed, "you've been crying. "

Her eyes were still wet with a few vague tears. 

"Pshaw, " he said, "you don't want to do that. "

He took her hand, feeling in his good-natured egotism that it wasprobably lack of his presence which had made her lonely. 

"Come on, now, " he went on; "it's all right. Let's waltz a little tothat music. "

He could not have introduced a more incongruous proposition. It madeclear to Carrie that he could not sympathise with her. She could nothave framed thoughts which would have expressed his defect or made clearthe difference between them, but she felt it. It was his first greatmistake. 

What Drouet said about the girl's grace, as she tripped out eveningsaccompanied by her mother, caused Carrie to perceive the nature andvalue of those little modish ways which women adopt when they wouldpresume to be something. She looked in the mirror and pursed up herlips, accompanying it with a little toss of the head, as she had seenthe railroad treasurer's daughter do. She caught up her skirts with aneasy swing, for had not Drouet remarked that in her and several others, and Carrie was naturally imitative. She began to get the hang of thoselittle things which the pretty woman who has vanity invariably adopts. In short, her knowledge of grace doubled, and with it her appearancechanged. She became a girl of considerable taste. 

Drouet noticed this. He saw the new bow in her hair and the new way ofarranging her locks which she affected one morning. 

"You look fine that way, Cad, " he said. 

"Do I?" she replied, sweetly. It made her try for other effects thatselfsame day. 

She used her feet less heavily, a thing that was brought about by herattempting to imitate the treasurer's daughter's graceful carriage. Howmuch influence the presence of that young woman in the same house hadupon her it would be difficult to say. But, because of all these things, when Hurstwood called he had found a young woman who was much more thanthe Carrie to whom Drouet had first spoken. The primary defects of dressand manner had passed. She was pretty, graceful, rich in the timidityborn of uncertainty, and with a something childlike in her large eyeswhich captured the fancy of this starched and conventional poser amongmen. It was the ancient attraction of the fresh for the stale. Ifthere was a touch of appreciation left in him for the bloom andunsophistication which is the charm of youth, it rekindled now. Helooked into her pretty face and felt the subtle waves of young liferadiating therefrom. In that large clear eye he could see nothing thathis blase nature could understand as guile. The little vanity, if hecould have perceived it there, would have touched him as a pleasantthing. 

"I wonder, " he said, as he rode away in his cab, "how Drouet came to winher. "

He gave her credit for feelings superior to Drouet at the first glance. 

The cab plopped along between the far-receding lines of gas lamps oneither hand. He folded his gloved hands and saw only the lighted chamberand Carrie's face. He was pondering over the delight of youthful beauty. 

"I'll have a bouquet for her, " he thought. "Drouet won't mind. " Henever for a moment concealed the fact of her attraction for himself. He troubled himself not at all about Drouet's priority. He was merelyfloating those gossamer threads of thought which, like the spider's, he hoped would lay hold somewhere. He did not know, he could not guess, what the result would be. 

A few weeks later Drouet, in his peregrinations, encountered one of hiswell-dressed lady acquaintances in Chicago on his return from a shorttrip to Omaha. He had intended to hurry out to Ogden Place and surpriseCarrie, but now he fell into an interesting conversation and soonmodified his original intention. 

"Let's go to dinner, " he said, little recking any chance meeting whichmight trouble his way. 

"Certainly, " said his companion. 

They visited one of the better restaurants for a social chat. It wasfive in the afternoon when they met; it was seven-thirty before the lastbone was picked. 

Drouet was just finishing a little incident he was relating, and hisface was expanding into a smile, when Hurstwood's eye caught his own. The latter had come in with several friends, and, seeing Drouet and somewoman, not Carrie, drew his own conclusion. 

"Ah, the rascal, " he thought, and then, with a touch of righteoussympathy, "that's pretty hard on the little girl. "

Drouet jumped from one easy thought to another as he caught Hurstwood'seye. He felt but very little misgiving, until he saw that Hurstwood wascautiously pretending not to see. Then some of the latter's impressionforced itself upon him. He thought of Carrie and their last meeting. By George, he would have to explain this to Hurstwood. Such a chancehalf-hour with an old friend must not have anything more attached to itthan it really warranted. 

For the first time he was troubled. Here was a moral complication ofwhich he could not possibly get the ends. Hurstwood would laugh at himfor being a fickle boy. He would laugh with Hurstwood. Carrie wouldnever hear, his present companion at table would never know, and yet hecould not help feeling that he was getting the worst of it--there wassome faint stigma attached, and he was not guilty. He broke up thedinner by becoming dull, and saw his companion on her car. Then he wenthome. 

"He hasn't talked to me about any of these later flames, " thoughtHurstwood to himself. "He thinks I think he cares for the girl outthere. "

"He ought not to think I'm knocking around, since I have just introducedhim out there, " thought Drouet. 

"I saw you, " Hurstwood said, genially, the next time Drouet drifted into his polished resort, from which he could not stay away. He raised hisforefinger indicatively, as parents do to children. 

"An old acquaintance of mine that I ran into just as I was coming upfrom the station, " explained Drouet. "She used to be quite a beauty. "

"Still attracts a little, eh?" returned the other, affecting to jest. 

"Oh, no, " said Drouet, "just couldn't escape her this time. "

"How long are you here?" asked Hurstwood. 

"Only a few days. "

"You must bring the girl down and take dinner with me, " he said. "I'm afraid you keep her cooped up out there. I'll get a box for JoeJefferson. "

"Not me, " answered the drummer. "Sure I'll come. "

This pleased Hurstwood immensely. He gave Drouet no credit for anyfeelings toward Carrie whatever. He envied him, and now, as he looked atthe well-dressed jolly salesman, whom he so much liked, the gleam ofthe rival glowed in his eye. He began to "size up" Drouet from thestandpoints of wit and fascination. He began to look to see where he wasweak. There was no disputing that, whatever he might think of him as agood fellow, he felt a certain amount of contempt for him as a lover. Hecould hoodwink him all right. Why, if he would just let Carrie see onesuch little incident as that of Thursday, it would settle the matter. He ran on in thought, almost exulting, the while he laughed and chatted, and Drouet felt nothing. He had no power of analysing the glance and theatmosphere of a man like Hurstwood. He stood and smiled and accepted theinvitation while his friend examined him with the eye of a hawk. 

The object of this peculiarly involved comedy was not thinking ofeither. She was busy adjusting her thoughts and feelings to newerconditions, and was not in danger of suffering disturbing pangs fromeither quarter. One evening Drouet found her dressing herself before theglass. 

"Cad, " said he, catching her, "I believe you're getting vain. "

"Nothing of the kind, " she returned, smiling. 

"Well, you're mighty pretty, " he went on, slipping his arm around her. "Put on that navy-blue dress of yours and I'll take you to the show. "

"Oh, I've promised Mrs. Hale to go with her to the Exposition to-night, "she returned, apologetically. 

"You did, eh?" he said, studying the situation abstractedly. "I wouldn'tcare to go to that myself. "

"Well, I don't know, " answered Carrie, puzzling, but not offering tobreak her promise in his favour. 

Just then a knock came at their door and the maidservant handed a letterin. 

"He says there's an answer expected, " she explained. 

"It's from Hurstwood, " said Drouet, noting the superscription as he toreit open. 

"You are to come down and see Joe Jefferson with me to-night, " it ranin part. "It's my turn, as we agreed the other day. All other bets areoff. "

"Well, what do you say to this?" asked Drouet, innocently, whileCarrie's mind bubbled with favourable replies. 

"You had better decide, Charlie, " she said, reservedly. 

"I guess we had better go, if you can break that engagement upstairs, "said Drouet. 

"Oh, I can, " returned Carrie without thinking. 

Drouet selected writing paper while Carrie went to change her dress. Shehardly explained to herself why this latest invitation appealed to hermost. 

"Shall I wear my hair as I did yesterday?" she asked, as she came outwith several articles of apparel pending. 

"Sure, " he returned, pleasantly. 

She was relieved to see that he felt nothing. She did not credit herwillingness to go to any fascination Hurstwood held for her. Itseemed that the combination of Hurstwood, Drouet, and herself wasmore agreeable than anything else that had been suggested. She arrayedherself most carefully and they started off, extending excuses upstairs. 

"I say, " said Hurstwood, as they came up the theatre lobby, "we areexceedingly charming this evening. "

Carrie fluttered under his approving glance. 

"Now, then, " he said, leading the way up the foyer into the theatre. 

If ever there was dressiness it was here. It was the personification ofthe old term spick and span. 

"Did you ever see Jefferson?" he questioned, as he leaned toward Carriein the box. 

"I never did, " she returned. 

"He's delightful, delightful, " he went on, giving the commonplacerendition of approval which such men know. He sent Drouet after aprogramme, and then discoursed to Carrie concerning Jefferson as he hadheard of him. The former was pleased beyond expression, and was reallyhypnotised by the environment, the trappings of the box, the elegance ofher companion. Several times their eyes accidentally met, and thenthere poured into hers such a flood of feeling as she had never beforeexperienced. She could not for the moment explain it, for in the nextglance or the next move of the hand there was seeming indifference, mingled only with the kindest attention. 

Drouet shared in the conversation, but he was almost dull in comparison. Hurstwood entertained them both, and now it was driven into Carrie'smind that here was the superior man. She instinctively felt that he wasstronger and higher, and yet withal so simple. By the end of the thirdact she was sure that Drouet was only a kindly soul, but otherwisedefective. He sank every moment in her estimation by the strongcomparison. 

"I have had such a nice time, " said Carrie, when it was all over andthey were coming out. 

"Yes, indeed, " added Drouet, who was not in the least aware that abattle had been fought and his defences weakened. He was like theEmperor of China, who sat glorying in himself, unaware that his fairestprovinces were being wrested from him. 

"Well, you have saved me a dreary evening, " returned Hurstwood. "Good-night. "

He took Carrie's little hand, and a current of feeling swept from one tothe other. 

"I'm so tired, " said Carrie, leaning back in the car when Drouet beganto talk. 

"Well, you rest a little while I smoke, " he said, rising, and then hefoolishly went to the forward platform of the car and left the game asit stood. 

Chapter XII. OF THE LAMPS OF THE MANSIONS--THE AMBASSADOR PLEA

Mrs. Hurstwood was not aware of any of her husband's moral defections, though she might readily have suspected his tendencies, which she wellunderstood. She was a woman upon whose action under provocation youcould never count. Hurstwood, for one, had not the slightest idea ofwhat she would do under certain circumstances. He had never seen herthoroughly aroused. In fact, she was not a woman who would fly into apassion. She had too little faith in mankind not to know that they wereerring. She was too calculating to jeopardize any advantage she mightgain in the way of information by fruitless clamour. Her wrath wouldnever wreak itself in one fell blow. She would wait and brood, studyingthe details and adding to them until her power might be commensuratewith her desire for revenge. At the same time, she would not delay toinflict any injury, big or little, which would wound the object of herrevenge and still leave him uncertain as to the source of the evil. Shewas a cold, self-centred woman, with many a thought of her own whichnever found expression, not even by so much as the glint of an eye. 

Hurstwood felt some of this in her nature, though he did not actuallyperceive it. He dwelt with her in peace and some satisfaction. He didnot fear her in the least--there was no cause for it. She still took afaint pride in him, which was augmented by her desire to have her socialintegrity maintained. She was secretly somewhat pleased by the factthat much of her husband's property was in her name, a precaution whichHurstwood had taken when his home interests were somewhat more alluringthan at present. His wife had not the slightest reason to feel thatanything would ever go amiss with their household, and yet the shadowswhich run before gave her a thought of the good of it now and then. Shewas in a position to become refractory with considerable advantage, andHurstwood conducted himself circumspectly because he felt that he couldnot be sure of anything once she became dissatisfied. 

It so happened that on the night when Hurstwood, Carrie, and Drouetwere in the box at McVickar's, George, Jr. , was in the sixth row of theparquet with the daughter of H. B. Carmichael, the third partner of awholesale dry-goods house of that city. Hurstwood did not see his son, for he sat, as was his wont, as far back as possible, leaving himselfjust partially visible, when he bent forward, to those within thefirst six rows in question. It was his wont to sit this way in everytheatre--to make his personality as inconspicuous as possible where itwould be no advantage to him to have it otherwise. 

He never moved but what, if there was any danger of his conduct beingmisconstrued or ill-reported, he looked carefully about him and countedthe cost of every inch of conspicuity. 

The next morning at breakfast his son said:

"I saw you, Governor, last night. "

"Were you at McVickar's?" said Hurstwood, with the best grace in theworld. 

"Yes, " said young George. 

"Who with?"

"Miss Carmichael. "

Mrs. Hurstwood directed an inquiring glance at her husband, but couldnot judge from his appearance whether it was any more than a casual lookinto the theatre which was referred to. 

"How was the play?" she inquired. 

"Very good, " returned Hurstwood, "only it's the same old thing, 'Rip VanWinkle. '"

"Whom did you go with?" queried his wife, with assumed indifference. 

"Charlie Drouet and his wife. They are friends of Moy's, visiting here. "

Owing to the peculiar nature of his position, such a disclosure as thiswould ordinarily create no difficulty. His wife took it for granted thathis situation called for certain social movements in which she might notbe included. But of late he had pleaded office duty on several occasionswhen his wife asked for his company to any evening entertainment. Hehad done so in regard to the very evening in question only the morningbefore. 

"I thought you were going to be busy, " she remarked, very carefully. 

"So I was, " he exclaimed. "I couldn't help the interruption, but I madeup for it afterward by working until two. "

This settled the discussion for the time being, but there was a residueof opinion which was not satisfactory. There was no time at which theclaims of his wife could have been more unsatisfactorily pushed. Foryears he had been steadily modifying his matrimonial devotion, and foundher company dull. Now that a new light shone upon the horizon, thisolder luminary paled in the west. He was satisfied to turn his face awayentirely, and any call to look back was irksome. 

She, on the contrary, was not at all inclined to accept anything lessthan a complete fulfilment of the letter of their relationship, thoughthe spirit might be wanting. 

"We are coming down town this afternoon, " she remarked, a few dayslater. "I want you to come over to Kinsley's and meet Mr. Phillips andhis wife. They're stopping at the Tremont, and we're going to show themaround a little. "

After the occurrence of Wednesday, he could not refuse, though thePhillips were about as uninteresting as vanity and ignorance could makethem. He agreed, but it was with short grace. He was angry when he leftthe house. 

"I'll put a stop to this, " he thought. "I'm not going to be botheredfooling around with visitors when I have work to do. "

Not long after this Mrs. Hurstwood came with a similar proposition, onlyit was to a matinee this time. 

"My dear, " he returned, "I haven't time. I'm too busy. "

"You find time to go with other people, though, " she replied, withconsiderable irritation. 

"Nothing of the kind, " he answered. "I can't avoid business relations, and that's all there is to it. "

"Well, never mind, " she exclaimed. Her lips tightened. The feeling ofmutual antagonism was increased. 

On the other hand, his interest in Drouet's little shop-girl grew in analmost evenly balanced proportion. That young lady, under the stress ofher situation and the tutelage of her new friend, changed effectively. She had the aptitude of the struggler who seeks emancipation. Theglow of a more showy life was not lost upon her. She did not grow inknowledge so much as she awakened in the matter of desire. Mrs. Hale'sextended harangues upon the subjects of wealth and position taught herto distinguish between degrees of wealth. Mrs. Hale loved to drive inthe afternoon in the sun when it was fine, and to satisfy her soul witha sight of those mansions and lawns which she could not afford. On theNorth Side had been erected a number of elegant mansions along what isnow known as the North Shore Drive. The present lake wall of stone andgranitoid was not then in place, but the road had been well laid out, the intermediate spaces of lawn were lovely to look upon, and the houseswere thoroughly new and imposing. When the winter season had passed andthe first fine days of the early spring appeared, Mrs. Hale secureda buggy for an afternoon and invited Carrie. They rode first throughLincoln Park and on far out towards Evanston, turning back at four andarriving at the north end of the Shore Drive at about five o'clock. At this time of year the days are still comparatively short, and theshadows of the evening were beginning to settle down upon the greatcity. Lamps were beginning to burn with that mellow radiance which seemsalmost watery and translucent to the eye. There was a softness in theair which speaks with an infinite delicacy of feeling to the fleshas well as to the soul. Carrie felt that it was a lovely day. She wasripened by it in spirit for many suggestions. As they drove along thesmooth pavement an occasional carriage passed. She saw one stop andthe footman dismount, opening the door for a gentleman who seemed tobe leisurely returning from some afternoon pleasure. Across the broadlawns, now first freshening into green, she saw lamps faintly glowingupon rich interiors. Now it was but a chair, now a table, now an ornatecorner, which met her eye, but it appealed to her as almost nothing elsecould. Such childish fancies as she had had of fairy palaces and kinglyquarters now came back. She imagined that across these richly carvedentrance-ways, where the globed and crystalled lamps shone upon panelleddoors set with stained and designed panes of glass, was neither care norunsatisfied desire. She was perfectly certain that here was happiness. If she could but stroll up yon broad walk, cross that rich entrance-way, which to her was of the beauty of a jewel, and sweep in grace and luxuryto possession and command--oh! how quickly would sadness flee; how, inan instant, would the heartache end. She gazed and gazed, wondering, delighting, longing, and all the while the siren voice of the unrestfulwas whispering in her ear. 

"If we could have such a home as that, " said Mrs. Hale sadly, "howdelightful it would be. "

"And yet they do say, " said Carrie, "that no one is ever happy. "

She had heard so much of the canting philosophy of the grapeless fox. 

"I notice, " said Mrs. Hale, "that they all try mighty hard, though, totake their misery in a mansion. "

When she came to her own rooms, Carrie saw their comparativeinsignificance. She was not so dull but that she could perceivethey were but three small rooms in a moderately well-furnishedboarding-house. She was not contrasting it now with what she had had, but what she had so recently seen. The glow of the palatial doors wasstill in her eye, the roll of cushioned carriages still in her ears. What, after all, was Drouet? What was she? At her window, she thought itover, rocking to and fro, and gazing out across the lamp-lit park towardthe lamp-lit houses on Warren and Ashland avenues. She was too wroughtup to care to go down to eat, too pensive to do aught but rock and sing. Some old tunes crept to her lips, and, as she sang them, her heart sank. She longed and longed and longed. It was now for the old cottage room inColumbia City, now the mansion upon the Shore Drive, now the finedress of some lady, now the elegance of some scene. She was sad beyondmeasure, and yet uncertain, wishing, fancying. Finally, it seemed asif all her state was one of loneliness and forsakenness, and she couldscarce refrain from trembling at the lip. She hummed and hummed as themoments went by, sitting in the shadow by the window, and was therein ashappy, though she did not perceive it, as she ever would be. 

While Carrie was still in this frame of mind, the house-servant broughtup the intelligence that Mr. Hurstwood was in the parlour asking to seeMr. And Mrs. Drouet. 

"I guess he doesn't know that Charlie is out of town, " thought Carrie. 

She had seen comparatively little of the manager during the winter, but had been kept constantly in mind of him by one thing and another, principally by the strong impression he had made. She was quitedisturbed for the moment as to her appearance, but soon satisfiedherself by the aid of the mirror, and went below. 

Hurstwood was in his best form, as usual. He hadn't heard that Drouetwas out of town. He was but slightly affected by the intelligence, anddevoted himself to the more general topics which would interest Carrie. It was surprising--the ease with which he conducted a conversation. Hewas like every man who has had the advantage of practice and knows hehas sympathy. He knew that Carrie listened to him pleasurably, and, without the least effort, he fell into a train of observation whichabsorbed her fancy. He drew up his chair and modulated his voice tosuch a degree that what he said seemed wholly confidential. He confinedhimself almost exclusively to his observation of men and pleasures. He had been here and there, he had seen this and that. Somehow he madeCarrie wish to see similar things, and all the while kept her aware ofhimself. She could not shut out the consciousness of his individualityand presence for a moment. He would raise his eyes slowly in smilingemphasis of something, and she was fixed by their magnetism. He woulddraw out, with the easiest grace, her approval. Once he touched her handfor emphasis and she only smiled. He seemed to radiate an atmospherewhich suffused her being. He was never dull for a minute, and seemed tomake her clever. At least, she brightened under his influence until allher best side was exhibited. She felt that she was more clever with himthan with others. At least, he seemed to find so much in her to applaud. There was not the slightest touch of patronage. Drouet was full of it. 

There had been something so personal, so subtle, in each meeting betweenthem, both when Drouet was present and when he was absent, that Carriecould not speak of it without feeling a sense of difficulty. She wasno talker. She could never arrange her thoughts in fluent order. It wasalways a matter of feeling with her, strong and deep. Each time therehad been no sentence of importance which she could relate, and as forthe glances and sensations, what woman would reveal them? Such thingshad never been between her and Drouet. As a matter of fact, they couldnever be. She had been dominated by distress and the enthusiastic forcesof relief which Drouet represented at an opportune moment when sheyielded to him. Now she was persuaded by secret current feelings whichDrouet had never understood. Hurstwood's glance was as effective asthe spoken words of a lover, and more. They called for no immediatedecision, and could not be answered. 

People in general attach too much importance to words. They are underthe illusion that talking effects great results. As a matter of fact, words are, as a rule, the shallowest portion of all the argument. Theybut dimly represent the great surging feelings and desires whichlie behind. When the distraction of the tongue is removed, the heartlistens. 

In this conversation she heard, instead of his words, the voices ofthe things which he represented. How suave was the counsel of hisappearance! How feelingly did his superior state speak for itself! Thegrowing desire he felt for her lay upon her spirit as a gentle hand. Shedid not need to tremble at all, because it was invisible; she did notneed to worry over what other people would say--what she herselfwould say--because it had no tangibility. She was being pleaded with, persuaded, led into denying old rights and assuming new ones, and yetthere were no words to prove it. Such conversation as was indulged inheld the same relationship to the actual mental enactments of the twainthat the low music of the orchestra does to the dramatic incident whichit is used to cover. 

"Have you ever seen the houses along the Lake Shore on the North Side?"asked Hurstwood. 

"Why, I was just over there this afternoon--Mrs. Hale and I. Aren't theybeautiful?"

"They're very fine, " he answered. 

"Oh, me, " said Carrie, pensively. "I wish I could live in such a place. "

"You're not happy, " said Hurstwood, slowly, after a slight pause. 

He had raised his eyes solemnly and was looking into her own. He assumedthat he had struck a deep chord. Now was a slight chance to say a wordin his own behalf. He leaned over quietly and continued his steady gaze. He felt the critical character of the period. She endeavoured to stir, but it was useless. The whole strength of a man's nature was working. Hehad good cause to urge him on. He looked and looked, and the longer thesituation lasted the more difficult it became. The little shop-girl wasgetting into deep water. She was letting her few supports float awayfrom her. 

"Oh, " she said at last, "you mustn't look at me like that. "

"I can't help it, " he answered. 

She relaxed a little and let the situation endure, giving him strength. 

"You are not satisfied with life, are you?"

"No, " she answered, weakly. 

He saw he was the master of the situation--he felt it. He reached overand touched her hand. 

"You mustn't, " she exclaimed, jumping up. 

"I didn't intend to, " he answered, easily. 

She did not run away, as she might have done. She did not terminate theinterview, but he drifted off into a pleasant field of thought with thereadiest grace. Not long after he rose to go, and she felt that hewas in power. "You mustn't feel bad, " he said, kindly; "things willstraighten out in the course of time. "

She made no answer, because she could think of nothing to say. 

"We are good friends, aren't we?" he said, extending his hand. 

"Yes, " she answered. 

"Not a word, then, until I see you again. "

He retained a hold on her hand. 

"I can't promise, " she said, doubtfully. 

"You must be more generous than that, " he said, in such a simple waythat she was touched. 

"Let's not talk about it any more, " she returned. 

"All right, " he said, brightening. 

He went down the steps and into his cab. Carrie closed the door andascended into her room. She undid her broad lace collar before themirror and unfastened her pretty alligator belt which she had recentlybought. 

"I'm getting terrible, " she said, honestly affected by a feeling oftrouble and shame. "I don't seem to do anything right. "

She unloosed her hair after a time, and let it hang in loose brownwaves. Her mind was going over the events of the evening. 

"I don't know, " she murmured at last, "what I can do. "

"Well, " said Hurstwood as he rode away, "she likes me all right; that Iknow. "

The aroused manager whistled merrily for a good four miles to his officean old melody that he had not recalled for fifteen years. 

Chapter XIII. HIS CREDENTIALS ACCEPTED--A BABEL OF TONGUES

It was not quite two days after the scene between Carrie and Hurstwoodin the Ogden Place parlour before he again put in his appearance. He hadbeen thinking almost uninterruptedly of her. Her leniency had, in a way, inflamed his regard. He felt that he must succeed with her, and thatspeedily. 

The reason for his interest, not to say fascination, was deeper thanmere desire. It was a flowering out of feelings which had been witheringin dry and almost barren soil for many years. It is probable that Carrierepresented a better order of woman than had ever attracted him before. He had had no love affair since that which culminated in his marriage, and since then time and the world had taught him how raw and erroneouswas his original judgment. Whenever he thought of it, he told himselfthat, if he had it to do over again, he would never marry such a woman. At the same time, his experience with women in general had lessened hisrespect for the sex. He maintained a cynical attitude, well groundedon numerous experiences. Such women as he had known were of nearlyone type, selfish, ignorant, flashy. The wives of his friends were notinspiring to look upon. His own wife had developed a cold, commonplacenature which to him was anything but pleasing. What he knew of thatunder-world where grovel the beat-men of society (and he knew agreat deal) had hardened his nature. He looked upon most women withsuspicion--a single eye to the utility of beauty and dress. He followedthem with a keen, suggestive glance. At the same time, he was not sodull but that a good woman commanded his respect. Personally, he did notattempt to analyse the marvel of a saintly woman. He would take offhis hat, and would silence the light-tongued and the vicious in herpresence--much as the Irish keeper of a Bowery hall will humble himselfbefore a Sister of Mercy, and pay toll to charity with a willing andreverent hand. But he would not think much upon the question of why hedid so. 

A man in his situation who comes, after a long round of worthless orhardening experiences, upon a young, unsophisticated, innocent soul, isapt either to hold aloof, out of a sense of his own remoteness, or todraw near and become fascinated and elated by his discovery. It is onlyby a roundabout process that such men ever do draw near such a girl. They have no method, no understanding of how to ingratiate themselvesin youthful favour, save when they find virtue in the toils. If, unfortunately, the fly has got caught in the net, the spider can comeforth and talk business upon its own terms. So when maidenhood haswandered into the moil of the city, when it is brought within the circleof the "rounder" and the roue, even though it be at the outermost rim, they can come forth and use their alluring arts. 

Hurstwood had gone, at Drouet's invitation, to meet a new baggage offine clothes and pretty features. He entered, expecting to indulge inan evening of lightsome frolic, and then lose track of the newcomerforever. Instead he found a woman whose youth and beauty attracted him. In the mild light of Carrie's eye was nothing of the calculation ofthe mistress. In the diffident manner was nothing of the art of thecourtesan. He saw at once that a mistake had been made, that somedifficult conditions had pushed this troubled creature into hispresence, and his interest was enlisted. Here sympathy sprang to therescue, but it was not unmixed with selfishness. He wanted to win Carriebecause he thought her fate mingled with his was better than if it wereunited with Drouet's. He envied the drummer his conquest as he had neverenvied any man in all the course of his experience. 

Carrie was certainly better than this man, as she was superior, mentally, to Drouet. She came fresh from the air of the village, thelight of the country still in her eye. Here was neither guile norrapacity. There were slight inherited traits of both in her, but theywere rudimentary. She was too full of wonder and desire to be greedy. She still looked about her upon the great maze of the city withoutunderstanding. Hurstwood felt the bloom and the youth. He picked her ashe would the fresh fruit of a tree. He felt as fresh in her presence asone who is taken out of the flash of summer to the first cool breath ofspring. 

Carrie, left alone since the scene in question, and having no onewith whom to counsel, had at first wandered from one strange mentalconclusion to another, until at last, tired out, she gave it up. She owed something to Drouet, she thought. It did not seem more thanyesterday that he had aided her when she was worried and distressed. Shehad the kindliest feelings for him in every way. She gave him creditfor his good looks, his generous feelings, and even, in fact, failedto recollect his egotism when he was absent; but she could not feel anybinding influence keeping her for him as against all others. In fact, such a thought had never had any grounding, even in Drouet's desires. 

The truth is, that this goodly drummer carried the doom of all enduringrelationships in his own lightsome manner and unstable fancy. He wentmerrily on, assured that he was alluring all, that affection followedtenderly in his wake, that things would endure unchangingly for hispleasure. When he missed some old face, or found some door finally shutto him, it did not grieve him deeply. He was too young, too successful. He would remain thus young in spirit until he was dead. 

As for Hurstwood, he was alive with thoughts and feelings concerningCarrie. He had no definite plans regarding her, but he was determined tomake her confess an affection for him. He thought he saw in her droopingeye, her unstable glance, her wavering manner, the symptoms of a buddingpassion. He wanted to stand near her and make her lay her hand inhis--he wanted to find out what her next step would be--what the nextsign of feeling for him would be. Such anxiety and enthusiasm had notaffected him for years. He was a youth again in feeling--a cavalier inaction. 

In his position opportunity for taking his evenings out was excellent. He was a most faithful worker in general, and a man who commanded theconfidence of his employers in so far as the distribution of his timewas concerned. He could take such hours off as he chose, for it was wellknown that he fulfilled his managerial duties successfully, whatevertime he might take. His grace, tact, and ornate appearance gave theplace an air which was most essential, while at the same time his longexperience made him a most excellent judge of its stock necessities. Bartenders and assistants might come and go, singly or in groups, but, so long as he was present, the host of old-time customers would barelynotice the change. He gave the place the atmosphere to which they wereused. Consequently, he arranged his hours very much to suit himself, taking now an afternoon, now an evening, but invariably returningbetween eleven and twelve to witness the last hour or two of the day'sbusiness and look after the closing details. 

"You see that things are safe and all the employees are out when you gohome, George, " Moy had once remarked to him, and he never once, in allthe period of his long service, neglected to do this. Neither of theowners had for years been in the resort after five in the afternoon, andyet their manager as faithfully fulfilled this request as if they hadbeen there regularly to observe. 

On this Friday afternoon, scarcely two days after his previous visit, hemade up his mind to see Carrie. He could not stay away longer. 

"Evans, " he said, addressing the head barkeeper, "if any one calls, Iwill be back between four and five. "

He hurried to Madison Street and boarded a horse-car, which carried himto Ogden Place in half an hour. 

Carrie had thought of going for a walk, and had put on a light greywoollen dress with a jaunty double-breasted jacket. She had out her hatand gloves, and was fastening a white lace tie about her throat when thehousemaid brought up the information that Mr. Hurstwood wished to seeher. 

She started slightly at the announcement, but told the girl to say thatshe would come down in a moment, and proceeded to hasten her dressing. 

Carrie could not have told herself at this moment whether she was glador sorry that the impressive manager was awaiting her presence. Shewas slightly flurried and tingling in the cheeks, but it was morenervousness than either fear or favour. She did not try to conjecturewhat the drift of the conversation would be. She only felt that she mustbe careful, and that Hurstwood had an indefinable fascination for her. Then she gave her tie its last touch with her fingers and went below. 

The deep-feeling manager was himself a little strained in the nerves bythe thorough consciousness of his mission. He felt that he must makea strong play on this occasion, but now that the hour was come, andhe heard Carrie's feet upon the stair, his nerve failed him. He sanka little in determination, for he was not so sure, after all, what heropinion might be. 

When she entered the room, however, her appearance gave him courage. Shelooked simple and charming enough to strengthen the daring of any lover. Her apparent nervousness dispelled his own. 

"How are you?" he said, easily. "I could not resist the temptation tocome out this afternoon, it was so pleasant. "

"Yes, " said Carrie, halting before him, "I was just preparing to go fora walk myself. "

"Oh, were you?" he said. "Supposing, then, you get your hat and we bothgo?"

They crossed the park and went west along Washington Boulevard, beautiful with its broad macadamised road, and large frame housesset back from the sidewalks. It was a street where many of the moreprosperous residents of the West Side lived, and Hurstwood could nothelp feeling nervous over the publicity of it. They had gone but a fewblocks when a livery stable sign in one of the side streets solved thedifficulty for him. He would take her to drive along the new Boulevard. 

The Boulevard at that time was little more than a country road. The parthe intended showing her was much farther out on this same West Side, where there was scarcely a house. It connected Douglas Park withWashington or South Park, and was nothing more than a neatly MADE road, running due south for some five miles over an open, grassy prairie, andthen due east over the same kind of prairie for the same distance. Therewas not a house to be encountered anywhere along the larger part of theroute, and any conversation would be pleasantly free of interruption. 

At the stable he picked a gentle horse, and they were soon out of rangeof either public observation or hearing. 

"Can you drive?" he said, after a time. 

"I never tried, " said Carrie. 

He put the reins in her hand, and folded his arms. 

"You see there's nothing to it much, " he said, smilingly. 

"Not when you have a gentle horse, " said Carrie. 

"You can handle a horse as well as any one, after a little practice, " headded, encouragingly. 

He had been looking for some time for a break in the conversation whenhe could give it a serious turn. Once or twice he had held his peace, hoping that in silence her thoughts would take the colour of his own, but she had lightly continued the subject. Presently, however, hissilence controlled the situation. The drift of his thoughts began totell. He gazed fixedly at nothing in particular, as if he were thinkingof something which concerned her not at all. His thoughts, however, spoke for themselves. She was very much aware that a climax was pending. 

"Do you know, " he said, "I have spent the happiest evenings in yearssince I have known you?"

"Have you?" she said, with assumed airiness, but still excited by theconviction which the tone of his voice carried. 

"I was going to tell you the other evening, " he added, "but somehow theopportunity slipped away. "

Carrie was listening without attempting to reply. She could think ofnothing worth while to say. Despite all the ideas concerning rightwhich had troubled her vaguely since she had last seen him, she was nowinfluenced again strongly in his favour. 

"I came out here to-day, " he went on, solemnly, "to tell you just how Ifeel--to see if you wouldn't listen to me. "

Hurstwood was something of a romanticist after his kind. He was capableof strong feelings--often poetic ones--and under a stress of desire, such as the present, he waxed eloquent. That is, his feelings and hisvoice were coloured with that seeming repression and pathos which is theessence of eloquence. 

"You know, " he said, putting his hand on her arm, and keeping a strangesilence while he formulated words, "that I love you?" Carrie did notstir at the words. She was bound up completely in the man's atmosphere. He would have churchlike silence in order to express his feelings, andshe kept it. She did not move her eyes from the flat, open scene beforeher. Hurstwood waited for a few moments, and then repeated the words. 

"You must not say that, " she said, weakly. 

Her words were not convincing at all. They were the result of a feeblethought that something ought to be said. He paid no attention to themwhatever. 

"Carrie, " he said, using her first name with sympathetic familiarity, "Iwant you to love me. You don't know how much I need some one to waste alittle affection on me. I am practically alone. There is nothing in mylife that is pleasant or delightful. It's all work and worry with peoplewho are nothing to me. "

As he said this, Hurstwood really imagined that his state waspitiful. He had the ability to get off at a distance and view himselfobjectively--of seeing what he wanted to see in the things which made uphis existence. Now, as he spoke, his voice trembled with that peculiarvibration which is the result of tensity. It went ringing home to hiscompanion's heart. 

"Why, I should think, " she said, turning upon him large eyes which werefull of sympathy and feeling, "that you would be very happy. You know somuch of the world. "

"That is it, " he said, his voice dropping to a soft minor, "I know toomuch of the world. "

It was an important thing to her to hear one so well-positioned andpowerful speaking in this manner. She could not help feeling thestrangeness of her situation. How was it that, in so little a while, the narrow life of the country had fallen from her as a garment, andthe city, with all its mystery, taken its place? Here was this greatestmystery, the man of money and affairs sitting beside her, appealingto her. Behold, he had ease and comfort, his strength was great, hisposition high, his clothing rich, and yet he was appealing to her. Shecould formulate no thought which would be just and right. She troubledherself no more upon the matter. She only basked in the warmth of hisfeeling, which was as a grateful blaze to one who is cold. Hurstwoodglowed with his own intensity, and the heat of his passion was alreadymelting the wax of his companion's scruples. 

"You think, " he said, "I am happy; that I ought not to complain? If youwere to meet all day with people who care absolutely nothing about you, if you went day after day to a place where there was nothing but showand indifference, if there was not one person in all those you knew towhom you could appeal for sympathy or talk to with pleasure, perhaps youwould be unhappy too. "

He was striking a chord now which found sympathetic response in herown situation. She knew what it was to meet with people who wereindifferent, to walk alone amid so many who cared absolutely nothingabout you. Had not she? Was not she at this very moment quite alone? Whowas there among all whom she knew to whom she could appeal for sympathy?Not one. She was left to herself to brood and wonder. 

"I could be content, " went on Hurstwood, "if I had you to love me. IfI had you to go to; you for a companion. As it is, I simply move aboutfrom place to place without any satisfaction. Time hangs heavily on myhands. Before you came I did nothing but idle and drift into anythingthat offered itself. Since you came--well, I've had you to think about. "

The old illusion that here was some one who needed her aid began to growin Carrie's mind. She truly pitied this sad, lonely figure. To thinkthat all his fine state should be so barren for want of her; that heneeded to make such an appeal when she herself was lonely and withoutanchor. Surely, this was too bad. 

"I am not very bad, " he said, apologetically, as if he owed it to her toexplain on this score. "You think, probably, that I roam around, and getinto all sorts of evil? I have been rather reckless, but I could easilycome out of that. I need you to draw me back, if my life ever amounts toanything. "

Carrie looked at him with the tenderness which virtue ever feels inits hope of reclaiming vice. How could such a man need reclaiming? Hiserrors, what were they, that she could correct? Small they must be, where all was so fine. At worst, they were gilded affairs, and with whatleniency are gilded errors viewed. He put himself in such a lonely lightthat she was deeply moved. 

"Is it that way?" she mused. 

He slipped his arm about her waist, and she could not find the heart todraw away. With his free hand he seized upon her fingers. A breath ofsoft spring wind went bounding over the road, rolling some browntwigs of the previous autumn before it. The horse paced leisurely on, unguided. 

"Tell me, " he said, softly, "that you love me. "

Her eyes fell consciously. 

"Own to it, dear, " he said, feelingly; "you do, don't you?"

She made no answer, but he felt his victory. 

"Tell me, " he said, richly, drawing her so close that their lips werenear together. He pressed her hand warmly, and then released it to touchher cheek. 

"You do?" he said, pressing his lips to her own. 

For answer, her lips replied. 

"Now, " he said, joyously, his fine eyes ablaze, "you're my own girl, aren't you?"

By way of further conclusion, her head lay softly upon his shoulder. 

Chapter XIV. WITH EYES AND NOT SEEING--ONE INFLUENCE WANES

Carrie in her rooms that evening was in a fine glow, physically andmentally. She was deeply rejoicing in her affection for Hurstwood andhis love, and looked forward with fine fancy to their next meetingSunday night. They had agreed, without any feeling of enforced secrecy, that she should come down town and meet him, though, after all, the needof it was the cause. 

Mrs. Hale, from her upper window, saw her come in. 

"Um, " she thought to herself, "she goes riding with another man when herhusband is out of the city. He had better keep an eye on her. "

The truth is that Mrs. Hale was not the only one who had a thought onthis score. The housemaid who had welcomed Hurstwood had her opinionalso. She had no particular regard for Carrie, whom she took to be coldand disagreeable. At the same time, she had a fancy for the merry andeasy-mannered Drouet, who threw her a pleasant remark now and then, andin other ways extended her the evidence of that regard which he had forall members of the sex. Hurstwood was more reserved and critical inhis manner. He did not appeal to this bodiced functionary in the samepleasant way. She wondered that he came so frequently, that Mrs. Drouetshould go out with him this afternoon when Mr. Drouet was absent. She gave vent to her opinions in the kitchen where the cook was. As aresult, a hum of gossip was set going which moved about the house inthat secret manner common to gossip. 

Carrie, now that she had yielded sufficiently to Hurstwood to confessher affection, no longer troubled about her attitude towards him. Temporarily she gave little thought to Drouet, thinking only of thedignity and grace of her lover and of his consuming affection for her. On the first evening, she did little but go over the details of theafternoon. It was the first time her sympathies had ever been thoroughlyaroused, and they threw a new light on her character. She had somepower of initiative, latent before, which now began to exert itself. Shelooked more practically upon her state and began to see glimmerings ofa way out. Hurstwood seemed a drag in the direction of honour. Herfeelings were exceedingly creditable, in that they constructed outof these recent developments something which conquered freedom fromdishonour. She had no idea what Hurstwood's next word would be. Sheonly took his affection to be a fine thing, and appended better, moregenerous results accordingly. 

As yet, Hurstwood had only a thought of pleasure without responsibility. He did not feel that he was doing anything to complicate his life. Hisposition was secure, his home-life, if not satisfactory, was at leastundisturbed, his personal liberty rather untrammelled. Carrie's loverepresented only so much added pleasure. He would enjoy this new giftover and above his ordinary allowance of pleasure. He would be happywith her and his own affairs would go on as they had, undisturbed. 

On Sunday evening Carrie dined with him at a place he had selected inEast Adams Street, and thereafter they took a cab to what was then apleasant evening resort out on Cottage Grove Avenue near 39th Street. In the process of his declaration he soon realised that Carrie tookhis love upon a higher basis than he had anticipated. She kept him ata distance in a rather earnest way, and submitted only to those tendertokens of affection which better become the inexperienced lover. Hurstwood saw that she was not to be possessed for the asking, anddeferred pressing his suit too warmly. 

Since he feigned to believe in her married state he found that he had tocarry out the part. His triumph, he saw, was still at a little distance. How far he could not guess. 

They were returning to Ogden Place in the cab, when he asked:

"When will I see you again?"

"I don't know, " she answered, wondering herself. 

"Why not come down to The Fair, " he suggested, "next Tuesday?"

She shook her head. 

"Not so soon, " she answered. 

"I'll tell you what I'll do, " he added. "I'll write you, care of thisWest Side Post-office. Could you call next Tuesday?"

Carrie assented. 

The cab stopped one door out of the way according to his call. 

"Good-night, " he whispered, as the cab rolled away. 

Unfortunately for the smooth progression of this affair, Drouetreturned. Hurstwood was sitting in his imposing little office the nextafternoon when he saw Drouet enter. 

"Why, hello, Charles, " he called affably; "back again?"

"Yes, " smiled Drouet, approaching and looking in at the door. 

Hurstwood arose. 

"Well, " he said, looking the drummer over, "rosy as ever, eh?"

They began talking of the people they knew and things that had happened. 

"Been home yet?" finally asked Hurstwood. 

"No, I am going, though, " said Drouet. 

"I remembered the little girl out there, " said Hurstwood, "and calledonce. Thought you wouldn't want her left quite alone. "

"Right you are, " agreed Drouet. "How is she?"

"Very well, " said Hurstwood. "Rather anxious about you though. You'dbetter go out now and cheer her up. "

"I will, " said Drouet, smilingly. 

"Like to have you both come down and go to the show with me Wednesday, "concluded Hurstwood at parting. 

"Thanks, old man, " said his friend, "I'll see what the girl says and letyou know. "

They separated in the most cordial manner. 

"There's a nice fellow, " Drouet thought to himself as he turned thecorner towards Madison. 

"Drouet is a good fellow, " Hurstwood thought to himself as he went backinto his office, "but he's no man for Carrie. "

The thought of the latter turned his mind into a most pleasant vein, andhe wandered how he would get ahead of the drummer. 

When Drouet entered Carrie's presence, he caught her in his arms asusual, but she responded to his kiss with a tremour of opposition. 

"Well, " he said, "I had a great trip. "

"Did you? How did you come out with that La Crosse man you were tellingme about?"

"Oh, fine; sold him a complete line. There was another fellow there, representing Burnstein, a regular hook-nosed sheeny, but he wasn't init. I made him look like nothing at all. "

As he undid his collar and unfastened his studs, preparatory to washinghis face and changing his clothes, he dilated upon his trip. Carriecould not help listening with amusement to his animated descriptions. 

"I tell you, " he said, "I surprised the people at the office. I've soldmore goods this last quarter than any other man of our house on theroad. I sold three thousand dollars' worth in La Crosse. "

He plunged his face in a basin of water, and puffed and blew as herubbed his neck and ears with his hands, while Carrie gazed upon himwith mingled thoughts of recollection and present judgment. He was stillwiping his face, when he continued:

"I'm going to strike for a raise in June. They can afford to pay it, asmuch business as I turn in. I'll get it too, don't you forget. "

"I hope you do, " said Carrie. 

"And then if that little real estate deal I've got on goes through, we'll get married, " he said with a great show of earnestness, the whilehe took his place before the mirror and began brushing his hair. 

"I don't believe you ever intend to marry me, Charlie, " Carrie saidruefully. The recent protestations of Hurstwood had given her courage tosay this. 

"Oh, yes I do--course I do--what put that into your head?"

He had stopped his trifling before the mirror now and crossed over toher. For the first time Carrie felt as if she must move away from him. 

"But you've been saying that so long, " she said, looking with her prettyface upturned into his. 

"Well, and I mean it too, but it takes money to live as I want to. Now, when I get this increase, I can come pretty near fixing things allright, and I'll do it. Now, don't you worry, girlie. "

He patted her reassuringly upon the shoulder, but Carrie felt how reallyfutile had been her hopes. She could clearly see that this easy-goingsoul intended no move in her behalf. He was simply letting things driftbecause he preferred the free round of his present state to any legaltrammellings. 

In contrast, Hurstwood appeared strong and sincere. He had no easymanner of putting her off. He sympathised with her and showed her whather true value was. He needed her, while Drouet did not care. 

"Oh, no, " she said remorsefully, her tone reflecting some of her ownsuccess and more of her helplessness, "you never will. "

"Well, you wait a little while and see, " he concluded. "I'll marry youall right. "

Carrie looked at him and felt justified. She was looking for somethingwhich would calm her conscience, and here it was, a light, airydisregard of her claims upon his justice. He had faithfully promised tomarry her, and this was the way he fulfilled his promise. 

"Say, " he said, after he had, as he thought, pleasantly disposed of themarriage question, "I saw Hurstwood to-day, and he wants us to go to thetheatre with him. "

Carrie started at the name, but recovered quickly enough to avoidnotice. 

"When?" she asked, with assumed indifference. 

"Wednesday. We'll go, won't we?"

"If you think so, " she answered, her manner being so enforcedly reservedas to almost excite suspicion. Drouet noticed something but he thoughtit was due to her feelings concerning their talk about marriage. "Hecalled once, he said. "

"Yes, " said Carrie, "he was out here Sunday evening. "

"Was he?" said Drouet. "I thought from what he said that he had called aweek or so ago. "

"So he did, " answered Carrie, who was wholly unaware of whatconversation her lovers might have held. She was all at sea mentally, and fearful of some entanglement which might ensue from what she wouldanswer. 

"Oh, then he called twice?" said Drouet, the first shade ofmisunderstanding showing in his face. 

"Yes, " said Carrie innocently, feeling now that Hurstwood must havementioned but one call. 

Drouet imagined that he must have misunderstood his friend. He did notattach particular importance to the information, after all. 

"What did he have to say?" he queried, with slightly increasedcuriosity. 

"He said he came because he thought I might be lonely. You hadn't beenin there so long he wondered what had become of you. "

"George is a fine fellow, " said Drouet, rather gratified by hisconception of the manager's interest. "Come on and we'll go out todinner. "

When Hurstwood saw that Drouet was back he wrote at once to Carrie, saying:

"I told him I called on you, dearest, when he was away. I did not sayhow often, but he probably thought once. Let me know of anything you mayhave said. Answer by special messenger when you get this, and, darling, I must see you. Let me know if you can't meet me at Jackson and ThroopStreets Wednesday afternoon at two o'clock. I want to speak with youbefore we meet at the theatre. "

Carrie received this Tuesday morning when she called at the West Sidebranch of the post-office, and answered at once. 

"I said you called twice, " she wrote. "He didn't seem to mind. I willtry and be at Throop Street if nothing interferes. I seem to be gettingvery bad. It's wrong to act as I do, I know. "

Hurstwood, when he met her as agreed, reassured her on this score. 

"You mustn't worry, sweetheart, " he said. "Just as soon as he goes onthe road again we will arrange something. We'll fix it so that you won'thave to deceive any one. "

Carrie imagined that he would marry her at once, though he had notdirectly said so, and her spirits rose. She proposed to make the best ofthe situation until Drouet left again. 

"Don't show any more interest in me than you ever have, " Hurstwoodcounselled concerning the evening at the theatre. 

"You mustn't look at me steadily then, " she answered, mindful of thepower of his eyes. 

"I won't, " he said, squeezing her hand at parting and giving the glanceshe had just cautioned against. 

"There, " she said playfully, pointing a finger at him. 

"The show hasn't begun yet, " he returned. 

He watched her walk from him with tender solicitation. Such youth andprettiness reacted upon him more subtly than wine. 

At the theatre things passed as they had in Hurstwood's favour. If hehad been pleasing to Carrie before, how much more so was he now. Hisgrace was more permeating because it found a readier medium. Carriewatched his every movement with pleasure. She almost forgot poor Drouet, who babbled on as if he were the host. 

Hurstwood was too clever to give the slightest indication of a change. He paid, if anything, more attention to his old friend than usual, and yet in no way held him up to that subtle ridicule which a lover infavour may so secretly practise before the mistress of his heart. Ifanything, he felt the injustice of the game as it stood, and was notcheap enough to add to it the slightest mental taunt. 

Only the play produced an ironical situation, and this was due to Drouetalone. 

The scene was one in "The Covenant, " in which the wife listened to theseductive voice of a lover in the absence of her husband. 

"Served him right, " said Drouet afterward, even in view of her keenexpiation of her error. "I haven't any pity for a man who would be sucha chump as that. "

"Well, you never can tell, " returned Hurstwood gently. "He probablythought he was right. "

"Well, a man ought to be more attentive than that to his wife if hewants to keep her. "

They had come out of the lobby and made their way through the showycrush about the entrance way. 

"Say, mister, " said a voice at Hurstwood's side, "would you mind givingme the price of a bed?"

Hurstwood was interestedly remarking to Carrie. 

"Honest to God, mister, I'm without a place to sleep. "

The plea was that of a gaunt-faced man of about thirty, who looked thepicture of privation and wretchedness. Drouet was the first to see. He handed over a dime with an upwelling feeling of pity in his heart. Hurstwood scarcely noticed the incident. Carrie quickly forgot. 

Chapter XV. THE IRK OF THE OLD TIES--THE MAGIC OF YOUTH

The complete ignoring by Hurstwood of his own home came with the growthof his affection for Carrie. His actions, in all that related to hisfamily, were of the most perfunctory kind. He sat at breakfast withhis wife and children, absorbed in his own fancies, which reached farwithout the realm of their interests. He read his paper, which washeightened in interest by the shallowness of the themes discussed byhis son and daughter. Between himself and his wife ran a river ofindifference. 

Now that Carrie had come, he was in a fair way to be blissful again. There was delight in going down town evenings. When he walked forthin the short days, the street lamps had a merry twinkle. He began toexperience the almost forgotten feeling which hastens the lover's feet. When he looked at his fine clothes, he saw them with her eyes--and hereyes were young. 

When in the flush of such feelings he heard his wife's voice, whenthe insistent demands of matrimony recalled him from dreams to a stalepractice, how it grated. He then knew that this was a chain which boundhis feet. 

"George, " said Mrs. Hurstwood, in that tone of voice which had longsince come to be associated in his mind with demands, "we want you toget us a season ticket to the races. "

"Do you want to go to all of them?" he said with a rising inflection. 

"Yes, " she answered. 

The races in question were soon to open at Washington Park, on the SouthSide, and were considered quite society affairs among those who did notaffect religious rectitude and conservatism. Mrs. Hurstwood hadnever asked for a whole season ticket before, but this year certainconsiderations decided her to get a box. For one thing, one of herneighbours, a certain Mr. And Mrs. Ramsey, who were possessors of money, made out of the coal business, had done so. In the next place, herfavourite physician, Dr. Beale, a gentleman inclined to horses andbetting, had talked with her concerning his intention to enter atwo-year-old in the Derby. In the third place, she wished to exhibitJessica, who was gaining in maturity and beauty, and whom she hoped tomarry to a man of means. Her own desire to be about in such thingsand parade among her acquaintances and common throng was as much anincentive as anything. 

Hurstwood thought over the proposition a few moments without answering. They were in the sitting room on the second floor, waiting for supper. It was the evening of his engagement with Carrie and Drouet to see "TheCovenant, " which had brought him home to make some alterations in hisdress. 

"You're sure separate tickets wouldn't do as well?" he asked, hesitatingto say anything more rugged. 

"No, " she replied impatiently. 

"Well, " he said, taking offence at her manner, "you needn't get madabout it. I'm just asking you. "

"I'm not mad, " she snapped. "I'm merely asking you for a season ticket. "

"And I'm telling you, " he returned, fixing a clear, steady eye on her, "that it's no easy thing to get. I'm not sure whether the manager willgive it to me. "

He had been thinking all the time of his "pull" with the race-trackmagnates. 

"We can buy it then, " she exclaimed sharply. 

"You talk easy, " he said. "A season family ticket costs one hundred andfifty dollars. "

"I'll not argue with you, " she replied with determination. "I want theticket and that's all there is to it. "

She had risen, and now walked angrily out of the room. 

"Well, you get it then, " he said grimly, though in a modified tone ofvoice. 

As usual, the table was one short that evening. 

The next morning he had cooled down considerably, and later the ticketwas duly secured, though it did not heal matters. He did not mind givinghis family a fair share of all that he earned, but he did not like to beforced to provide against his will. 

"Did you know, mother, " said Jessica another day, "the Spencers aregetting ready to go away?"

"No. Where, I wonder?"

"Europe, " said Jessica. "I met Georgine yesterday and she told me. Shejust put on more airs about it. "

"Did she say when?"

"Monday, I think. They'll get a notice in the papers again--they alwaysdo. "

"Never mind, " said Mrs. Hurstwood consolingly, "we'll go one of thesedays. "

Hurstwood moved his eyes over the paper slowly, but said nothing. 

"'We sail for Liverpool from New York, '" Jessica exclaimed, mocking heracquaintance. "'Expect to spend most of the "summah" in France, '--vainthing. As If it was anything to go to Europe. "

"It must be if you envy her so much, " put in Hurstwood. 

It grated upon him to see the feeling his daughter displayed. 

"Don't worry over them, my dear, " said Mrs. Hurstwood. 

"Did George get off?" asked Jessica of her mother another day, thusrevealing something that Hurstwood had heard nothing about. 

"Where has he gone?" he asked, looking up. He had never before been keptin ignorance concerning departures. 

"He was going to Wheaton, " said Jessica, not noticing the slight putupon her father. 

"What's out there?" he asked, secretly irritated and chagrined to thinkthat he should be made to pump for information in this manner. 

"A tennis match, " said Jessica. 

"He didn't say anything to me, " Hurstwood concluded, finding itdifficult to refrain from a bitter tone. 

"I guess he must have forgotten, " exclaimed his wife blandly. In thepast he had always commanded a certain amount of respect, which was acompound of appreciation and awe. The familiarity which in part stillexisted between himself and his daughter he had courted. As it was, itdid not go beyond the light assumption of words. The TONE was alwaysmodest. Whatever had been, however, had lacked affection, and now he sawthat he was losing track of their doings. His knowledge was no longerintimate. He sometimes saw them at table, and sometimes did not. Heheard of their doings occasionally, more often not. Some days he foundthat he was all at sea as to what they were talking about--things theyhad arranged to do or that they had done in his absence. More affectingwas the feeling that there were little things going on of which he nolonger heard. Jessica was beginning to feel that her affairs were herown. George, Jr. , flourished about as if he were a man entirely and mustneeds have private matters. All this Hurstwood could see, and it left atrace of feeling, for he was used to being considered--in his officialposition, at least--and felt that his importance should not beginto wane here. To darken it all, he saw the same indifference andindependence growing in his wife, while he looked on and paid the bills. 

He consoled himself with the thought, however, that, after all, he wasnot without affection. Things might go as they would at his house, buthe had Carrie outside of it. With his mind's eye he looked into hercomfortable room in Ogden Place, where he had spent several suchdelightful evenings, and thought how charming it would be when Drouetwas disposed of entirely and she was waiting evenings in cosey littlequarters for him. That no cause would come up whereby Drouet would beled to inform Carrie concerning his married state, he felt hopeful. Things were going so smoothly that he believed they would not change. Shortly now he would persuade Carrie and all would be satisfactory. 

The day after their theatre visit he began writing her regularly--aletter every morning, and begging her to do as much for him. He wasnot literary by any means, but experience of the world and his growingaffection gave him somewhat of a style. This he exercised at hisoffice desk with perfect deliberation. He purchased a box of delicatelycoloured and scented writing paper in monogram, which he kept lockedin one of the drawers. His friends now wondered at the cleric and veryofficial-looking nature of his position. The five bartenders viewed withrespect the duties which could call a man to do so much desk-work andpenmanship. 

Hurstwood surprised himself with his fluency. By the natural law whichgoverns all effort, what he wrote reacted upon him. He began to feelthose subtleties which he could find words to express. With everyexpression came increased conception. Those inmost breathings whichthere found words took hold upon him. He thought Carrie worthy of allthe affection he could there express. 

Carrie was indeed worth loving if ever youth and grace are to commandthat token of acknowledgment from life in their bloom. Experience hadnot yet taken away that freshness of the spirit which is the charm ofthe body. Her soft eyes contained in their liquid lustre no suggestionof the knowledge of disappointment. She had been troubled in a way bydoubt and longing, but these had made no deeper impression than could betraced in a certain open wistfulness of glance and speech. The mouth hadthe expression at times, in talking and in repose, of one who might beupon the verge of tears. It was not that grief was thus ever present. The pronunciation of certain syllables gave to her lips this peculiarityof formation--a formation as suggestive and moving as pathos itself. 

There was nothing bold in her manner. Life had not taught herdomination--superciliousness of grace, which is the lordly power of somewomen. Her longing for consideration was not sufficiently powerful tomove her to demand it. Even now she lacked self-assurance, but there wasthat in what she had already experienced which left her a little lessthan timid. She wanted pleasure, she wanted position, and yet she wasconfused as to what these things might be. Every hour the kaleidoscopeof human affairs threw a new lustre upon something, and therewith itbecame for her the desired--the all. Another shift of the box, and someother had become the beautiful, the perfect. 

On her spiritual side, also, she was rich in feeling, as such a naturewell might be. Sorrow in her was aroused by many a spectacle--anuncritical upwelling of grief for the weak and the helpless. She wasconstantly pained by the sight of the white-faced, ragged men whoslopped desperately by her in a sort of wretched mental stupor. Thepoorly clad girls who went blowing by her window evenings, hurrying homefrom some of the shops of the West Side, she pitied from the depths ofher heart. She would stand and bite her lips as they passed, shaking herlittle head and wondering. They had so little, she thought. It was sosad to be ragged and poor. The hang of faded clothes pained her eyes. 

"And they have to work so hard!" was her only comment. 

On the street sometimes she would see men working--Irishmen with picks, coal-heavers with great loads to shovel, Americans busy about some workwhich was a mere matter of strength--and they touched her fancy. Toil, now that she was free of it, seemed even a more desolate thing than whenshe was part of it. She saw it through a mist of fancy--a pale, sombrehalf-light, which was the essence of poetic feeling. Her old father, in his flour-dusted miller's suit, sometimes returned to her in memory, revived by a face in a window. A shoemaker pegging at his last, ablastman seen through a narrow window in some basement where iron wasbeing melted, a bench-worker seen high aloft in some window, his coatoff, his sleeves rolled up; these took her back in fancy to the detailsof the mill. She felt, though she seldom expressed them, sad thoughtsupon this score. Her sympathies were ever with that under-world of toilfrom which she had so recently sprung, and which she best understood. 

Though Hurstwood did not know it, he was dealing with one whose feelingswere as tender and as delicate as this. He did not know, but it was thisin her, after all, which attracted him. He never attempted to analysethe nature of his affection. It was sufficient that there was tendernessin her eye, weakness in her manner, good nature and hope in herthoughts. He drew near this lily, which had sucked its waxen beauty andperfume from below a depth of waters which he had never penetrated, and out of ooze and mould which he could not understand. He drew nearbecause it was waxen and fresh. It lightened his feelings for him. Itmade the morning worth while. 

In a material way, she was considerably improved. Her awkwardness hadall but passed, leaving, if anything, a quaint residue which was aspleasing as perfect grace. Her little shoes now fitted her smartlyand had high heels. She had learned much about laces and those littleneckpieces which add so much to a woman's appearance. Her form hadfilled out until it was admirably plump and well-rounded. 

Hurstwood wrote her one morning, asking her to meet him in JeffersonPark, Monroe Street. He did not consider it policy to call any more, even when Drouet was at home. 

The next afternoon he was in the pretty little park by one, and hadfound a rustic bench beneath the green leaves of a lilac bush whichbordered one of the paths. It was at that season of the year when thefulness of spring had not yet worn quite away. At a little pond near bysome cleanly dressed children were sailing white canvas boats. In theshade of a green pagoda a bebuttoned officer of the law was resting, hisarms folded, his club at rest in his belt. An old gardener was upon thelawn, with a pair of pruning shears, looking after some bushes. Highoverhead was the clean blue sky of the new summer, and in the thicknessof the shiny green leaves of the trees hopped and twittered the busysparrows. 

Hurstwood had come out of his own home that morning feeling much of thesame old annoyance. At his store he had idled, there being no need towrite. He had come away to this place with the lightness of heart whichcharacterises those who put weariness behind. Now, in the shade of thiscool, green bush, he looked about him with the fancy of the lover. Heheard the carts go lumbering by upon the neighbouring streets, but theywere far off, and only buzzed upon his ear. The hum of the surroundingcity was faint, the clang of an occasional bell was as music. He lookedand dreamed a new dream of pleasure which concerned his present fixedcondition not at all. He got back in fancy to the old Hurstwood, who wasneither married nor fixed in a solid position for life. He rememberedthe light spirit in which he once looked after the girls--how he haddanced, escorted them home, hung over their gates. He almost wished hewas back there again--here in this pleasant scene he felt as if he werewholly free. 

At two Carrie came tripping along the walk toward him, rosy and clean. She had just recently donned a sailor hat for the season with a band ofpretty white-dotted blue silk. Her skirt was of a rich blue material, and her shirt waist matched it, with a thin-stripe of blue upon asnow-white ground--stripes that were as fine as hairs. Her brown shoespeeped occasionally from beneath her skirt. She carried her gloves inher hand. 

Hurstwood looked up at her with delight. 

"You came, dearest, " he said eagerly, standing to meet her and takingher hand. 

"Of course, " she said, smiling; "did you think I wouldn't?"

"I didn't know, " he replied. 

He looked at her forehead, which was moist from her brisk walk. Then hetook out one of his own soft, scented silk handkerchiefs and touched herface here and there. 

"Now, " he said affectionately, "you're all right. "

They were happy in being near one another--in looking into each other'seyes. Finally, when the long flush of delight had sub sided, he said:

"When is Charlie going away again?"

"I don't know, " she answered. "He says he has some things to do for thehouse here now. "

Hurstwood grew serious, and he lapsed into quiet thought. He looked upafter a time to say:

"Come away and leave him. "

He turned his eyes to the boys with the boats, as if the request were oflittle importance. 

"Where would we go?" she asked in much the same manner, rolling hergloves, and looking into a neighbouring tree. 

"Where do you want to go?" he enquired. 

There was something in the tone in which he said this which made herfeel as if she must record her feelings against any local habitation. 

"We can't stay in Chicago, " she replied. 

He had no thought that this was in her mind--that any removal would besuggested. 

"Why not?" he asked softly. 

"Oh, because, " she said, "I wouldn't want to. "

He listened to this with but dull perception of what it meant. It had noserious ring to it. The question was not up for immediate decision. 

"I would have to give up my position, " he said. 

The tone he used made it seem as if the matter deserved only slightconsideration. Carrie thought a little, the while enjoying the prettyscene. 

"I wouldn't like to live in Chicago and him here, " she said, thinking ofDrouet. 

"It's a big town, dearest, " Hurstwood answered. "It would be as good asmoving to another part of the country to move to the South Side. "

He had fixed upon that region as an objective point. 

"Anyhow, " said Carrie, "I shouldn't want to get married as long as he ishere. I wouldn't want to run away. "

The suggestion of marriage struck Hurstwood forcibly. He saw clearlythat this was her idea--he felt that it was not to be gotten overeasily. Bigamy lightened the horizon of his shadowy thoughts for amoment. He wondered for the life of him how it would all come out. Hecould not see that he was making any progress save in her regard. Whenhe looked at her now, he thought her beautiful. What a thing it was tohave her love him, even if it be entangling! She increased in value inhis eyes because of her objection. She was something to struggle for, and that was everything. How different from the women who yieldedwillingly! He swept the thought of them from his mind. 

"And you don't know when he'll go away?" asked Hurstwood, quietly. 

She shook her head. 

He sighed. 

"You're a determined little miss, aren't you?" he said, after a fewmoments, looking up into her eyes. 

She felt a wave of feeling sweep over her at this. It was pride atwhat seemed his admiration--affection for the man who could feel thisconcerning her. 

"No, " she said coyly, "but what can I do?"

Again he folded his hands and looked away over the lawn into the street. 

"I wish, " he said pathetically, "you would come to me. I don't like tobe away from you this way. What good is there in waiting? You're not anyhappier, are you?"

"Happier!" she exclaimed softly, "you know better than that. "

"Here we are then, " he went on in the same tone, "wasting our days. Ifyou are not happy, do you think I am? I sit and write to you the biggestpart of the time. I'll tell you what, Carrie, " he exclaimed, throwingsudden force of expression into his voice and fixing her with his eyes, "I can't live without you, and that's all there is to it. Now, " heconcluded, showing the palm of one of his white hands in a sort ofat-an-end, helpless expression, "what shall I do?"

This shifting of the burden to her appealed to Carrie. The semblance ofthe load without the weight touched the woman's heart. 

"Can't you wait a little while yet?" she said tenderly. "I'll try andfind out when he's going. "

"What good will it do?" he asked, holding the same strain of feeling. 

"Well, perhaps we can arrange to go somewhere. "

She really did not see anything clearer than before, but she was gettinginto that frame of mind where, out of sympathy, a woman yields. 

Hurstwood did not understand. He was wondering how she was to bepersuaded--what appeal would move her to forsake Drouet. He began towonder how far her affection for him would carry her. He was thinking ofsome question which would make her tell. 

Finally he hit upon one of those problematical propositions which oftendisguise our own desires while leading us to an understanding of thedifficulties which others make for us, and so discover for us a way. Ithad not the slightest connection with anything intended on his part, andwas spoken at random before he had given it a moment's serious thought. 

"Carrie, " he said, looking into her face and assuming a serious lookwhich he did not feel, "suppose I were to come to you next week, or thisweek for that matter--to-night say--and tell you I had to go away--thatI couldn't stay another minute and wasn't coming back any more--wouldyou come with me?" His sweetheart viewed him with the most affectionateglance, her answer ready before the words were out of his mouth. 

"Yes, " she said. 

"You wouldn't stop to argue or arrange?"

"Not if you couldn't wait. "

He smiled when he saw that she took him seriously, and he thought what achance it would afford for a possible junket of a week or two. He hada notion to tell her that he was joking and so brush away her sweetseriousness, but the effect of it was too delightful. He let it stand. 

"Suppose we didn't have time to get married here?" he added, anafterthought striking him. 

"If we got married as soon as we got to the other end of the journey itwould be all right. "

"I meant that, " he said. 

"Yes. "

The morning seemed peculiarly bright to him now. He wondered whatevercould have put such a thought into his head. Impossible as it was, hecould not help smiling at its cleverness. It showed how she loved him. There was no doubt in his mind now, and he would find a way to win her. 

"Well, " he said, jokingly, "I'll come and get you one of theseevenings, " and then he laughed. 

"I wouldn't stay with you, though, if you didn't marry me, " Carrie addedreflectively. 

"I don't want you to, " he said tenderly, taking her hand. 

She was extremely happy now that she understood. She loved him themore for thinking that he would rescue her so. As for him, the marriageclause did not dwell in his mind. He was thinking that with suchaffection there could be no bar to his eventual happiness. 

"Let's stroll about, " he said gayly, rising and surveying all the lovelypark. 

"All right, " said Carrie. 

They passed the young Irishman, who looked after them with envious eyes. 

"'Tis a foine couple, " he observed to himself. "They must be rich. "

Chapter XVI. A WITLESS ALADDIN--THE GATE TO THE WORLD

In the course of his present stay in Chicago, Drouet paid some slightattention to the secret order to which he belonged. During his last triphe had received a new light on its importance. 

"I tell you, " said another drummer to him, "it's a great thing. Look atHazenstab. He isn't so deuced clever. Of course he's got a good housebehind him, but that won't do alone. I tell you it's his degree. He'sa way-up Mason, and that goes a long way. He's got a secret sign thatstands for something. "

Drouet resolved then and there that he would take more interest in suchmatters. So when he got back to Chicago he repaired to his local lodgeheadquarters. 

"I say, Drouet, " said Mr. Harry Quincel, an individual who was veryprominent in this local branch of the Elks, "you're the man that canhelp us out. "

It was after the business meeting and things were going socially witha hum. Drouet was bobbing around chatting and joking with a score ofindividuals whom he knew. 

"What are you up to?" he inquired genially, turning a smiling face uponhis secret brother. 

"We're trying to get up some theatricals for two weeks from to-day, and we want to know if you don't know some young lady who could take apart--it's an easy part. "

"Sure, " said Drouet, "what is it?" He did not trouble to rememberthat he knew no one to whom he could appeal on this score. His innategood-nature, however, dictated a favourable reply. 

"Well, now, I'll tell you what we are trying to do, " went on Mr. Quincel. "We are trying to get a new set of furniture for the lodge. There isn't enough money in the treasury at the present time, and wethought we would raise it by a little entertainment. "

"Sure, " interrupted Drouet, "that's a good idea. "

"Several of the boys around here have got talent. There's HarryBurbeck, he does a fine black-face turn. Mac Lewis is all right at heavydramatics. Did you ever hear him recite 'Over the Hills'?"

"Never did. "

"Well, I tell you, he does it fine. "

"And you want me to get some woman to take a part?" questioned Drouet, anxious to terminate the subject and get on to something else. "What areyou going to play?"

"'Under the Gaslight, '" said Mr. Quincel, mentioning Augustin Daly'sfamous production, which had worn from a great public success down to anamateur theatrical favourite, with many of the troublesome accessoriescut out and the dramatis personae reduced to the smallest possiblenumber. 

Drouet had seen this play some time in the past. 

"That's it, " he said; "that's a fine play. It will go all right. Youought to make a lot of money out of that. "

"We think we'll do very well, " Mr. Quincel replied. "Don't you forgetnow, " he concluded, Drouet showing signs of restlessness; "some youngwoman to take the part of Laura. "

"Sure, I'll attend to it. "

He moved away, forgetting almost all about it the moment Mr. Quincel hadceased talking. He had not even thought to ask the time or place. 

Drouet was reminded of his promise a day or two later by the receipt ofa letter announcing that the first rehearsal was set for the followingFriday evening, and urging him to kindly forward the young lady'saddress at once, in order that the part might be delivered to her. 

"Now, who the deuce do I know?" asked the drummer reflectively, scratching his rosy ear. "I don't know any one that knows anything aboutamateur theatricals. "

He went over in memory the names of a number of women he knew, andfinally fixed on one, largely because of the convenient location of herhome on the West Side, and promised himself that as he came out thatevening he would see her. When, however, he started west on the carhe forgot, and was only reminded of his delinquency by an item in the"Evening News"--a small three-line affair under the head of SecretSociety Notes--which stated the Custer Lodge of the Order of Elks wouldgive a theatrical performance in Avery Hall on the 16th, when "Under theGaslight" would be produced. 

"George!" exclaimed Drouet, "I forgot that. "

"What?" inquired Carrie. 

They were at their little table in the room which might have been usedfor a kitchen, where Carrie occasionally served a meal. To-night thefancy had caught her, and the little table was spread with a pleasingrepast. 

"Why, my lodge entertainment. They're going to give a play, and theywanted me to get them some young lady to take a part. "

"What is it they're going to play?"

"'Under the Gaslight. '"

"When?"

"On the 16th. "

"Well, why don't you?" asked Carrie. 

"I don't know any one, " he replied. 

Suddenly he looked up. 

"Say, " he said, "how would you like to take the part?"

"Me?" said Carrie. "I can't act. "

"How do you know?" questioned Drouet reflectively. 

"Because, " answered Carrie, "I never did. "

Nevertheless, she was pleased to think he would ask. Her eyesbrightened, for if there was anything that enlisted her sympathies itwas the art of the stage. True to his nature, Drouet clung to this ideaas an easy way out. 

"That's nothing. You can act all you have to down there. "

"No, I can't, " said Carrie weakly, very much drawn toward theproposition and yet fearful. 

"Yes, you can. Now, why don't you do it? They need some one, and it willbe lots of fun for you. "

"Oh, no, it won't, " said Carrie seriously. 

"You'd like that. I know you would. I've seen you dancing around hereand giving imitations and that's why I asked you. You're clever enough, all right. "

"No, I'm not, " said Carrie shyly. 

"Now, I'll tell you what you do. You go down and see about it. It'll befun for you. The rest of the company isn't going to be any good. Theyhaven't any experience. What do they know about theatricals?"

He frowned as he thought of their ignorance. 

"Hand me the coffee, " he added. 

"I don't believe I could act, Charlie, " Carrie went on pettishly. "Youdon't think I could, do you?"

"Sure. Out o' sight. I bet you make a hit. Now you want to go, I knowyou do. I knew it when I came home. That's why I asked you. "

"What is the play, did you say?"

"'Under the Gaslight. '"

"What part would they want me to take?"

"Oh, one of the heroines--I don't know. "

"What sort of a play is it?"

"Well, " said Drouet, whose memory for such things was not the best, "it's about a girl who gets kidnapped by a couple of crooks--a man anda woman that live in the slums. She had some money or something and theywanted to get it. I don't know now how it did go exactly. "

"Don't you know what part I would have to take?"

"No, I don't, to tell the truth. " He thought a moment. "Yes, I do, too. Laura, that's the thing--you're to be Laura. "

"And you can't remember what the part is like?"

"To save me, Cad, I can't, " he answered. "I ought to, too; I've seenthe play enough. There's a girl in it that was stolen when she was aninfant--was picked off the street or something--and she's the one that'shounded by the two old criminals I was telling you about. " He stoppedwith a mouthful of pie poised on a fork before his face. "She comes verynear getting drowned--no, that's not it. I'll tell you what I'll do, " heconcluded hopelessly, "I'll get you the book. I can't remember now forthe life of me. "

"Well, I don't know, " said Carrie, when he had concluded, her interestand desire to shine dramatically struggling with her timidity for themastery. "I might go if you thought I'd do all right. "

"Of course, you'll do, " said Drouet, who, in his efforts to enthuseCarrie, had interested himself. "Do you think I'd come home here andurge you to do something that I didn't think you would make a successof? You can act all right. It'll be good for you. "

"When must I go?" said Carrie, reflectively. 

"The first rehearsal is Friday night. I'll get the part for youto-night. "

"All right, " said Carrie resignedly, "I'll do it, but if I make afailure now it's your fault. "

"You won't fail, " assured Drouet. "Just act as you do around here. Benatural. You're all right. I've often thought you'd make a corking goodactress. "

"Did you really?" asked Carrie. 

"That's right, " said the drummer. 

He little knew as he went out of the door that night what a secretflame he had kindled in the bosom of the girl he left behind. Carrie waspossessed of that sympathetic, impressionable nature which, ever in themost developed form, has been the glory of the drama. She was createdwith that passivity of soul which is always the mirror of the activeworld. She possessed an innate taste for imitation and no small ability. Even without practice, she could sometimes restore dramatic situationsshe had witnessed by re-creating, before her mirror, the expressions ofthe various faces taking part in the scene. She loved to modulate hervoice after the conventional manner of the distressed heroine, andrepeat such pathetic fragments as appealed most to her sympathies. Oflate, seeing the airy grace of the ingenue in several well-constructedplays, she had been moved to secretly imitate it, and many were thelittle movements and expressions of the body in which she indulged fromtime to time in the privacy of her chamber. On several occasions, whenDrouet had caught her admiring herself, as he imagined, in the mirror, she was doing nothing more than recalling some little grace of themouth or the eyes which she had witnessed in another. Under his airyaccusation she mistook this for vanity and accepted the blame with afaint sense of error, though, as a matter of fact, it was nothing morethan the first subtle outcroppings of an artistic nature, endeavouringto re-create the perfect likeness of some phase of beauty which appealedto her. In such feeble tendencies, be it known, such outworking ofdesire to reproduce life, lies the basis of all dramatic art. 

Now, when Carrie heard Drouet's laudatory opinion of her dramaticability, her body tingled with satisfaction. Like the flame whichwelds the loosened particles into a solid mass, his words united thosefloating wisps of feeling which she had felt, but never believed, concerning her possible ability, and made them into a gaudy shred ofhope. Like all human beings, she had a touch of vanity. She felt thatshe could do things if she only had a chance. How often had she lookedat the well-dressed actresses on the stage and wondered how she wouldlook, how delightful she would feel if only she were in their place. Theglamour, the tense situation, the fine clothes, the applause, these hadlured her until she felt that she, too, could act--that she, too, could compel acknowledgment of power. Now she was told that she reallycould--that little things she had done about the house had made even himfeel her power. It was a delightful sensation while it lasted. 

When Drouet was gone, she sat down in her rocking-chair by the window tothink about it. As usual, imagination exaggerated the possibilitiesfor her. It was as if he had put fifty cents in her hand and she hadexercised the thoughts of a thousand dollars. She saw herself in ascore of pathetic situations in which she assumed a tremulous voice andsuffering manner. Her mind delighted itself with scenes of luxury andrefinement, situations in which she was the cynosure of all eyes, thearbiter of all fates. As she rocked to and fro she felt the tensityof woe in abandonment, the magnificence of wrath after deception, thelanguour of sorrow after defeat. Thoughts of all the charming women shehad seen in plays--every fancy, every illusion which she had concerningthe stage--now came back as a returning tide after the ebb. She built upfeelings and a determination which the occasion did not warrant. 

Drouet dropped in at the lodge when he went down town, and swashedaround with a great AIR, as Quincel met him. 

"Where is that young lady you were going to get for us?" asked thelatter. 

"I've got her, " said Drouet. 

"Have you?" said Quincel, rather surprised by his promptness; "that'sgood. What's her address?" and he pulled out his notebook in order to beable to send her part to her. 

"You want to send her her part?" asked the drummer. 

"Yes. "

"Well, I'll take it. I'm going right by her house in the morning. 

"What did you say her address was? We only want it in case we have anyinformation to send her. "

"Twenty-nine Ogden Place. "

"And her name?"

"Carrie Madenda, " said the drummer, firing at random. The lodge membersknew him to be single. 

"That sounds like somebody that can act, doesn't it?" said Quincel. 

"Yes, it does. "

He took the part home to Carrie and handed it to her with the manner ofone who does a favour. 

"He says that's the best part. Do you think you can do it?"

"I don't know until I look it over. You know I'm afraid, now that I'vesaid I would. "

"Oh, go on. What have you got to be afraid of? It's a cheap company. Therest of them aren't as good as you are. "

"Well, I'll see, " said Carrie, pleased to have the part, for all hermisgivings. 

He sidled around, dressing and fidgeting before he arranged to make hisnext remark. 

"They were getting ready to print the programmes, " he said, "and I gavethem the name of Carrie Madenda. Was that all right?"

"Yes, I guess so, " said his companion, looking up at him. She wasthinking it was slightly strange. 

"If you didn't make a hit, you know, " he went on. 

"Oh, yes, " she answered, rather pleased now with his caution. It wasclever for Drouet. 

"I didn't want to introduce you as my wife, because you'd feel worsethen if you didn't GO. They all know me so well. But you'll GO allright. Anyhow, you'll probably never meet any of them again. "

"Oh, I don't care, " said Carrie desperately. She was determined now tohave a try at the fascinating game. 

Drouet breathed a sigh of relief. He had been afraid that he was aboutto precipitate another conversation upon the marriage question. 

The part of Laura, as Carrie found out when she began to examine it, wasone of suffering and tears. As delineated by Mr. Daly, it was true tothe most sacred traditions of melodrama as he found it when he beganhis career. The sorrowful demeanour, the tremolo music, the long, explanatory, cumulative addresses, all were there. 

"Poor fellow, " read Carrie, consulting the text and drawing her voiceout pathetically. "Martin, be sure and give him a glass of wine beforehe goes. "

She was surprised at the briefness of the entire part, not knowing thatshe must be on the stage while others were talking, and not only bethere, but also keep herself in harmony with the dramatic movement ofthe scenes. 

"I think I can do that, though, " she concluded. 

When Drouet came the next night, she was very much satisfied with herday's study. 

"Well, how goes it, Caddie?" he said. 

"All right, " she laughed. "I think I have it memorised nearly. "

"That's good, " he said. "Let's hear some of it. "

"Oh, I don't know whether I can get up and say it off here, " she saidbashfully. 

"Well, I don't know why you shouldn't. It'll be easier here than it willthere. "

"I don't know about that, " she answered. Eventually she took off theballroom episode with considerable feeling, forgetting, as she gotdeeper in the scene, all about Drouet, and letting herself rise to afine state of feeling. 

"Good, " said Drouet; "fine, out o' sight! You're all right Caddie, Itell you. "

He was really moved by her excellent representation and the generalappearance of the pathetic little figure as it swayed and finallyfainted to the floor. He had bounded up to catch her, and now held herlaughing in his arms. 

"Ain't you afraid you'll hurt yourself?" he asked. 

"Not a bit. "

"Well, you're a wonder. Say, I never knew you could do anything likethat. "

"I never did, either, " said Carrie merrily, her face flushed withdelight. 

"Well, you can bet that you're all right, " said Drouet. "You can take myword for that. You won't fail. "

Chapter XVII. A GLIMPSE THROUGH THE GATEWAY--HOPE LIGHTENS THE EYE

The, to Carrie, very important theatrical performance was to take placeat the Avery on conditions which were to make it more noteworthy thanwas at first anticipated. The little dramatic student had written toHurstwood the very morning her part was brought her that she was goingto take part in a play. 

"I really am, " she wrote, feeling that he might take it as a jest; "Ihave my part now, honest, truly. "

Hurstwood smiled in an indulgent way as he read this. 

"I wonder what it is going to be? I must see that. "

He answered at once, making a pleasant reference to her ability. "Ihaven't the slightest doubt you will make a success. You must come tothe park to-morrow morning and tell me all about it. "

Carrie gladly complied, and revealed all the details of the undertakingas she understood it. 

"Well, " he said, "that's fine. I'm glad to hear it. Of course, you willdo well, you're so clever. "

He had truly never seen so much spirit in the girl before. Her tendencyto discover a touch of sadness had for the nonce disappeared. As shespoke her eyes were bright, her cheeks red. She radiated much of thepleasure which her undertakings gave her. For all her misgivings--andthey were as plentiful as the moments of the day--she was still happy. She could not repress her delight in doing this little thing which, toan ordinary observer, had no importance at all. 

Hurstwood was charmed by the development of the fact that the girl hadcapabilities. There is nothing so inspiring in life as the sight of alegitimate ambition, no matter how incipient. It gives colour, force, and beauty to the possessor. 

Carrie was now lightened by a touch of this divine afflatus. She drewto herself commendation from her two admirers which she had not earned. Their affection for her naturally heightened their perception ofwhat she was trying to do and their approval of what she did. Herinexperience conserved her own exuberant fancy, which ran riot withevery straw of opportunity, making of it a golden divining rod wherebythe treasure of life was to be discovered. 

"Let's see, " said Hurstwood, "I ought to know some of the boys in thelodge. I'm an Elk myself. "

"Oh, you mustn't let him know I told you. "

"That's so, " said the manager. 

"I'd like for you to be there, if you want to come, but I don't see howyou can unless he asks you. "

"I'll be there, " said Hurstwood affectionately. "I can fix it so hewon't know you told me. You leave it to me. "

This interest of the manager was a large thing in itself for theperformance, for his standing among the Elks was something worth talkingabout. Already he was thinking of a box with some friends, and flowersfor Carrie. He would make it a dress-suit affair and give the littlegirl a chance. 

Within a day or two, Drouet dropped into the Adams Street resort, and hewas at once spied by Hurstwood. It was at five in the afternoon andthe place was crowded with merchants, actors, managers, politicians, agoodly company of rotund, rosy figures, silk-hatted, starchy-bosomed, beringed and bescarfpinned to the queen's taste. John L. Sullivan, thepugilist, was at one end of the glittering bar, surrounded by a companyof loudly dressed sports, who were holding a most animated conversation. Drouet came across the floor with a festive stride, a new pair of tanshoes squeaking audibly at his progress. 

"Well, sir, " said Hurstwood, "I was wondering what had become of you. Ithought you had gone out of town again. "

Drouet laughed. 

"If you don't report more regularly we'll have to cut you off the list. "

"Couldn't help it, " said the drummer, "I've been busy. "

They strolled over toward the bar amid the noisy, shifting company ofnotables. The dressy manager was shaken by the hand three times in asmany minutes. 

"I hear your lodge is going to give a performance, " observed Hurstwood, in the most offhand manner. 

"Yes, who told you?"

"No one, " said Hurstwood. "They just sent me a couple of tickets, whichI can have for two dollars. Is it going to be any good?"

"I don't know, " replied the drummer. "They've been trying to get me toget some woman to take a part. "

"I wasn't intending to go, " said the manager easily. "I'll subscribe, ofcourse. How are things over there?"

"All right. They're going to fit things up out of the proceeds. "

"Well, " said the manager, "I hope they make a success of it. Haveanother?"

He did not intend to say any more. Now, if he should appear on the scenewith a few friends, he could say that he had been urged to come along. Drouet had a desire to wipe out the possibility of confusion. 

"I think the girl is going to take a part in it, " he said abruptly, after thinking it over. 

"You don't say so! How did that happen?"

"Well, they were short and wanted me to find them some one. I toldCarrie, and she seems to want to try. "

"Good for her, " said the manager. "It'll be a real nice affair. Do hergood, too. Has she ever had any experience?"

"Not a bit. "

"Oh, well, it isn't anything very serious. "

"She's clever, though, " said Drouet, casting off any imputation againstCarrie's ability. "She picks up her part quick enough. "

"You don't say so!" said the manager. 

"Yes, sir; she surprised me the other night. By George, if she didn't. "

"We must give her a nice little send-off, " said the manager. "I'll lookafter the flowers. "

Drouet smiled at his good-nature. 

"After the show you must come with me and we'll have a little supper. "

"I think she'll do all right, " said Drouet. 

"I want to see her. She's got to do all right. We'll make her, " and themanager gave one of his quick, steely half-smiles, which was a compoundof good-nature and shrewdness. 

Carrie, meanwhile, attended the first rehearsal. At this performanceMr. Quincel presided, aided by Mr. Millice, a young man who had somequalifications of past experience, which were not exactly understood byany one. He was so experienced and so business-like, however, that hecame very near being rude--failing to remember, as he did, that theindividuals he was trying to instruct were volunteer players and notsalaried underlings. 

"Now, Miss Madenda, " he said, addressing Carrie, who stood in one partuncertain as to what move to make, "you don't want to stand likethat. Put expression in your face. Remember, you are troubled over theintrusion of the stranger. Walk so, " and he struck out across the Averystage in almost drooping manner. 

Carrie did not exactly fancy the suggestion, but the novelty of thesituation, the presence of strangers, all more or less nervous, and thedesire to do anything rather than make a failure, made her timid. Shewalked in imitation of her mentor as requested, inwardly feeling thatthere was something strangely lacking. 

"Now, Mrs. Morgan, " said the director to one young married woman who wasto take the part of Pearl, "you sit here. Now, Mr. Bamberger, you standhere, so. Now, what is it you say?"

"Explain, " said Mr. Bamberger feebly. He had the part of Ray, Laura'slover, the society individual who was to waver in his thoughts ofmarrying her, upon finding that she was a waif and a nobody by birth. 

"How is that--what does your text say?"

"Explain, " repeated Mr. Bamberger, looking intently at his part. 

"Yes, but it also says, " the director remarked, "that you are to lookshocked. Now, say it again, and see if you can't look shocked. "

"Explain!" demanded Mr. Bamberger vigorously. 

"No, no, that won't do! Say it this way--EXPLAIN. "

"Explain, " said Mr. Bamberger, giving a modified imitation. 

"That's better. Now go on. "

"One night, " resumed Mrs. Morgan, whose lines came next, "father andmother were going to the opera. When they were crossing Broadway, theusual crowd of children accosted them for alms--"

"Hold on, " said the director, rushing forward, his arm extended. "Putmore feeling into what you are saying. "

Mrs. Morgan looked at him as if she feared a personal assault. Her eyelightened with resentment. 

"Remember, Mrs. Morgan, " he added, ignoring the gleam, but modifying hismanner, "that you're detailing a pathetic story. You are now supposedto be telling something that is a grief to you. It requires feeling, repression, thus: 'The usual crowd of children accosted them for alms. '"

"All right, " said Mrs. Morgan. 

"Now, go on. "

"As mother felt in her pocket for some change, her fingers touched acold and trembling hand which had clutched her purse. "

"Very good, " interrupted the director, nodding his head significantly. 

"A pickpocket! Well!" exclaimed Mr. Bamberger, speaking the lines thathere fell to him. 

"No, no, Mr. Bamberger, " said the director, approaching, "not that way. 'A pickpocket--well?' so. That's the idea. "

"Don't you think, " said Carrie weakly, noticing that it had not beenproved yet whether the members of the company knew their lines, letalone the details of expression, "that it would be better if we justwent through our lines once to see if we know them? We might pick upsome points. "

"A very good idea, Miss Madenda, " said Mr. Quincel, who sat at the sideof the stage, looking serenely on and volunteering opinions which thedirector did not heed. 

"All right, " said the latter, somewhat abashed, "it might be well to doit. " Then brightening, with a show of authority, "Suppose we run rightthrough, putting in as much expression as we can. "

"Good, " said Mr. Quincel. 

"This hand, " resumed Mrs. Morgan, glancing up at Mr. Bamberger and downat her book, as the lines proceeded, "my mother grasped in her own, and so tight that a small, feeble voice uttered an exclamation of pain. Mother looked down, and there beside her was a little ragged girl. "

"Very good, " observed the director, now hopelessly idle. 

"The thief!" exclaimed Mr. Bamberger. 

"Louder, " put in the director, finding it almost impossible to keep hishands off. 

"The thief!" roared poor Bamberger. 

"Yes, but a thief hardly six years old, with a face like an angel's. 'Stop, ' said my mother. 'What are you doing?'

"'Trying to steal, ' said the child. 

"'Don't you know that it is wicked to do so?' asked my father. 

"'No, ' said the girl, 'but it is dreadful to be hungry. '

"'Who told you to steal?' asked my mother. 

"'She--there, ' said the child, pointing to a squalid woman in a doorwayopposite, who fled suddenly down the street. 'That is old Judas, ' saidthe girl. "

Mrs. Morgan read this rather flatly, and the director was in despair. Hefidgeted around, and then went over to Mr. Quincel. 

"What do you think of them?" he asked. 

"Oh, I guess we'll be able to whip them into shape, " said the latter, with an air of strength under difficulties. 

"I don't know, " said the director. "That fellow Bamberger strikes me asbeing a pretty poor shift for a lover. "

"He's all we've got, " said Quincel, rolling up his eyes. "Harrison wentback on me at the last minute. Who else can we get?"

"I don't know, " said the director. "I'm afraid he'll never pick up. "

At this moment Bamberger was exclaiming, "Pearl, you are joking withme. " "Look at that now, " said the director, whispering behind his hand. "My Lord! what can you do with a man who drawls out a sentence likethat?"

"Do the best you can, " said Quincel consolingly. 

The rendition ran on in this wise until it came to where Carrie, asLaura, comes into the room to explain to Ray, who, after hearing Pearl'sstatement about her birth, had written the letter repudiating her, which, however, he did not deliver. Bamberger was just concluding thewords of Ray, "I must go before she returns. Her step! Too late, " andwas cramming the letter in his pocket, when she began sweetly with:

"Ray!"

"Miss--Miss Courtland, " Bamberger faltered weakly. 

Carrie looked at him a moment and forgot all about the company present. She began to feel the part, and summoned an indifferent smile to herlips, turning as the lines directed and going to a window, as if he werenot present. She did it with a grace which was fascinating to look upon. 

"Who is that woman?" asked the director, watching Carrie in her littlescene with Bamberger. 

"Miss Madenda, " said Quincel. 

"I know her name, " said the director, "but what does she do?"

"I don't know, " said Quincel. "She's a friend of one of our members. "

"Well, she's got more gumption than any one I've seen here so far--seemsto take an interest in what she's doing. "

"Pretty, too, isn't she?" said Quincel. 

The director strolled away without answering. 

In the second scene, where she was supposed to face the company in theball-room, she did even better, winning the smile of the director, whovolunteered, because of her fascination for him, to come over and speakwith her. 

"Were you ever on the stage?" he asked insinuatingly. 

"No, " said Carrie. 

"You do so well, I thought you might have had some experience. "

Carrie only smiled consciously. 

He walked away to listen to Bamberger, who was feebly spouting someardent line. 

Mrs. Morgan saw the drift of things and gleamed at Carrie with enviousand snapping black eyes. 

"She's some cheap professional, " she gave herself the satisfaction ofthinking, and scorned and hated her accordingly. 

The rehearsal ended for one day, and Carrie went home feeling that shehad acquitted herself satisfactorily. The words of the directorwere ringing in her ears, and she longed for an opportunity to tellHurstwood. She wanted him to know just how well she was doing. Drouet, too, was an object for her confidences. She could hardly wait until heshould ask her, and yet she did not have the vanity to bring it up. Thedrummer, however, had another line of thought to-night, and her littleexperience did not appeal to him as important. He let the conversationdrop, save for what she chose to recite without solicitation, and Carriewas not good at that. He took it for granted that she was doing verywell and he was relieved of further worry. Consequently he threw Carrieinto repression, which was irritating. She felt his indifference keenlyand longed to see Hurstwood. It was as if he were now the only friendshe had on earth. The next morning Drouet was interested again, but thedamage had been done. 

She got a pretty letter from the manager, saying that by the time shegot it he would be waiting for her in the park. When she came, he shoneupon her as the morning sun. 

"Well, my dear, " he asked, "how did you come out?"

"Well enough, " she said, still somewhat reduced after Drouet. 

"Now, tell me just what you did. Was it pleasant?"

Carrie related the incidents of the rehearsal, warming up as sheproceeded. 

"Well, that's delightful, " said Hurstwood. "I'm so glad. I must get overthere to see you. When is the next rehearsal?"

"Tuesday, " said Carrie, "but they don't allow visitors. "

"I imagine I could get in, " said Hurstwood significantly. 

She was completely restored and delighted by his consideration, but shemade him promise not to come around. 

"Now, you must do your best to please me, " he said encouragingly. "Justremember that I want you to succeed. We will make the performance worthwhile. You do that now. "

"I'll try, " said Carrie, brimming with affection and enthusiasm. 

"That's the girl, " said Hurstwood fondly. "Now, remember, " shaking anaffectionate finger at her, "your best. "

"I will, " she answered, looking back. 

The whole earth was brimming sunshine that morning. She tripped along, the clear sky pouring liquid blue into her soul. Oh, blessed are thechildren of endeavour in this, that they try and are hopeful. Andblessed also are they who, knowing, smile and approve. 

Chapter XVIII. JUST OVER THE BORDER--A HAIL AND FAREWELL

By the evening of the 16th the subtle hand of Hurstwood had made itselfapparent. He had given the word among his friends--and they were manyand influential--that here was something which they ought to attend, and, as a consequence, the sale of tickets by Mr. Quincel, acting forthe lodge, had been large. Small four-line notes had appeared in all ofthe daily newspapers. These he had arranged for by the aid of one ofhis newspaper friends on the "Times, " Mr. Harry McGarren, the managingeditor. 

"Say, Harry, " Hurstwood said to him one evening, as the latter stood atthe bar drinking before wending his belated way homeward, "you can helpthe boys out, I guess. "

"What is it?" said McGarren, pleased to be consulted by the opulentmanager. 

"The Custer Lodge is getting up a little entertainment for their owngood, and they'd like a little newspaper notice. You know what I mean--asquib or two saying that it's going to take place. "

"Certainly, " said McGarren, "I can fix that for you, George. "

At the same time Hurstwood kept himself wholly in the background. Themembers of Custer Lodge could scarcely understand why their littleaffair was taking so well. Mr. Harry Quincel was looked upon as quite astar for this sort of work. 

By the time the 16th had arrived Hurstwood's friends had ralliedlike Romans to a senator's call. A well-dressed, good-natured, flatteringly-inclined audience was assured from the moment he thought ofassisting Carrie. 

That little student had mastered her part to her own satisfaction, muchas she trembled for her fate when she should once face the gatheredthrong, behind the glare of the footlights. She tried to console herselfwith the thought that a score of other persons, men and women, wereequally tremulous concerning the outcome of their efforts, but she couldnot disassociate the general danger from her own individual liability. She feared that she would forget her lines, that she might be unable tomaster the feeling which she now felt concerning her own movements inthe play. At times she wished that she had never gone into the affair;at others, she trembled lest she should be paralysed with fear andstand white and gasping, not knowing what to say and spoiling the entireperformance. 

In the matter of the company, Mr. Bamberger had disappeared. Thathopeless example had fallen under the lance of the director's criticism. Mrs. Morgan was still present, but envious and determined, if fornothing more than spite, to do as well as Carrie at least. A loafingprofessional had been called in to assume the role of Ray, and, while hewas a poor stick of his kind, he was not troubled by any of those qualmswhich attack the spirit of those who have never faced an audience. Heswashed about (cautioned though he was to maintain silence concerninghis past theatrical relationships) in such a self-confident manner thathe was like to convince every one of his identity by mere matter ofcircumstantial evidence. 

"It is so easy, " he said to Mrs. Morgan, in the usual affected stagevoice. "An audience would be the last thing to trouble me. It's thespirit of the part, you know, that is difficult. "

Carrie disliked his appearance, but she was too much the actress not toswallow his qualities with complaisance, seeing that she must suffer hisfictitious love for the evening. 

At six she was ready to go. Theatrical paraphernalia had been providedover and above her care. She had practised her make-up in the morning, had rehearsed and arranged her material for the evening by one o'clock, and had gone home to have a final look at her part, waiting for theevening to come. 

On this occasion the lodge sent a carriage. Drouet rode with her as faras the door, and then went about the neighbouring stores, lookingfor some good cigars. The little actress marched nervously into herdressing-room and began that painfully anticipated matter of make-upwhich was to transform her, a simple maiden, to Laura, The Belle ofSociety. 

The flare of the gas-jets, the open trunks, suggestive of travel anddisplay, the scattered contents of the make-up box--rouge, pearlpowder, whiting, burnt cork, India ink, pencils for the eye-lids, wigs, scissors, looking-glasses, drapery--in short, all the namelessparaphernalia of disguise, have a remarkable atmosphere of their own. Since her arrival in the city many things had influenced her, but alwaysin a far-removed manner. This new atmosphere was more friendly. It waswholly unlike the great brilliant mansions which waved her coldly away, permitting her only awe and distant wonder. This took her by the handkindly, as one who says, "My dear, come in. " It opened for her as iffor its own. She had wondered at the greatness of the names upon thebill-boards, the marvel of the long notices in the papers, the beautyof the dresses upon the stage, the atmosphere of carriages, flowers, refinement. Here was no illusion. Here was an open door to see all ofthat. She had come upon it as one who stumbles upon a secret passageand, behold, she was in the chamber of diamonds and delight!

As she dressed with a flutter, in her little stage room, hearing thevoices outside, seeing Mr. Quincel hurrying here and there, noting Mrs. Morgan and Mrs. Hoagland at their nervous work of preparation, seeingall the twenty members of the cast moving about and worrying over whatthe result would be, she could not help thinking what a delight thiswould be if it would endure; how perfect a state, if she could only dowell now, and then some time get a place as a real actress. The thoughthad taken a mighty hold upon her. It hummed in her ears as the melody ofan old song. 

Outside in the little lobby another scene was begin enacted. Withoutthe interest of Hurstwood, the little hall would probably have beencomfortably filled, for the members of the lodge were moderatelyinterested in its welfare. Hurstwood's word, however, had gone therounds. It was to be a full-dress affair. The four boxes had been taken. Dr. Norman McNeill Hale and his wife were to occupy one. This was quitea card. C. R. Walker, dry-goods merchant and possessor of at least twohundred thousand dollars, had taken another; a well-known coal merchanthad been induced to take the third, and Hurstwood and his friends thefourth. Among the latter was Drouet. The people who were now pouringhere were not celebrities, nor even local notabilities, in a generalsense. They were the lights of a certain circle--the circle of smallfortunes and secret order distinctions. These gentlemen Elks knew thestanding of one another. They had regard for the ability which couldamass a small fortune, own a nice home, keep a barouche or carriage, perhaps, wear fine clothes, and maintain a good mercantile position. Naturally, Hurstwood, who was a little above the order of mindwhich accepted this standard as perfect, who had shrewdness and muchassumption of dignity, who held an imposing and authoritative position, and commanded friendship by intuitive tact in handling people, wasquite a figure. He was more generally known than most others in the samecircle, and was looked upon as some one whose reserve covered a mine ofinfluence and solid financial prosperity. 

To-night he was in his element. He came with several friends directlyfrom Rector's in a carriage. In the lobby he met Drouet, who wasjust returning from a trip for more cigars. All five now joined in ananimated conversation concerning the company present and the generaldrift of lodge affairs. 

"Who's here?" said Hurstwood, passing into the theatre proper, wherethe lights were turned up and a company of gentlemen were laughing andtalking in the open space back of the seats. 

"Why, how do you do, Mr. Hurstwood?" came from the first individualrecognised. 

"Glad to see you, " said the latter, grasping his hand lightly. 

"Looks quite an affair, doesn't it?"

"Yes, indeed, " said the manager. 

"Custer seems to have the backing of its members, " observed the friend. 

"So it should, " said the knowing manager. "I'm glad to see it. "

"Well, George, " said another rotund citizen, whose avoirdupois madenecessary an almost alarming display of starched shirt bosom, "how goesit with you?"

"Excellent, " said the manager. 

"What brings you over here? You're not a member of Custer. "

"Good-nature, " returned the manager. "Like to see the boys, you know. "

"Wife here?"

"She couldn't come to-night. She's not well. "

"Sorry to hear it--nothing serious, I hope. "

"No, just feeling a little ill. "

"I remember Mrs. Hurstwood when she was travelling once with you over toSt. Joe--" and here the newcomer launched off in a trivial recollection, which was terminated by the arrival of more friends. 

"Why, George, how are you?" said another genial West Side politicianand lodge member. "My, but I'm glad to see you again; how are things, anyhow?"

"Very well; I see you got that nomination for alderman. "

"Yes, we whipped them out over there without much trouble. "

"What do you suppose Hennessy will do now?"

"Oh, he'll go back to his brick business. He has a brick-yard, youknow. "

"I didn't know that, " said the manager. "Felt pretty sore, I suppose, over his defeat. " "Perhaps, " said the other, winking shrewdly. 

Some of the more favoured of his friends whom he had invited began toroll up in carriages now. They came shuffling in with a great show offinery and much evident feeling of content and importance. 

"Here we are, " said Hurstwood, turning to one from a group with whom hewas talking. 

"That's right, " returned the newcomer, a gentleman of about forty-five. 

"And say, " he whispered, jovially, pulling Hurstwood over by theshoulder so that he might whisper in his ear, "if this isn't a goodshow, I'll punch your head. "

"You ought to pay for seeing your old friends. Bother the show!"

To another who inquired, "Is it something really good?" the managerreplied:

"I don't know. I don't suppose so. " Then, lifting his hand graciously, "For the lodge. "

"Lots of boys out, eh?"

"Yes, look up Shanahan. He was just asking for you a moment ago. "

It was thus that the little theatre resounded to a babble of successfulvoices, the creak of fine clothes, the commonplace of good-nature, andall largely because of this man's bidding. Look at him any time withinthe half hour before the curtain was up, he was a member of an eminentgroup--a rounded company of five or more whose stout figures, largewhite bosoms, and shining pins bespoke the character of their success. The gentlemen who brought their wives called him out to shake hands. Seats clicked, ushers bowed while he looked blandly on. He was evidentlya light among them, reflecting in his personality the ambitions of thosewho greeted him. He was acknowledged, fawned upon, in a way lionised. Through it all one could see the standing of the man. It was greatnessin a way, small as it was. 

Chapter XIX. AN HOUR IN ELFLAND--A CLAMOUR HALF HEARD

At last the curtain was ready to go up. All the details of the make-uphad been completed, and the company settled down as the leader of thesmall, hired orchestra tapped significantly upon his music rack withhis baton and began the soft curtain-raising strain. Hurstwood ceasedtalking, and went with Drouet and his friend Sagar Morrison around tothe box. 

"Now, we'll see how the little girl does, " he said to Drouet, in a tonewhich no one else could hear. 

On the stage, six of the characters had already appeared in the openingparlour scene. Drouet and Hurstwood saw at a glance that Carrie wasnot among them, and went on talking in a whisper. Mrs. Morgan, Mrs. Hoagland, and the actor who had taken Bamberger's part were representingthe principal roles in this scene. The professional, whose name wasPatton, had little to recommend him outside of his assurance, but thisat the present moment was most palpably needed. Mrs. Morgan, as Pearl, was stiff with fright. Mrs. Hoagland was husky in the throat. The wholecompany was so weak-kneed that the lines were merely spoken, and nothingmore. It took all the hope and uncritical good-nature of the audience tokeep from manifesting pity by that unrest which is the agony of failure. 

Hurstwood was perfectly indifferent. He took it for granted that itwould be worthless. All he cared for was to have it endurable enough toallow for pretension and congratulation afterward. 

After the first rush of fright, however, the players got over thedanger of collapse. They rambled weakly forward, losing nearly all theexpression which was intended, and making the thing dull in the extreme, when Carrie came in. 

One glance at her, and both Hurstwood and Drouet saw plainly that shealso was weak-kneed. She came faintly across the stage, saying:

"And you, sir; we have been looking for you since eight o'clock, " butwith so little colour and in such a feeble voice that it was positivelypainful. 

"She's frightened, " whispered Drouet to Hurstwood. 

The manager made no answer. 

She had a line presently which was supposed to be funny. 

"Well, that's as much as to say that I'm a sort of life pill. "

It came out so flat, however, that it was a deathly thing. Drouetfidgeted. Hurstwood moved his toe the least bit. 

There was another place in which Laura was to rise and, with a sense ofimpending disaster, say, sadly:

"I wish you hadn't said that, Pearl. You know the old proverb, 'Call amaid by a married name. '"

The lack of feeling in the thing was ridiculous. Carrie did not get itat all. She seemed to be talking in her sleep. It looked as if shewere certain to be a wretched failure. She was more hopeless than Mrs. Morgan, who had recovered somewhat, and was now saying her lines clearlyat least. Drouet looked away from the stage at the audience. The latterheld out silently, hoping for a general change, of course. Hurstwoodfixed his eye on Carrie, as if to hypnotise her into doing better. Hewas pouring determination of his own in her direction. He felt sorry forher. 

In a few more minutes it fell to her to read the letter sent in bythe strange villain. The audience had been slightly diverted by aconversation between the professional actor and a character calledSnorky, impersonated by a short little American, who really developedsome humour as a half-crazed, one-armed soldier, turned messenger fora living. He bawled his lines out with such defiance that, while theyreally did not partake of the humour intended, they were funny. Now hewas off, however, and it was back to pathos, with Carrie as the chieffigure. She did not recover. She wandered through the whole scenebetween herself and the intruding villain, straining the patience of theaudience, and finally exiting, much to their relief. 

"She's too nervous, " said Drouet, feeling in the mildness of the remarkthat he was lying for once. 

"Better go back and say a word to her. "

Drouet was glad to do anything for relief. He fairly hustled around tothe side entrance, and was let in by the friendly door-keeper. Carriewas standing in the wings, weakly waiting her next cue, all the snap andnerve gone out of her. 

"Say, Cad, " he said, looking at her, "you mustn't be nervous. Wake up. Those guys out there don't amount to anything. What are you afraid of?"

"I don't know, " said Carrie. "I just don't seem to be able to do it. "

She was grateful for the drummer's presence, though. She had found thecompany so nervous that her own strength had gone. 

"Come on, " said Drouet. "Brace up. What are you afraid of? Go on outthere now, and do the trick. What do you care?"

Carrie revived a little under the drummer's electrical, nervouscondition. 

"Did I do so very bad?"

"Not a bit. All you need is a little more ginger. Do it as you showedme. Get that toss of your head you had the other night. "

Carrie remembered her triumph in the room. She tried to think she couldto it. 

"What's next?" he said, looking at her part, which she had beenstudying. 

"Why, the scene between Ray and me when I refuse him. "

"Well, now you do that lively, " said the drummer. "Put in snap, that'sthe thing. Act as if you didn't care. "

"Your turn next, Miss Madenda, " said the prompter. 

"Oh, dear, " said Carrie. 

"Well, you're a chump for being afraid, " said Drouet. "Come on now, brace up. I'll watch you from right here. "

"Will you?" said Carrie. 

"Yes, now go on. Don't be afraid. "

The prompter signalled her. 

She started out, weak as ever, but suddenly her nerve partiallyreturned. She thought of Drouet looking. 

"Ray, " she said, gently, using a tone of voice much more calm than whenshe had last appeared. It was the scene which had pleased the directorat the rehearsal. 

"She's easier, " thought Hurstwood to himself. 

She did not do the part as she had at rehearsal, but she was better. Theaudience was at least not irritated. The improvement of the work of theentire company took away direct observation from her. They were makingvery fair progress, and now it looked as if the play would be passable, in the less trying parts at least. 

Carrie came off warm and nervous. 

"Well, " she said, looking at him, "was it any better?"

"Well, I should say so. That's the way. Put life into it. You did thatabout a thousand per cent. Better than you did the other scene. Now goon and fire up. You can do it. Knock 'em. "

"Was it really better?"

"Better, I should say so. What comes next?"

"That ballroom scene. "

"Well, you can do that all right, " he said. 

"I don't know, " answered Carrie. 

"Why, woman, " he exclaimed, "you did it for me! Now you go out there anddo it. It'll be fun for you. Just do as you did in the room. If you'llreel it off that way, I'll bet you make a hit. Now, what'll you bet? Youdo it. "

The drummer usually allowed his ardent good-nature to get the better ofhis speech. He really did think that Carrie had acted this particularscene very well, and he wanted her to repeat it in public. Hisenthusiasm was due to the mere spirit of the occasion. 

When the time came, he buoyed Carrie up most effectually. He began tomake her feel as if she had done very well. The old melancholy of desirebegan to come back as he talked at her, and by the time the situationrolled around she was running high in feeling. 

"I think I can do this. "

"Sure you can. Now you go ahead and see. "

On the stage, Mrs. Van Dam was making her cruel insinuation againstLaura. 

Carrie listened, and caught the infection of something--she did not knowwhat. Her nostrils sniffed thinly. 

"It means, " the professional actor began, speaking as Ray, "that societyis a terrible avenger of insult. Have you ever heard of the Siberianwolves? When one of the pack falls through weakness, the others devourhim. It is not an elegant comparison, but there is something wolfish insociety. Laura has mocked it with a pretence, and society, which is madeup of pretence, will bitterly resent the mockery. "

At the sound of her stage name Carrie started. She began to feel thebitterness of the situation. The feelings of the outcast descended uponher. She hung at the wing's edge, wrapt in her own mounting thoughts. She hardly heard anything more, save her own rumbling blood. 

"Come, girls, " said Mrs. Van Dam, solemnly, "let us look after ourthings. They are no longer safe when such an accomplished thief enters. "

"Cue, " said the prompter, close to her side, but she did not hear. Already she was moving forward with a steady grace, born of inspiration. She dawned upon the audience, handsome and proud, shifting, with thenecessity of the situation, to a cold, white, helpless object, as thesocial pack moved away from her scornfully. 

Hurstwood blinked his eyes and caught the infection. The radiating wavesof feeling and sincerity were already breaking against the farthestwalls of the chamber. The magic of passion, which will yet dissolve theworld, was here at work. 

There was a drawing, too, of attention, a riveting of feeling, heretofore wandering. 

"Ray! Ray! Why do you not come back to her?" was the cry of Pearl. 

Every eye was fixed on Carrie, still proud and scornful. They moved asshe moved. Their eyes were with her eyes. 

Mrs. Morgan, as Pearl, approached her. 

"Let us go home, " she said. 

"No, " answered Carrie, her voice assuming for the first time apenetrating quality which it had never known. "Stay with him!"

She pointed an almost accusing hand toward her lover. Then, with apathos which struck home because of its utter simplicity, "He shall notsuffer long. "

Hurstwood realised that he was seeing something extraordinarily good. It was heightened for him by the applause of the audience as the curtaindescended and the fact that it was Carrie. He thought now that she wasbeautiful. She had done something which was above his sphere. He felt akeen delight in realising that she was his. 

"Fine, " he said, and then, seized by a sudden impulse, arose and wentabout to the stage door. 

When he came in upon Carrie she was still with Drouet. His feelings forher were most exuberant. He was almost swept away by the strength andfeeling she exhibited. His desire was to pour forth his praise with theunbounded feelings of a lover, but here was Drouet, whose affection wasalso rapidly reviving. The latter was more fascinated, if anything, thanHurstwood. At least, in the nature of things, it took a more ruddy form. 

"Well, well, " said Drouet, "you did out of sight. That was simply great. I knew you could do it. Oh, but you're a little daisy!"

Carrie's eyes flamed with the light of achievement. 

"Did I do all right?"

"Did you? Well, I guess. Didn't you hear the applause?"

There was some faint sound of clapping yet. 

"I thought I got it something like--I felt it. "

Just then Hurstwood came in. Instinctively he felt the change in Drouet. He saw that the drummer was near to Carrie, and jealousy leaped alightin his bosom. In a flash of thought, he reproached himself for havingsent him back. Also, he hated him as an intruder. He could scarcely pullhimself down to the level where he would have to congratulate Carrie asa friend. Nevertheless, the man mastered himself, and it was a triumph. He almost jerked the old subtle light to his eyes. 

"I thought, " he said, looking at Carrie, "I would come around and tellyou how well you did, Mrs. Drouet. It was delightful. "

Carrie took the cue, and replied:

"Oh, thank you. "

"I was just telling her, " put in Drouet, now delighted with hispossession, "that I thought she did fine. "

"Indeed you did, " said Hurstwood, turning upon Carrie eyes in which sheread more than the words. 

Carrie laughed luxuriantly. 

"If you do as well in the rest of the play, you will make us all thinkyou are a born actress. "

Carrie smiled again. She felt the acuteness of Hurstwood's position, and wished deeply that she could be alone with him, but she did notunderstand the change in Drouet. Hurstwood found that he could not talk, repressed as he was, and grudging Drouet every moment of his presence, he bowed himself out with the elegance of a Faust. Outside he set histeeth with envy. 

"Damn it!" he said, "is he always going to be in the way?" He was moodywhen he got back to the box, and could not talk for thinking of hiswretched situation. 

As the curtain for the next act arose, Drouet came back. He wasvery much enlivened in temper and inclined to whisper, but Hurstwoodpretended interest. He fixed his eyes on the stage, although Carrie wasnot there, a short bit of melodramatic comedy preceding her entrance. He did not see what was going on, however. He was thinking his ownthoughts, and they were wretched. 

The progress of the play did not improve matters for him. Carrie, fromnow on, was easily the centre of interest. The audience, which hadbeen inclined to feel that nothing could be good after the first gloomyimpression, now went to the other extreme and saw power where it wasnot. The general feeling reacted on Carrie. She presented her part withsome felicity, though nothing like the intensity which had aroused thefeeling at the end of the long first act. 

Both Hurstwood and Drouet viewed her pretty figure with rising feelings. The fact that such ability should reveal itself in her, that they shouldsee it set forth under such effective circumstances, framed almost inmassy gold and shone upon by the appropriate lights of sentiment andpersonality, heightened her charm for them. She was more than the oldCarrie to Drouet. He longed to be at home with her until he could tellher. He awaited impatiently the end, when they should go home alone. 

Hurstwood, on the contrary, saw in the strength of her newattractiveness his miserable predicament. He could have cursed theman beside him. By the Lord, he could not even applaud feelingly as hewould. For once he must simulate when it left a taste in his mouth. 

It was in the last act that Carrie's fascination for her lovers assumedits most effective character. 

Hurstwood listened to its progress, wondering when Carrie would come on. He had not long to wait. The author had used the artifice of sending allthe merry company for a drive, and now Carrie came in alone. It wasthe first time that Hurstwood had had a chance to see her facing theaudience quite alone, for nowhere else had she been without a foil ofsome sort. He suddenly felt, as she entered, that her old strength--thepower that had grasped him at the end of the first act--had come back. She seemed to be gaining feeling, now that the play was drawing to aclose and the opportunity for great action was passing. 

"Poor Pearl, " she said, speaking with natural pathos. "It is a sad thingto want for happiness, but it is a terrible thing to see another gropingabout blindly for it, when it is almost within the grasp. "

She was gazing now sadly out upon the open sea, her arm restinglistlessly upon the polished door-post. 

Hurstwood began to feel a deep sympathy for her and for himself. Hecould almost feel that she was talking to him. He was, by a combinationof feelings and entanglements, almost deluded by that quality of voiceand manner which, like a pathetic strain of music, seems ever apersonal and intimate thing. Pathos has this quality, that it seems everaddressed to one alone. 

"And yet, she can be very happy with him, " went on the little actress. "Her sunny temper, her joyous face will brighten any home. "

She turned slowly toward the audience without seeing. There was so muchsimplicity in her movements that she seemed wholly alone. Then she founda seat by a table, and turned over some books, devoting a thought tothem. 

"With no longings for what I may not have, " she breathed inconclusion--and it was almost a sigh--"my existence hidden from all savetwo in the wide world, and making my joy out of the joy of that innocentgirl who will soon be his wife. "

Hurstwood was sorry when a character, known as Peach Blossom, interrupted her. He stirred irritably, for he wished her to go on. Hewas charmed by the pale face, the lissome figure, draped in pearl grey, with a coiled string of pearls at the throat. Carrie had the air ofone who was weary and in need of protection, and, under the fascinatingmake-believe of the moment, he rose in feeling until he was ready inspirit to go to her and ease her out of her misery by adding to his owndelight. 

In a moment Carrie was alone again, and was saying, with animation:

"I must return to the city, no matter what dangers may lurk here. I mustgo, secretly if I can; openly, if I must. "

There was a sound of horses' hoofs outside, and then Ray's voice saying:"No, I shall not ride again. Put him up. "

He entered, and then began a scene which had as much to do with thecreation of the tragedy of affection in Hurstwood as anything in hispeculiar and involved career. For Carrie had resolved to make somethingof this scene, and, now that the cue had come, it began to take afeeling hold upon her. Both Hurstwood and Drouet noted the risingsentiment as she proceeded. 

"I thought you had gone with Pearl, " she said to her lover. 

"I did go part of the way, but I left the Party a mile down the road. "

"You and Pearl had no disagreement?"

"No--yes; that is, we always have. Our social barometers always stand at'cloudy' and 'overcast. '"

"And whose fault is that?" she said, easily. 

"Not mine, " he answered, pettishly. "I know I do all I can--I say all Ican--but she----"

This was rather awkwardly put by Patton, but Carrie redeemed it with agrace which was inspiring. 

"But she is your wife, " she said, fixing her whole attention upon thestilled actor, and softening the quality of her voice until it was againlow and musical. "Ray, my friend, courtship is the text from whichthe whole sermon of married life takes its theme. Do not let yours bediscontented and unhappy. "

She put her two little hands together and pressed them appealingly. 

Hurstwood gazed with slightly parted lips. Drouet was fidgeting withsatisfaction. 

"To be my wife, yes, " went on the actor in a manner which was weak bycomparison, but which could not now spoil the tender atmosphere whichCarrie had created and maintained. She did not seem to feel that he waswretched. She would have done nearly as well with a block of wood. Theaccessories she needed were within her own imagination. The acting ofothers could not affect them. 

"And you repent already?" she said, slowly. 

"I lost you, " he said, seizing her little hand, "and I was at themercy of any flirt who chose to give me an inviting look. It was yourfault--you know it was--why did you leave me?"

Carrie turned slowly away, and seemed to be mastering some impulse insilence. Then she turned back. 

"Ray, " she said, "the greatest happiness I have ever felt has been thethought that all your affection was forever bestowed upon a virtuouswoman, your equal in family, fortune, and accomplishments. What arevelation do you make to me now! What is it makes you continually warwith your happiness?"

The last question was asked so simply that it came to the audience andthe lover as a personal thing. 

At last it came to the part where the lover exclaimed, "Be to me as youused to be. "

Carrie answered, with affecting sweetness, "I cannot be that to you, butI can speak in the spirit of the Laura who is dead to you forever. "

"Be it as you will, " said Patton. 

Hurstwood leaned forward. The whole audience was silent and intent. 

"Let the woman you look upon be wise or vain, " said Carrie, her eyesbent sadly upon the lover, who had sunk into a seat, "beautiful orhomely, rich or poor, she has but one thing she can really give orrefuse--her heart. "

Drouet felt a scratch in his throat. 

"Her beauty, her wit, her accomplishments, she may sell to you; but herlove is the treasure without money and without price. "

The manager suffered this as a personal appeal. It came to him as ifthey were alone, and he could hardly restrain the tears for sorrowover the hopeless, pathetic, and yet dainty and appealing woman whom heloved. Drouet also was beside himself. He was resolving that he would beto Carrie what he had never been before. He would marry her, by George!She was worth it. 

"She asks only in return, " said Carrie, scarcely hearing the small, scheduled reply of her lover, and putting herself even more in harmonywith the plaintive melody now issuing from the orchestra, "that when youlook upon her your eyes shall speak devotion; that when you address heryour voice shall be gentle, loving, and kind; that you shall not despiseher because she cannot understand all at once your vigorous thoughtsand ambitious designs; for, when misfortune and evil have defeated yourgreatest purposes, her love remains to console you. You look to thetrees, " she continued, while Hurstwood restrained his feelings only bythe grimmest repression, "for strength and grandeur; do not despise theflowers because their fragrance is all they have to give. Remember, " sheconcluded, tenderly, "love is all a woman has to give, " and she laid astrange, sweet accent on the all, "but it is the only thing which Godpermits us to carry beyond the grave. "

The two men were in the most harrowed state of affection. They scarcelyheard the few remaining words with which the scene concluded. They onlysaw their idol, moving about with appealing grace, continuing a powerwhich to them was a revelation. 

Hurstwood resolved a thousands things, Drouet as well. They joinedequally in the burst of applause which called Carrie out. Drouet poundedhis hands until they ached. Then he jumped up again and started out. Ashe went, Carrie came out, and, seeing an immense basket of flowers beinghurried down the aisle toward her she waited. They were Hurstwood's. She looked toward the manager's box for a moment, caught his eye, andsmiled. He could have leaped out of the box to enfold her. He forgotthe need of circumspectness which his married state enforced. He almostforgot that he had with him in the box those who knew him. By the Lord, he would have that lovely girl if it took his all. He would act at once. This should be the end of Drouet, and don't you forget it. He would notwait another day. The drummer should not have her. 

He was so excited that he could not stay in the box. He went into thelobby, and then into the street, thinking. Drouet did not return. Ina few minutes the last act was over, and he was crazy to have Carriealone. He cursed the luck that could keep him smiling, bowing, shamming, when he wanted to tell her that he loved her, when he wanted to whisperto her alone. He groaned as he saw that his hopes were futile. He musteven take her to supper, shamming. He finally went about and asked howshe was getting along. The actors were all dressing, talking, hurryingabout. Drouet was palavering himself with the looseness of excitementand passion. The manager mastered himself only by a great effort. 

"We are going to supper, of course, " he said, with a voice that was amockery of his heart. 

"Oh, yes, " said Carrie, smiling. 

The little actress was in fine feather. She was realising now what itwas to be petted. For once she was the admired, the sought-for. Theindependence of success now made its first faint showing. With thetables turned, she was looking down, rather than up, to her lover. She did not fully realise that this was so, but there was something incondescension coming from her which was infinitely sweet. When she wasready they climbed into the waiting coach and drove down town; once, only, did she find an opportunity to express her feeling, and that waswhen the manager preceded Drouet in the coach and sat beside her. BeforeDrouet was fully in she had squeezed Hurstwood's hand in a gentle, impulsive manner. The manager was beside himself with affection. Hecould have sold his soul to be with her alone. "Ah, " he thought, "theagony of it. "

Drouet hung on, thinking he was all in all. The dinner was spoiled byhis enthusiasm. Hurstwood went home feeling as if he should die if hedid not find affectionate relief. He whispered "to-morrow" passionatelyto Carrie, and she understood. He walked away from the drummer and hisprize at parting feeling as if he could slay him and not regret. Carriealso felt the misery of it. 

"Good-night, " he said, simulating an easy friendliness. 

"Good-night, " said the little actress, tenderly. 

"The fool!" he said, now hating Drouet. "The idiot! I'll do him yet, andthat quick! We'll see to-morrow. "

"Well, if you aren't a wonder, " Drouet was saying, complacently, squeezing Carrie's arm. "You are the dandiest little girl on earth. "

Chapter XX. THE LURE OF THE SPIRIT--THE FLESH IN PURSUIT

Passion in a man of Hurstwood's nature takes a vigorous form. It is nomusing, dreamy thing. There is none of the tendency to sing outside ofmy lady's window--to languish and repine in the face of difficulties. Inthe night he was long getting to sleep because of too much thinking, andin the morning he was early awake, seizing with alacrity upon thesame dear subject and pursuing it with vigour. He was out of sortsphysically, as well as disordered mentally, for did he not delight in anew manner in his Carrie, and was not Drouet in the way? Never was manmore harassed than he by the thoughts of his love being held by theelated, flush-mannered drummer. He would have given anything, it seemedto him, to have the complication ended--to have Carrie acquiesce to anarrangement which would dispose of Drouet effectually and forever. 

What to do. He dressed thinking. He moved about in the same chamber withhis wife, unmindful of her presence. 

At breakfast he found himself without an appetite. The meat to which hehelped himself remained on his plate untouched. His coffee grew cold, while he scanned the paper indifferently. Here and there he read alittle thing, but remembered nothing. Jessica had not yet come down. His wife sat at one end of the table revolving thoughts of her own insilence. A new servant had been recently installed and had forgot thenapkins. On this account the silence was irritably broken by a reproof. 

"I've told you about this before, Maggie, " said Mrs. Hurstwood. "I'm notgoing to tell you again. "

Hurstwood took a glance at his wife. She was frowning. Just now hermanner irritated him excessively. Her next remark was addressed to him. 

"Have you made up your mind, George, when you will take your vacation?"

It was customary for them to discuss the regular summer outing at thisseason of the year. 

"Not yet, " he said, "I'm very busy just now. "

"Well, you'll want to make up your mind pretty soon, won't you, if we'regoing?" she returned. 

"I guess we have a few days yet, " he said. 

"Hmff, " she returned. "Don't wait until the season's over. "

She stirred in aggravation as she said this. 

"There you go again, " he observed. "One would think I never didanything, the way you begin. "

"Well, I want to know about it, " she reiterated. 

"You've got a few days yet, " he insisted. "You'll not want to startbefore the races are over. "

He was irritated to think that this should come up when he wished tohave his thoughts for other purposes. 

"Well, we may. Jessica doesn't want to stay until the end of the races. "

"What did you want with a season ticket, then?"

"Uh!" she said, using the sound as an exclamation of disgust, "I'll notargue with you, " and therewith arose to leave the table. 

"Say, " he said, rising, putting a note of determination in his voicewhich caused her to delay her departure, "what's the matter with you oflate? Can't I talk with you any more?"

"Certainly, you can TALK with me, " she replied, laying emphasis on theword. 

"Well, you wouldn't think so by the way you act. Now, you want to knowwhen I'll be ready--not for a month yet. Maybe not then. "

"We'll go without you. "

"You will, eh?" he sneered. 

"Yes, we will. "

He was astonished at the woman's determination, but it only irritatedhim the more. 

"Well, we'll see about that. It seems to me you're trying to run thingswith a pretty high hand of late. You talk as though you settled myaffairs for me. Well, you don't. You don't regulate anything that'sconnected with me. If you want to go, go, but you won't hurry me by anysuch talk as that. "

He was thoroughly aroused now. His dark eyes snapped, and he crunchedhis paper as he laid it down. Mrs. Hurstwood said nothing more. He wasjust finishing when she turned on her heel and went out into the halland upstairs. He paused for a moment, as if hesitating, then sat downand drank a little coffee, and thereafter arose and went for his hat andgloves upon the main floor. 

His wife had really not anticipated a row of this character. She hadcome down to the breakfast table feeling a little out of sorts withherself and revolving a scheme which she had in her mind. Jessica hadcalled her attention to the fact that the races were not what they weresupposed to be. The social opportunities were not what they had thoughtthey would be this year. The beautiful girl found going every day a dullthing. There was an earlier exodus this year of people who were anybodyto the watering places and Europe. In her own circle of acquaintancesseveral young men in whom she was interested had gone to Waukesha. Shebegan to feel that she would like to go too, and her mother agreed withher. 

Accordingly, Mrs. Hurstwood decided to broach the subject. She wasthinking this over when she came down to the table, but for some reasonthe atmosphere was wrong. She was not sure, after it was all over, justhow the trouble had begun. She was determined now, however, that herhusband was a brute, and that, under no circumstances, would she letthis go by unsettled. She would have more lady-like treatment or shewould know why. 

For his part, the manager was loaded with the care of this new argumentuntil he reached his office and started from there to meet Carrie. Thenthe other complications of love, desire, and opposition possessed him. His thoughts fled on before him upon eagles' wings. He could hardly waituntil he should meet Carrie face to face. What was the night, after all, without her--what the day? She must and should be his. 

For her part, Carrie had experienced a world of fancy and feelingsince she had left him, the night before. She had listened to Drouet'senthusiastic maunderings with much regard for that part which concernedherself, with very little for that which affected his own gain. She kepthim at such lengths as she could, because her thoughts were with her owntriumph. She felt Hurstwood's passion as a delightful background to herown achievement, and she wondered what he would have to say. She wassorry for him, too, with that peculiar sorrow which finds somethingcomplimentary to itself in the misery of another. She was nowexperiencing the first shades of feeling of that subtle change whichremoves one out of the ranks of the suppliants into the lines of thedispensers of charity. She was, all in all, exceedingly happy. 

On the morrow, however, there was nothing in the papers concerning theevent, and, in view of the flow of common, everyday things about, it nowlost a shade of the glow of the previous evening. Drouet himself wasnot talking so much OF as FOR her. He felt instinctively that, for somereason or other, he needed reconstruction in her regard. 

"I think, " he said, as he spruced around their chambers the nextmorning, preparatory to going down town, "that I'll straighten out thatlittle deal of mine this month and then we'll get married. I was talkingwith Mosher about that yesterday. "

"No, you won't, " said Carrie, who was coming to feel a certain faintpower to jest with the drummer. 

"Yes, I will, " he exclaimed, more feelingly than usual, adding, with thetone of one who pleads, "Don't you believe what I've told you?"

Carrie laughed a little. 

"Of course I do, " she answered. 

Drouet's assurance now misgave him. Shallow as was his mentalobservation, there was that in the things which had happened which madehis little power of analysis useless. Carrie was still with him, but nothelpless and pleading. There was a lilt in her voice which was new. Shedid not study him with eyes expressive of dependence. The drummerwas feeling the shadow of something which was coming. It coloured hisfeelings and made him develop those little attentions and say thoselittle words which were mere forefendations against danger. 

Shortly afterward he departed, and Carrie prepared for her meeting withHurstwood. She hurried at her toilet, which was soon made, and hasteneddown the stairs. At the corner she passed Drouet, but they did not seeeach other. 

The drummer had forgotten some bills which he wished to turn into hishouse. He hastened up the stairs and burst into the room, but found onlythe chambermaid, who was cleaning up. 

"Hello, " he exclaimed, half to himself, "has Carrie gone?"

"Your wife? Yes, she went out just a few minutes ago. "

"That's strange, " thought Drouet. "She didn't say a word to me. I wonderwhere she went?"

He hastened about, rummaging in his valise for what he wanted, and finally pocketing it. Then he turned his attention to his fairneighbour, who was good-looking and kindly disposed towards him. 

"What are you up to?" he said, smiling. 

"Just cleaning, " she replied, stopping and winding a dusting towel abouther hand. 

"Tired of it?"

"Not so very. "

"Let me show you something, " he said, affably, coming over and takingout of his pocket a little lithographed card which had been issued bya wholesale tobacco company. On this was printed a picture of a prettygirl, holding a striped parasol, the colours of which could be changedby means of a revolving disk in the back, which showed red, yellow, green, and blue through little interstices made in the ground occupiedby the umbrella top. 

"Isn't that clever?" he said, handing it to her and showing her how itworked. "You never saw anything like that before. "

"Isn't it nice?" she answered. 

"You can have it if you want it, " he remarked. 

"That's a pretty ring you have, " he said, touching a commonplace settingwhich adorned the hand holding the card he had given her. 

"Do you think so?"

"That's right, " he answered, making use of a pretence at examination tosecure her finger. "That's fine. "

The ice being thus broken, he launched into further observationpretending to forget that her fingers were still retained by his. Shesoon withdrew them, however, and retreated a few feet to rest againstthe window-sill. 

"I didn't see you for a long time, " she said, coquettishly, repulsingone of his exuberant approaches. "You must have been away. "

"I was, " said Drouet. 

"Do you travel far?"

"Pretty far--yes. "

"Do you like it?"

"Oh, not very well. You get tired of it after a while. "

"I wish I could travel, " said the girl, gazing idly out of the window. 

"What has become of your friend, Mr. Hurstwood?" she suddenly asked, bethinking herself of the manager, who, from her own observation, seemedto contain promising material. 

"He's here in town. What makes you ask about him?"

"Oh, nothing, only he hasn't been here since you got back. "

"How did you come to know him?"

"Didn't I take up his name a dozen times in the last month?"

"Get out, " said the drummer, lightly. "He hasn't called more than half adozen times since we've been here. "

"He hasn't, eh?" said the girl, smiling. "That's all you know about it. "

Drouet took on a slightly more serious tone. He was uncertain as towhether she was joking or not. 

"Tease, " he said, "what makes you smile that way?"

"Oh, nothing. "

"Have you seen him recently?"

"Not since you came back, " she laughed. 

"Before?"

"Certainly. "

"How often?"

"Why, nearly every day. "

She was a mischievous newsmonger, and was keenly wondering what theeffect of her words would be. 

"Who did he come to see?" asked the drummer, incredulously. 

"Mrs. Drouet. "

He looked rather foolish at this answer, and then attempted to correcthimself so as not to appear a dupe. 

"Well, " he said, "what of it?"

"Nothing, " replied the girl, her head cocked coquettishly on one side. 

"He's an old friend, " he went on, getting deeper into the mire. 

He would have gone on further with his little flirtation, but the tastefor it was temporarily removed. He was quite relieved when the girl'snamed was called from below. 

"I've got to go, " she said, moving away from him airily. 

"I'll see you later, " he said, with a pretence of disturbance at beinginterrupted. 

When she was gone, he gave freer play to his feelings. His face, nevereasily controlled by him, expressed all the perplexity and disturbancewhich he felt. Could it be that Carrie had received so many visitsand yet said nothing about them? Was Hurstwood lying? What did thechambermaid mean by it, anyway? He had thought there was something oddabout Carrie's manner at the time. Why did she look so disturbed whenhe had asked her how many times Hurstwood had called? By George! Heremembered now. There was something strange about the whole thing. 

He sat down in a rocking-chair to think the better, drawing up one legon his knee and frowning mightily. His mind ran on at a great rate. 

And yet Carrie hadn't acted out of the ordinary. It couldn't be, byGeorge, that she was deceiving him. She hadn't acted that way. Why, even last night she had been as friendly toward him as could be, andHurstwood too. Look how they acted! He could hardly believe they wouldtry to deceive him. 

His thoughts burst into words. 

"She did act sort of funny at times. Here she had dressed, and gone outthis morning and never said a word. "

He scratched his head and prepared to go down town. He was stillfrowning. As he came into the hall he encountered the girl, who was nowlooking after another chamber. She had on a white dusting cap, beneathwhich her chubby face shone good-naturedly. Drouet almost forgothis worry in the fact that she was smiling on him. He put his handfamiliarly on her shoulder, as if only to greet her in passing. 

"Got over being mad?" she said, still mischievously inclined. 

"I'm not mad, " he answered. 

"I thought you were, " she said, smiling. 

"Quit your fooling about that, " he said, in an offhand way. "Were youserious?"

"Certainly, " she answered. Then, with an air of one who did notintentionally mean to create trouble, "He came lots of times. I thoughtyou knew. "

The game of deception was up with Drouet. He did not try to simulateindifference further. 

"Did he spend the evenings here?" he asked. 

"Sometimes. Sometimes they went out. "

"In the evening?"

"Yes. You mustn't look so mad, though. "

"I'm not, " he said. "Did any one else see him?"

"Of course, " said the girl, as if, after all, it were nothing inparticular. 

"How long ago was this?"

"Just before you came back. "

The drummer pinched his lip nervously. 

"Don't say anything, will you?" he asked, giving the girl's arm a gentlesqueeze. 

"Certainly not, " she returned. "I wouldn't worry over it. "

"All right, " he said, passing on, seriously brooding for once, and yetnot wholly unconscious of the fact that he was making a most excellentimpression upon the chambermaid. 

"I'll see her about that, " he said to himself, passionately, feelingthat he had been unduly wronged. "I'll find out, b'George, whethershe'll act that way or not. "

Chapter XXI. THE LURE OF THE SPIRIT--THE FLESH IN PURSUIT

When Carrie came Hurstwood had been waiting many minutes. His blood waswarm; his nerves wrought up. He was anxious to see the woman who hadstirred him so profoundly the night before. 

"Here you are, " he said, repressedly, feeling a spring in his limbs andan elation which was tragic in itself. 

"Yes, " said Carrie. 

They walked on as if bound for some objective point, while Hurstwooddrank in the radiance of her presence. The rustle of her pretty skirtwas like music to him. 

"Are you satisfied?" he asked, thinking of how well she did the nightbefore. 

"Are you?"

He tightened his fingers as he saw the smile she gave him. 

"It was wonderful. "

Carrie laughed ecstatically. 

"That was one of the best things I've seen in a long time, " he added. 

He was dwelling on her attractiveness as he had felt it the eveningbefore, and mingling it with the feeling her presence inspired now. 

Carrie was dwelling in the atmosphere which this man created for her. Already she was enlivened and suffused with a glow. She felt his drawingtoward her in every sound of his voice. 

"Those were such nice flowers you sent me, " she said, after a moment ortwo. "They were beautiful. "

"Glad you liked them, " he answered, simply. 

He was thinking all the time that the subject of his desire was beingdelayed. He was anxious to turn the talk to his own feelings. All wasripe for it. His Carrie was beside him. He wanted to plunge in andexpostulate with her, and yet he found himself fishing for words andfeeling for a way. 

"You got home all right, " he said, gloomily, of a sudden, his tunemodifying itself to one of self-commiseration. 

"Yes, " said Carrie, easily. 

He looked at her steadily for a moment, slowing his pace and fixing herwith his eye. 

She felt the flood of feeling. 

"How about me?" he asked. 

This confused Carrie considerably, for she realised the flood-gateswere open. She didn't know exactly what to answer. "I don't know, " sheanswered. 

He took his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, and then let itgo. He stopped by the walk side and kicked the grass with his toe. Hesearched her face with a tender, appealing glance. 

"Won't you come away from him?" he asked, intensely. 

"I don't know, " returned Carrie, still illogically drifting and findingnothing at which to catch. 

As a matter of fact, she was in a most hopeless quandary. Here was aman whom she thoroughly liked, who exercised an influence over her, sufficient almost to delude her into the belief that she was possessedof a lively passion for him. She was still the victim of his keen eyes, his suave manners, his fine clothes. She looked and saw before her aman who was most gracious and sympathetic, who leaned toward her with afeeling that was a delight to observe. She could not resist the glowof his temperament, the light of his eye. She could hardly keep fromfeeling what he felt. 

And yet she was not without thoughts which were disturbing. What didhe know? What had Drouet told him? Was she a wife in his eyes, or what?Would he marry her? Even while he talked, and she softened, and her eyeswere lighted with a tender glow, she was asking herself if Drouethad told him they were not married. There was never anything at allconvincing about what Drouet said. 

And yet she was not grieved at Hurstwood's love. No strain of bitternesswas in it for her, whatever he knew. He was evidently sincere. Hispassion was real and warm. There was power in what he said. What shouldshe do? She went on thinking this, answering vaguely, languishingaffectionately, and altogether drifting, until she was on a borderlesssea of speculation. 

"Why don't you come away?" he said, tenderly. "I will arrange for youwhatever--"

"Oh, don't, " said Carrie. 

"Don't what?" he asked. "What do you mean?"

There was a look of confusion and pain in her face. She was wonderingwhy that miserable thought must be brought in. She was struck as bya blade with the miserable provision which was outside the pale ofmarriage. 

He himself realized that it was a wretched thing to have dragged in. He wanted to weigh the effects of it, and yet he could not see. Hewent beating on, flushed by her presence, clearly awakened, intenselyenlisted in his plan. 

"Won't you come?" he said, beginning over and with a more reverentfeeling. "You know I can't do without you--you know it--it can't go onthis way--can it?"

"I know, " said Carrie. 

"I wouldn't ask if I--I wouldn't argue with you if I could help it. Lookat me, Carrie. Put yourself in my place. You don't want to stay awayfrom me, do you?"

She shook her head as if in deep thought. "Then why not settle the wholething, once and for all?"

"I don't know, " said Carrie. 

"Don't know! Ah, Carrie, what makes you say that? Don't torment me. Beserious. "

"I am, " said Carrie, softly. 

"You can't be, dearest, and say that. Not when you know how I love you. Look at last night. "

His manner as he said this was the most quiet imaginable. His face andbody retained utter composure. Only his eyes moved, and they flashed asubtle, dissolving fire. In them the whole intensity of the man's naturewas distilling itself. 

Carrie made no answer. 

"How can you act this way, dearest?" he inquired, after a time. "Youlove me, don't you?"

He turned on her such a storm of feeling that she was overwhelmed. Forthe moment all doubts were cleared away. 

"Yes, " she answered, frankly and tenderly. 

"Well, then you'll come, won't you--come to-night?"

Carrie shook her head in spite of her distress. 

"I can't wait any longer, " urged Hurstwood. "If that is too soon, comeSaturday. "

"When will we be married?" she asked, diffidently, forgetting in herdifficult situation that she had hoped he took her to be Drouet's wife. 

The manager started, hit as he was by a problem which was more difficultthan hers. He gave no sign of the thoughts that flashed like messages tohis mind. 

"Any time you say, " he said, with ease, refusing to discolour hispresent delight with this miserable problem. 

"Saturday?" asked Carrie. 

He nodded his head. 

"Well, if you will marry me then, " she said, "I'll go. "

The manager looked at his lovely prize, so beautiful, so winsome, sodifficult to be won, and made strange resolutions. His passion hadgotten to that stage now where it was no longer coloured with reason. Hedid not trouble over little barriers of this sort in the face of so muchloveliness. He would accept the situation with all its difficulties; hewould not try to answer the objections which cold truth thrust uponhim. He would promise anything, everything, and trust to fortune todisentangle him. He would make a try for Paradise, whatever might bethe result. He would be happy, by the Lord, if it cost all honesty ofstatement, all abandonment of truth. 

Carrie looked at him tenderly. She could have laid her head upon hisshoulder, so delightful did it all seem. "Well, " she said, "I'll try andget ready then. "

Hurstwood looked into her pretty face, crossed with little shadowsof wonder and misgiving, and thought he had never seen anything morelovely. 

"I'll see you again to-morrow, " he said, joyously, "and we'll talk overthe plans. "

He walked on with her, elated beyond words, so delightful had been theresult. He impressed a long story of joy and affection upon her, thoughthere was but here and there a word. After a half-hour he began torealise that the meeting must come to an end, so exacting is the world. 

"To-morrow, " he said at parting, a gayety of manner adding wonderfullyto his brave demeanour. 

"Yes, " said Carrie, tripping elatedly away. 

There had been so much enthusiasm engendered that she was believingherself deeply in love. She sighed as she thought of her handsomeadorer. Yes, she would get ready by Saturday. She would go, and theywould be happy. 

Chapter XXII. THE BLAZE OF THE TINDER--FLESH WARS WITH THE FLESH

The misfortune of the Hurstwood household was due to the fact thatjealousy, having been born of love, did not perish with it. Mrs. Hurstwood retained this in such form that subsequent influences couldtransform it into hate. Hurstwood was still worthy, in a physical sense, of the affection his wife had once bestowed upon him, but in a socialsense he fell short. With his regard died his power to be attentive toher, and this, to a woman, is much greater than outright crime towardanother. Our self-love dictates our appreciation of the good or evil inanother. In Mrs. Hurstwood it discoloured the very hue of her husband'sindifferent nature. She saw design in deeds and phrases which sprungonly from a faded appreciation of her presence. 

As a consequence, she was resentful and suspicious. The jealousy thatprompted her to observe every falling away from the little amenities ofthe married relation on his part served to give her notice of theairy grace with which he still took the world. She could see fromthe scrupulous care which he exercised in the matter of his personalappearance that his interest in life had abated not a jot. Every motion, every glance had something in it of the pleasure he felt in Carrie, ofthe zest this new pursuit of pleasure lent to his days. Mrs. Hurstwoodfelt something, sniffing change, as animals do danger, afar off. 

This feeling was strengthened by actions of a direct and more potentnature on the part of Hurstwood. We have seen with what irritation heshirked those little duties which no longer contained any amusement ofsatisfaction for him, and the open snarls with which, more recently, he resented her irritating goads. These little rows were reallyprecipitated by an atmosphere which was surcharged with dissension. Thatit would shower, with a sky so full of blackening thunderclouds, wouldscarcely be thought worthy of comment. Thus, after leaving the breakfasttable this morning, raging inwardly at his blank declaration ofindifference at her plans, Mrs. Hurstwood encountered Jessica in herdressing-room, very leisurely arranging her hair. Hurstwood had alreadyleft the house. 

"I wish you wouldn't be so late coming down to breakfast, " she said, addressing Jessica, while making for her crochet basket. "Now here thethings are quite cold, and you haven't eaten. "

Her natural composure was sadly ruffled, and Jessica was doomed to feelthe fag end of the storm. 

"I'm not hungry, " she answered. 

"Then why don't you say so, and let the girl put away the things, instead of keeping her waiting all morning?"

"She doesn't mind, " answered Jessica, coolly. 

"Well, I do, if she doesn't, " returned the mother, "and, anyhow, I don'tlike you to talk that way to me. You're too young to put on such an airwith your mother. "

"Oh, mamma, don't row, "; answered Jessica. "What's the matter thismorning, anyway?"

"Nothing's the matter, and I'm not rowing. You mustn't think because Iindulge you in some things that you can keep everybody waiting. I won'thave it. "

"I'm not keeping anybody waiting, " returned Jessica, sharply, stirredout of a cynical indifference to a sharp defence. "I said I wasn'thungry. I don't want any breakfast. "

"Mind how you address me, missy. I'll not have it. Hear me now; I'll nothave it!"

Jessica heard this last while walking out of the room, with a toss ofher head and a flick of her pretty skirts indicative of the independenceand indifference she felt. She did not propose to be quarrelled with. 

Such little arguments were all too frequent, the result of a growthof natures which were largely independent and selfish. George, Jr. , manifested even greater touchiness and exaggeration in the matter of hisindividual rights, and attempted to make all feel that he was a manwith a man's privileges--an assumption which, of all things, is mostgroundless and pointless in a youth of nineteen. 

Hurstwood was a man of authority and some fine feeling, and it irritatedhim excessively to find himself surrounded more and more by a world uponwhich he had no hold, and of which he had a lessening understanding. 

Now, when such little things, such as the proposed earlier start toWaukesha, came up, they made clear to him his position. He was beingmade to follow, was not leading. When, in addition, a sharp temper wasmanifested, and to the process of shouldering him out of his authoritywas added a rousing intellectual kick, such as a sneer or a cynicallaugh, he was unable to keep his temper. He flew into hardly repressedpassion, and wished himself clear of the whole household. It seemed amost irritating drag upon all his desires and opportunities. 

For all this, he still retained the semblance of leadership and control, even though his wife was straining to revolt. Her display of temperand open assertion of opposition were based upon nothing more than thefeeling that she could do it. She had no special evidence wherewith tojustify herself--the knowledge of something which would give her bothauthority and excuse. The latter was all that was lacking, however, togive a solid foundation to what, in a way, seemed groundless discontent. The clear proof of one overt deed was the cold breath needed to convertthe lowering clouds of suspicion into a rain of wrath. 

An inkling of untoward deeds on the part of Hurstwood had come. DoctorBeale, the handsome resident physician of the neighbourhood, met Mrs. Hurstwood at her own doorstep some days after Hurstwood and Carrie hadtaken the drive west on Washington Boulevard. Dr. Beale, coming east onthe same drive, had recognised Hurstwood, but not before he was quitepast him. He was not so sure of Carrie--did not know whether it wasHurstwood's wife or daughter. 

"You don't speak to your friends when you meet them out driving, doyou?" he said, jocosely, to Mrs. Hurstwood. 

"If I see them, I do. Where was I?"

"On Washington Boulevard. " he answered, expecting her eye to light withimmediate remembrance. 

She shook her head. 

"Yes, out near Hoyne Avenue. You were with your husband. "

"I guess you're mistaken, " she answered. Then, remembering her husband'spart in the affair, she immediately fell a prey to a host of youngsuspicions, of which, however, she gave no sign. 

"I know I saw your husband, " he went on. "I wasn't so sure about you. Perhaps it was your daughter. "

"Perhaps it was, " said Mrs. Hurstwood, knowing full well that suchwas not the case, as Jessica had been her companion for weeks. She hadrecovered herself sufficiently to wish to know more of the details. 

"Was it in the afternoon?" she asked, artfully, assuming an air ofacquaintanceship with the matter. 

"Yes, about two or three. "

"It must have been Jessica, " said Mrs. Hurstwood, not wishing to seem toattach any importance to the incident. 

The physician had a thought or two of his own, but dismissed the matteras worthy of no further discussion on his part at least. 

Mrs. Hurstwood gave this bit of information considerable thought duringthe next few hours, and even days. She took it for granted that thedoctor had really seen her husband, and that he had been riding, mostlikely, with some other woman, after announcing himself as BUSY to her. As a consequence, she recalled, with rising feeling, how often he hadrefused to go to places with her, to share in little visits, or, indeed, take part in any of the social amenities which furnished the diversionof her existence. He had been seen at the theatre with people whom hecalled Moy's friends; now he was seen driving, and, most likely, wouldhave an excuse for that. Perhaps there were others of whom she did nothear, or why should he be so busy, so indifferent, of late? In the lastsix weeks he had become strangely irritable--strangely satisfied to pickup and go out, whether things were right or wrong in the house. Why?

She recalled, with more subtle emotions, that he did not look at hernow with any of the old light of satisfaction or approval in his eye. Evidently, along with other things, he was taking her to be getting oldand uninteresting. He saw her wrinkles, perhaps. She was fading, whilehe was still preening himself in his elegance and youth. He was still aninterested factor in the merry-makings of the world, while she--but shedid not pursue the thought. She only found the whole situation bitter, and hated him for it thoroughly. 

Nothing came of this incident at the time, for the truth is it did notseem conclusive enough to warrant any discussion. Only the atmosphere ofdistrust and ill-feeling was strengthened, precipitating every now andthen little sprinklings of irritable conversation, enlivened by flashesof wrath. The matter of the Waukesha outing was merely a continuation ofother things of the same nature. 

The day after Carrie's appearance on the Avery stage, Mrs. Hurstwoodvisited the races with Jessica and a youth of her acquaintance, Mr. BartTaylor, the son of the owner of a local house-furnishing establishment. They had driven out early, and, as it chanced, encountered severalfriends of Hurstwood, all Elks, and two of whom had attended theperformance the evening before. A thousand chances the subject of theperformance had never been brought up had Jessica not been so engagedby the attentions of her young companion, who usurped as much time aspossible. This left Mrs. Hurstwood in the mood to extend the perfunctorygreetings of some who knew her into short conversations, and the shortconversations of friends into long ones. It was from one who meant butto greet her perfunctorily that this interesting intelligence came. 

"I see, " said this individual, who wore sporting clothes of the mostattractive pattern, and had a field-glass strung over his shoulder, "that you did not get over to our little entertainment last evening. "

"No?" said Mrs. Hurstwood, inquiringly, and wondering why he shouldbe using the tone he did in noting the fact that she had not been tosomething she knew nothing about. It was on her lips to say, "What wasit?" when he added, "I saw your husband. "

Her wonder was at once replaced by the more subtle quality of suspicion. 

"Yes, " she said, cautiously, "was it pleasant? He did not tell me muchabout it. "

"Very. Really one of the best private theatricals I ever attended. Therewas one actress who surprised us all. "

"Indeed, " said Mrs. Hurstwood. 

"It's too bad you couldn't have been there, really. I was sorry to hearyou weren't feeling well. "

Feeling well! Mrs. Hurstwood could have echoed the words after himopen-mouthed. As it was, she extricated herself from her mingled impulseto deny and question, and said, almost raspingly:

"Yes, it is too bad. "

"Looks like there will be quite a crowd here to-day, doesn't it?" theacquaintance observed, drifting off upon another topic. 

The manager's wife would have questioned farther, but she saw noopportunity. She was for the moment wholly at sea, anxious to think forherself, and wondering what new deception was this which caused him togive out that she was ill when she was not. Another case of her companynot wanted, and excuses being made. She resolved to find out more. 

"Were you at the performance last evening?" she asked of the next ofHurstwood's friends who greeted her as she sat in her box. 

"Yes. You didn't get around. "

"No, " she answered, "I was not feeling very well. "

"So your husband told me, " he answered. "Well, it was really veryenjoyable. Turned out much better than I expected. "

"Were there many there?"

"The house was full. It was quite an Elk night. I saw quite a number ofyour friends--Mrs. Harrison, Mrs. Barnes, Mrs. Collins. "

"Quite a social gathering. "

"Indeed it was. My wife enjoyed it very much. "

Mrs. Hurstwood bit her lip. 

"So, " she thought, "that's the way he does. Tells my friends I am sickand cannot come. "

She wondered what could induce him to go alone. There was something backof this. She rummaged her brain for a reason. 

By evening, when Hurstwood reached home, she had brooded herself into astate of sullen desire for explanation and revenge. She wanted to knowwhat this peculiar action of his imported. She was certain there wasmore behind it all than what she had heard, and evil curiosity mingledwell with distrust and the remnants of her wrath of the morning. She, impending disaster itself, walked about with gathered shadow at the eyesand the rudimentary muscles of savagery fixing the hard lines of hermouth. 

On the other hand, as we may well believe, the manager came home in thesunniest mood. His conversation and agreement with Carrie had raised hisspirits until he was in the frame of mind of one who sings joyously. Hewas proud of himself, proud of his success, proud of Carrie. He couldhave been genial to all the world, and he bore no grudge against hiswife. He meant to be pleasant, to forget her presence, to live in theatmosphere of youth and pleasure which had been restored to him. 

So now, the house, to his mind, had a most pleasing and comfortableappearance. In the hall he found an evening paper, laid there by themaid and forgotten by Mrs. Hurstwood. In the dining-room the table wasclean laid with linen and napery and shiny with glasses and decoratedchina. Through an open door he saw into the kitchen, where the fire wascrackling in the stove and the evening meal already well under way. Outin the small back yard was George, Jr. , frolicking with a young dog hehad recently purchased, and in the parlour Jessica was playing at thepiano, the sounds of a merry waltz filling every nook and corner of thecomfortable home. Every one, like himself, seemed to have regained hisgood spirits, to be in sympathy with youth and beauty, to be inclined tojoy and merry-making. He felt as if he could say a good word all aroundhimself, and took a most genial glance at the spread table and polishedsideboard before going upstairs to read his paper in the comfortablearmchair of the sitting-room which looked through the open windows intothe street. When he entered there, however, he found his wife brushingher hair and musing to herself the while. 

He came lightly in, thinking to smooth over any feeling that might stillexist by a kindly word and a ready promise, but Mrs. Hurstwood saidnothing. He seated himself in the large chair, stirred lightly in makinghimself comfortable, opened his paper, and began to read. In a fewmoments he was smiling merrily over a very comical account of a baseballgame which had taken place between the Chicago and Detroit teams. 

The while he was doing this Mrs. Hurstwood was observing him casuallythrough the medium of the mirror which was before her. She noticed hispleasant and contented manner, his airy grace and smiling humour, and itmerely aggravated her the more. She wondered how he could think to carryhimself so in her presence after the cynicism, indifference, and neglecthe had heretofore manifested and would continue to manifest so long asshe would endure it. She thought how she should like to tell him--whatstress and emphasis she would lend her assertions, how she shoulddrive over this whole affair until satisfaction should be rendered her. Indeed, the shining sword of her wrath was but weakly suspended by athread of thought. 

In the meanwhile Hurstwood encountered a humorous item concerninga stranger who had arrived in the city and became entangled with abunco-steerer. It amused him immensely, and at last he stirred andchuckled to himself. He wished that he might enlist his wife's attentionand read it to her. 

"Ha, ha, " he exclaimed softly, as if to himself, "that's funny. "

Mrs. Hurstwood kept on arranging her hair, not so much as deigning aglance. 

He stirred again and went on to another subject. At last he felt as ifhis good-humour must find some outlet. Julia was probably still outof humour over that affair of this morning, but that could easily bestraightened. As a matter of fact, she was in the wrong, but he didn'tcare. She could go to Waukesha right away if she wanted to. The soonerthe better. He would tell her that as soon as he got a chance, and thewhole thing would blow over. 

"Did you notice, " he said, at last, breaking forth concerning anotheritem which he had found, "that they have entered suit to compel theIllinois Central to get off the lake front, Julia?" he asked. 

She could scarcely force herself to answer, but managed to say "No, "sharply. 

Hurstwood pricked up his ears. There was a note in her voice whichvibrated keenly. 

"It would be a good thing if they did, " he went on, half to himself, half to her, though he felt that something was amiss in that quarter. He withdrew his attention to his paper very circumspectly, listeningmentally for the little sounds which should show him what was on foot. 

As a matter of fact, no man as clever as Hurstwood--as observant andsensitive to atmospheres of many sorts, particularly upon his own planeof thought--would have made the mistake which he did in regard to hiswife, wrought up as she was, had he not been occupied mentally witha very different train of thought. Had not the influence of Carrie'sregard for him, the elation which her promise aroused in him, lastedover, he would not have seen the house in so pleasant a mood. It was notextraordinarily bright and merry this evening. He was merely very muchmistaken, and would have been much more fitted to cope with it had hecome home in his normal state. 

After he had studied his paper a few moments longer, he felt that heought to modify matters in some way or other. Evidently his wife was notgoing to patch up peace at a word. So he said:

"Where did George get the dog he has there in the yard?"

"I don't know, " she snapped. 

He put his paper down on his knees and gazed idly out of the window. He did not propose to lose his temper, but merely to be persistent andagreeable, and by a few questions bring around a mild understanding ofsome sort. 

"Why do you feel so bad about that affair of this morning?" he said, atlast. "We needn't quarrel about that. You know you can go to Waukesha ifyou want to. "

"So you can stay here and trifle around with some one else?" sheexclaimed, turning to him a determined countenance upon which was drawna sharp and wrathful sneer. 

He stopped as if slapped in the face. In an instant his persuasive, conciliatory manner fled. He was on the defensive at a wink and puzzledfor a word to reply. 

"What do you mean?" he said at last, straightening himself and gazing atthe cold, determined figure before him, who paid no attention, but wenton arranging herself before the mirror. 

"You know what I mean, " she said, finally, as if there were a world ofinformation which she held in reserve--which she did not need to tell. 

"Well, I don't, " he said, stubbornly, yet nervous and alert for whatshould come next. The finality of the woman's manner took away hisfeeling of superiority in battle. 

She made no answer. 

"Hmph!" he murmured, with a movement of his head to one side. It was theweakest thing he had ever done. It was totally unassured. 

Mrs. Hurstwood noticed the lack of colour in it. She turned upon him, animal-like, able to strike an effectual second blow. 

"I want the Waukesha money to-morrow morning, " she said. 

He looked at her in amazement. Never before had he seen such a cold, steely determination in her eye--such a cruel look of indifference. She seemed a thorough master of her mood--thoroughly confident anddetermined to wrest all control from him. He felt that all his resourcescould not defend him. He must attack. 

"What do you mean?" he said, jumping up. "You want! I'd like to knowwhat's got into you to-night. "

"Nothing's GOT into me, " she said, flaming. "I want that money. You cando your swaggering afterwards. "

"Swaggering, eh! What! You'll get nothing from me. What do you mean byyour insinuations, anyhow?"

"Where were you last night?" she answered. The words were hot as theycame. "Who were you driving with on Washington Boulevard? Who were youwith at the theatre when George saw you? Do you think I'm a fool tobe duped by you? Do you think I'll sit at home here and take your 'toobusys' and 'can't come, ' while you parade around and make out that I'munable to come? I want you to know that lordly airs have come to an endso far as I am concerned. You can't dictate to me nor my children. I'mthrough with you entirely. "

"It's a lie, " he said, driven to a corner and knowing no other excuse. 

"Lie, eh!" she said, fiercely, but with returning reserve; "you may callit a lie if you want to, but I know. "

"It's a lie, I tell you, " he said, in a low, sharp voice. "You've beensearching around for some cheap accusation for months and now you thinkyou have it. You think you'll spring something and get the upper hand. Well, I tell you, you can't. As long as I'm in this house I'm master ofit, and you or any one else won't dictate to me--do you hear?"

He crept toward her with a light in his eye that was ominous. Somethingin the woman's cool, cynical, upper-handish manner, as if she werealready master, caused him to feel for the moment as if he couldstrangle her. 

She gazed at him--a pythoness in humour. 

"I'm not dictating to you, " she returned; "I'm telling you what I want. "

The answer was so cool, so rich in bravado, that somehow it took thewind out of his sails. He could not attack her, he could not ask herfor proofs. Somehow he felt evidence, law, the remembrance of all hisproperty which she held in her name, to be shining in her glance. Hewas like a vessel, powerful and dangerous, but rolling and flounderingwithout sail. 

"And I'm telling you, " he said in the end, slightly recovering himself, "what you'll not get. "

"We'll see about it, " she said. "I'll find out what my rights are. Perhaps you'll talk to a lawyer, if you won't to me. "

It was a magnificent play, and had its effect. Hurstwood fell backbeaten. He knew now that he had more than mere bluff to contend with. He felt that he was face to face with a dull proposition. What to sayhe hardly knew. All the merriment had gone out of the day. He wasdisturbed, wretched, resentful. What should he do? "Do as you please, "he said, at last. "I'll have nothing more to do with you, " and out hestrode. 

Chapter XXIII. A SPIRIT IN TRAVAIL--ONE RUNG PUT BEHIND

When Carrie reached her own room she had already fallen a prey to thosedoubts and misgivings which are ever the result of a lack of decision. She could not persuade herself as to the advisability of her promise, orthat now, having given her word, she ought to keep it. She went over thewhole ground in Hurstwood's absence, and discovered little objectionsthat had not occurred to her in the warmth of the manager's argument. She saw where she had put herself in a peculiar light, namely, thatof agreeing to marry when she was already supposedly married. Sheremembered a few things Drouet had done, and now that it came to walkingaway from him without a word, she felt as if she were doing wrong. Now, she was comfortably situated, and to one who is more or less afraidof the world, this is an urgent matter, and one which puts up strange, uncanny arguments. "You do not know what will come. There are miserablethings outside. People go a-begging. Women are wretched. You never cantell what will happen. Remember the time you were hungry. Stick to whatyou have. "

Curiously, for all her leaning towards Hurstwood, he had not taken afirm hold on her understanding. She was listening, smiling, approving, and yet not finally agreeing. This was due to a lack of power on hispart, a lack of that majesty of passion that sweeps the mind from itsseat, fuses and melts all arguments and theories into a tangled mass, and destroys for the time being the reasoning power. This majesty ofpassion is possessed by nearly every man once in his life, but it isusually an attribute of youth and conduces to the first successfulmating. 

Hurstwood, being an older man, could scarcely be said to retain the fireof youth, though he did possess a passion warm and unreasoning. It wasstrong enough to induce the leaning toward him which, on Carrie's part, we have seen. She might have been said to be imagining herself in love, when she was not. Women frequently do this. It flows from the fact thatin each exists a bias toward affection, a craving for the pleasure ofbeing loved. The longing to be shielded, bettered, sympathised with, is one of the attributes of the sex. This, coupled with sentiment anda natural tendency to emotion, often makes refusing difficult. Itpersuades them that they are in love. 

Once at home, she changed her clothes and straightened the rooms forherself. In the matter of the arrangement of the furniture she nevertook the housemaid's opinion. That young woman invariably put one ofthe rocking-chairs in the corner, and Carrie as regularly moved it out. To-day she hardly noticed that it was in the wrong place, so absorbedwas she in her own thoughts. She worked about the room until Drouet putin appearance at five o'clock. The drummer was flushed and excited andfull of determination to know all about her relations with Hurstwood. Nevertheless, after going over the subject in his mind the livelong day, he was rather weary of it and wished it over with. He did not foreseeserious consequences of any sort, and yet he rather hesitated to begin. Carrie was sitting by the window when he came in, rocking and lookingout. "Well, " she said innocently, weary of her own mental discussionand wondering at his haste and ill-concealed excitement, "what makes youhurry so?"

Drouet hesitated, now that he was in her presence, uncertain as to whatcourse to pursue. He was no diplomat. He could neither read nor see. 

"When did you get home?" he asked foolishly. 

"Oh, an hour or so ago. What makes you ask that?"

"You weren't here, " he said, "when I came back this morning, and Ithought you had gone out. "

"So I did, " said Carrie simply. "I went for a walk. "

Drouet looked at her wonderingly. For all his lack of dignity in suchmatters he did not know how to begin. He stared at her in the mostflagrant manner until at last she said:

"What makes you stare at me so? What's the matter?"

"Nothing, " he answered. "I was just thinking. "

"Just thinking what?" she returned smilingly, puzzled by his attitude. 

"Oh, nothing--nothing much. "

"Well, then, what makes you look so?"

Drouet was standing by the dresser, gazing at her in a comic manner. Hehad laid off his hat and gloves and was now fidgeting with the littletoilet pieces which were nearest him. He hesitated to believe that thepretty woman before him was involved in anything so unsatisfactory tohimself. He was very much inclined to feel that it was all right, afterall. Yet the knowledge imparted to him by the chambermaid was ranklingin his mind. He wanted to plunge in with a straight remark of some sort, but he knew not what. 

"Where did you go this morning?" he finally asked weakly. 

"Why, I went for a walk, " said Carrie. 

"Sure you did?" he asked. 

"Yes, what makes you ask?"

She was beginning to see now that he knew something. Instantly she drewherself into a more reserved position. Her cheeks blanched slightly. 

"I thought maybe you didn't, " he said, beating about the bush in themost useless manner. 

Carrie gazed at him, and as she did so her ebbing courage halted. She saw that he himself was hesitating, and with a woman's intuitionrealised that there was no occasion for great alarm. 

"What makes you talk like that?" she asked, wrinkling her prettyforehead. "You act so funny to-night. "

"I feel funny, " he answered. They looked at one another for a moment, and then Drouet plunged desperately into his subject. 

"What's this about you and Hurstwood?" he asked. 

"Me and Hurstwood--what do you mean?"

"Didn't he come here a dozen times while I was away?"

"A dozen times, " repeated Carrie, guiltily. "No, but what do you mean?"

"Somebody said that you went out riding with him and that he came hereevery night. "

"No such thing, " answered Carrie. "It isn't true. Who told you that?"

She was flushing scarlet to the roots of her hair, but Drouet did notcatch the full hue of her face, owing to the modified light of theroom. He was regaining much confidence as Carrie defended herself withdenials. 

"Well, some one, " he said. "You're sure you didn't?"

"Certainly, " said Carrie. "You know how often he came. "

Drouet paused for a moment and thought. 

"I know what you told me, " he said finally. 

He moved nervously about, while Carrie looked at him confusedly. 

"Well, I know that I didn't tell you any such thing as that, " saidCarrie, recovering herself. 

"If I were you, " went on Drouet, ignoring her last remark, "I wouldn'thave anything to do with him. He's a married man, you know. "

"Who--who is?" said Carrie, stumbling at the word. 

"Why, Hurstwood, " said Drouet, noting the effect and feeling that he wasdelivering a telling blow. 

"Hurstwood!" exclaimed Carrie, rising. Her face had changed severalshades since this announcement was made. She looked within and withoutherself in a half-dazed way. 

"Who told you this?" she asked, forgetting that her interest was out oforder and exceedingly incriminating. 

"Why, I know it. I've always known it, " said Drouet. 

Carrie was feeling about for a right thought. She was making a mostmiserable showing, and yet feelings were generating within her whichwere anything but crumbling cowardice. 

"I thought I told you, " he added. 

"No, you didn't, " she contradicted, suddenly recovering her voice. "Youdidn't do anything of the kind. "

Drouet listened to her in astonishment. This was something new. 

"I thought I did, " he said. 

Carrie looked around her very solemnly, and then went over to thewindow. 

"You oughtn't to have had anything to do with him, " said Drouet in aninjured tone, "after all I've done for you. "

"You, " said Carrie, "you! What have you done for me?"

Her little brain had been surging with contradictory feelings--shame atexposure, shame at Hurstwood's perfidy, anger at Drouet's deception, themockery he had made at her. Now one clear idea came into her head. Hewas at fault. There was no doubt about it. Why did he bring Hurstwoodout--Hurstwood, a married man, and never say a word to her? Never mindnow about Hurstwood's perfidy--why had he done this? Why hadn't hewarned her? There he stood now, guilty of this miserable breach ofconfidence and talking about what he had done for her!

"Well, I like that, " exclaimed Drouet, little realising the fire hisremark had generated. "I think I've done a good deal. "

"You have, eh?" she answered. "You've deceived me--that's what you'vedone. You've brought your old friends out here under false pretences. You've made me out to be--Oh, " and with this her voice broke and shepressed her two little hands together tragically. 

"I don't see what that's got to do with it, " said the drummer quaintly. 

"No, " she answered, recovering herself and shutting her teeth. "No, ofcourse you don't see. There isn't anything you see. You couldn't havetold me in the first place, could you? You had to make me outwrong until it was too late. Now you come sneaking around with yourinformation and your talk about what you have done. "

Drouet had never suspected this side of Carrie's nature. She was alivewith feeling, her eyes snapping, her lips quivering, her whole bodysensible of the injury she felt, and partaking of her wrath. 

"Who's sneaking?" he asked, mildly conscious of error on his part, butcertain that he was wronged. 

"You are, " stamped Carrie. "You're a horrid, conceited coward, that'swhat you are. If you had any sense of manhood in you, you wouldn't havethought of doing any such thing. "

The drummer stared. 

"I'm not a coward, " he said. "What do you mean by going with other men, anyway?"

"Other men!" exclaimed Carrie. "Other men--you know better than that. Idid go with Mr. Hurstwood, but whose fault was it? Didn't you bring himhere? You told him yourself that he should come out here and take meout. Now, after it's all over, you come and tell me that I oughtn't togo with him and that he's a married man. "

She paused at the sound of the last two words and wrung her hands. Theknowledge of Hurstwood's perfidy wounded her like a knife. "Oh, " shesobbed, repressing herself wonderfully and keeping her eyes dry. "Oh, oh!"

"Well, I didn't think you'd be running around with him when I was away, "insisted Drouet. 

"Didn't think!" said Carrie, now angered to the core by the man'speculiar attitude. "Of course not. You thought only of what would beto your satisfaction. You thought you'd make a toy of me--a plaything. Well, I'll show you that you won't. I'll have nothing more to do withyou at all. You can take your old things and keep them, " and unfasteninga little pin he had given her, she flung it vigorously upon the floorand began to move about as if to gather up the things which belonged toher. 

By this Drouet was not only irritated but fascinated the more. He lookedat her in amazement, and finally said:

"I don't see where your wrath comes in. I've got the right of thisthing. You oughtn't to have done anything that wasn't right after all Idid for you. "

"What have you done for me?" asked Carrie blazing, her head thrown backand her lips parted. 

"I think I've done a good deal, " said the drummer, looking around. "I've given you all the clothes you wanted, haven't I? I've taken youeverywhere you wanted to go. You've had as much as I've had, and moretoo. "

Carrie was not ungrateful, whatever else might be said of her. In sofar as her mind could construe, she acknowledged benefits received. Shehardly knew how to answer this, and yet her wrath was not placated. Shefelt that the drummer had injured her irreparably. 

"Did I ask you to?" she returned. 

"Well, I did it, " said Drouet, "and you took it. "

"You talk as though I had persuaded you, " answered Carrie. "You standthere and throw up what you've done. I don't want your old things. I'llnot have them. You take them to-night and do what you please with them. I'll not stay here another minute. "

"That's nice!" he answered, becoming angered now at the sense of his ownapproaching loss. "Use everything and abuse me and then walk off. That'sjust like a woman. I take you when you haven't got anything, and thenwhen some one else comes along, why I'm no good. I always thought it'dcome out that way. "

He felt really hurt as he thought of his treatment, and looked as if hesaw no way of obtaining justice. 

"It's not so, " said Carrie, "and I'm not going with anybody else. Youhave been as miserable and inconsiderate as you can be. I hate you, Itell you, and I wouldn't live with you another minute. You're a big, insulting"--here she hesitated and used no word at all--"or you wouldn'ttalk that way. "

She had secured her hat and jacket and slipped the latter on over herlittle evening dress. Some wisps of wavy hair had loosened from thebands at the side of her head and were straggling over her hot, redcheeks. She was angry, mortified, grief-stricken. Her large eyes werefull of the anguish of tears, but her lids were not yet wet. She wasdistracted and uncertain, deciding and doing things without an aim orconclusion, and she had not the slightest conception of how the wholedifficulty would end. 

"Well, that's a fine finish, " said Drouet. "Pack up and pull out, eh?You take the cake. I bet you were knocking around with Hurstwood or youwouldn't act like that. I don't want the old rooms. You needn't pull outfor me. You can have them for all I care, but b'George, you haven't doneme right. "

"I'll not live with you, " said Carrie. "I don't want to live with you. You've done nothing but brag around ever since you've been here. "

"Aw, I haven't anything of the kind, " he answered. 

Carrie walked over to the door. 

"Where are you going?" he said, stepping over and heading her off. 

"Let me out, " she said. 

"Where are you going?" he repeated. 

He was, above all, sympathetic, and the sight of Carrie wandering out, he knew not where, affected him, despite his grievance. 

Carrie merely pulled at the door. 

The strain of the situation was too much for her, however. She made onemore vain effort and then burst into tears. 

"Now, be reasonable, Cad, " said Drouet gently. "What do you want to rushout for this way? You haven't any place to go. Why not stay here now andbe quiet? I'll not bother you. I don't want to stay here any longer. "

Carrie had gone sobbing from the door to the window. She was so overcomeshe could not speak. 

"Be reasonable now, " he said. "I don't want to hold you. You can go ifyou want to, but why don't you think it over? Lord knows, I don't wantto stop you. "

He received no answer. Carrie was quieting, however, under the influenceof his plea. 

"You stay here now, and I'll go, " he added at last. 

Carrie listened to this with mingled feelings. Her mind was shaken loosefrom the little mooring of logic that it had. She was stirred by thisthought, angered by that--her own injustice, Hurstwood's, Drouet's, their respective qualities of kindness and favour, the threat of theworld outside, in which she had failed once before, the impossibilityof this state inside, where the chambers were no longer justly hers, theeffect of the argument upon her nerves, all combined to make her a massof jangling fibres--an anchorless, storm-beaten little craft which coulddo absolutely nothing but drift. 

"Say, " said Drouet, coming over to her after a few moments, with a newidea, and putting his hand upon her. 

"Don't!" said Carrie, drawing away, but not removing her handkerchieffrom her eyes. "Never mind about this quarrel now. Let it go. You stayhere until the month's out, anyhow, and then you can tell better whatyou want to do. Eh?"

Carrie made no answer. 

"You'd better do that, " he said. "There's no use your packing up now. You can't go anywhere. "

Still he got nothing for his words. 

"If you'll do that, we'll call it off for the present and I'll get out. "

Carrie lowered her handkerchief slightly and looked out of the window. 

"Will you do that?" he asked. 

Still no answer. 

"Will you?" he repeated. 

She only looked vaguely into the street. 

"Aw! come on, " he said, "tell me. Will you?"

"I don't know, " said Carrie softly, forced to answer. 

"Promise me you'll do that, " he said, "and we'll quit talking about it. It'll be the best thing for you. "

Carrie heard him, but she could not bring herself to answer reasonably. She felt that the man was gentle, and that his interest in her hadnot abated, and it made her suffer a pang of regret. She was in a mosthelpless plight. 

As for Drouet, his attitude had been that of the jealous lover. Now hisfeelings were a mixture of anger at deception, sorrow at losing Carrie, misery at being defeated. He wanted his rights in some way or other, andyet his rights included the retaining of Carrie, the making her feel hererror. 

"Will you?" he urged. 

"Well, I'll see, " said Carrie. 

This left the matter as open as before, but it was something. It lookedas if the quarrel would blow over, if they could only get some way oftalking to one another. Carrie was ashamed, and Drouet aggrieved. Hepretended to take up the task of packing some things in a valise. 

Now, as Carrie watched him out of the corner of her eye, certain soundthoughts came into her head. He had erred, true, but what had she done?He was kindly and good-natured for all his egotism. Throughout thisargument he had said nothing very harsh. On the other hand, therewas Hurstwood--a greater deceiver than he. He had pretended all thisaffection, all this passion, and he was lying to her all the while. Oh, the perfidy of men! And she had loved him. There could be nothing morein that quarter. She would see Hurstwood no more. She would write himand let him know what she thought. Thereupon what would she do? Herewere these rooms. Here was Drouet, pleading for her to remain. Evidentlythings could go on here somewhat as before, if all were arranged. Itwould be better than the street, without a place to lay her head. 

All this she thought of as Drouet rummaged the drawers for collars andlaboured long and painstakingly at finding a shirt-stud. He was in nohurry to rush this matter. He felt an attraction to Carrie which wouldnot down. He could not think that the thing would end by his walking outof the room. There must be some way round, some way to make her own upthat he was right and she was wrong--to patch up a peace and shutout Hurstwood for ever. Mercy, how he turned at the man's shamelessduplicity. 

"Do you think, " he said, after a few moments' silence, "that you'll tryand get on the stage?"

He was wondering what she was intending. 

"I don't know what I'll do yet, " said Carrie. 

"If you do, maybe I can help you. I've got a lot of friends in thatline. "

She made no answer to this. 

"Don't go and try to knock around now without any money. Let me helpyou, " he said. "It's no easy thing to go on your own hook here. "

Carrie only rocked back and forth in her chair. 

"I don't want you to go up against a hard game that way. "

He bestirred himself about some other details and Carrie rocked on. 

"Why don't you tell me all about this thing, " he said, after a time, "and let's call it off? You don't really care for Hurstwood, do you?"

"Why do you want to start on that again?" said Carrie. "You were toblame. "

"No, I wasn't, " he answered. 

"Yes, you were, too, " said Carrie. "You shouldn't have ever told me sucha story as that. "

"But you didn't have much to do with him, did you?" went on Drouet, anxious for his own peace of mind to get some direct denial from her. 

"I won't talk about it, " said Carrie, pained at the quizzical turn thepeace arrangement had taken. 

"What's the use of acting like that now, Cad?" insisted the drummer, stopping in his work and putting up a hand expressively. "You might letme know where I stand, at least. "

"I won't, " said Carrie, feeling no refuge but in anger. "Whatever hashappened is your own fault. "

"Then you do care for him?" said Drouet, stopping completely andexperiencing a rush of feeling. 

"Oh, stop!" said Carrie. "Well, I'll not be made a fool of, " exclaimedDrouet. "You may trifle around with him if you want to, but you can'tlead me. You can tell me or not, just as you want to, but I won't foolany longer!"

He shoved the last few remaining things he had laid out into his valiseand snapped it with a vengeance. Then he grabbed his coat, which he hadlaid off to work, picked up his gloves, and started out. 

"You can go to the deuce as far as I am concerned, " he said, as hereached the door. "I'm no sucker, " and with that he opened it with ajerk and closed it equally vigorously. 

Carrie listened at her window view, more astonished than anything elseat this sudden rise of passion in the drummer. She could hardly believeher senses--so good-natured and tractable had he invariably been. It wasnot for her to see the wellspring of human passion. A real flame of loveis a subtle thing. It burns as a will-o'-the-wisp, dancing onward tofairylands of delight. It roars as a furnace. Too often jealousy is thequality upon which it feeds. 

Chapter XXIV. ASHES OF TINDER--A FACE AT THE WINDOW

That night Hurstwood remained down town entirely, going to the PalmerHouse for a bed after his work was through. He was in a fevered state ofmind, owing to the blight his wife's action threatened to cast uponhis entire future. While he was not sure how much significance might beattached to the threat she had made, he was sure that her attitude, iflong continued, would cause him no end of trouble. She was determined, and had worsted him in a very important contest. How would it be fromnow on? He walked the floor of his little office, and later that of hisroom, putting one thing and another together to no avail. 

Mrs. Hurstwood, on the contrary, had decided not to lose her advantageby inaction. Now that she had practically cowed him, she would follow upher work with demands, the acknowledgment of which would make her wordLAW in the future. He would have to pay her the money which she wouldnow regularly demand or there would be trouble. It did not matter whathe did. She really did not care whether he came home any more or not. The household would move along much more pleasantly without him, and shecould do as she wished without consulting any one. Now she proposed toconsult a lawyer and hire a detective. She would find out at once justwhat advantages she could gain. 

Hurstwood walked the floor, mentally arranging the chief points ofhis situation. "She has that property in her name, " he kept saying tohimself. "What a fool trick that was. Curse it! What a fool move thatwas. "

He also thought of his managerial position. "If she raises a row nowI'll lose this thing. They won't have me around if my name gets in thepapers. My friends, too!" He grew more angry as he thought of the talkany action on her part would create. How would the papers talk about it?Every man he knew would be wondering. He would have to explain and denyand make a general mark of himself. Then Moy would come and confer withhim and there would be the devil to pay. 

Many little wrinkles gathered between his eyes as he contemplated this, and his brow moistened. He saw no solution of anything--not a loopholeleft. 

Through all this thoughts of Carrie flashed upon him, and theapproaching affair of Saturday. Tangled as all his matters were, he didnot worry over that. It was the one pleasing thing in this whole rout oftrouble. He could arrange that satisfactorily, for Carrie would be gladto wait, if necessary. He would see how things turned out to-morrow, andthen he would talk to her. They were going to meet as usual. He saw onlyher pretty face and neat figure and wondered why life was not arrangedso that such joy as he found with her could be steadily maintained. Howmuch more pleasant it would be. Then he would take up his wife's threatagain, and the wrinkles and moisture would return. 

In the morning he came over from the hotel and opened his mail, butthere was nothing in it outside the ordinary run. For some reason hefelt as if something might come that way, and was relieved when all theenvelopes had been scanned and nothing suspicious noticed. He beganto feel the appetite that had been wanting before he had reached theoffice, and decided before going out to the park to meet Carrie to dropin at the Grand Pacific and have a pot of coffee and some rolls. Whilethe danger had not lessened, it had not as yet materialised, and withhim no news was good news. If he could only get plenty of time to think, perhaps something would turn up. Surely, surely, this thing would notdrift along to catastrophe and he not find a way out. 

His spirits fell, however, when, upon reaching the park, he waited andwaited and Carrie did not come. He held his favourite post for an houror more, then arose and began to walk about restlessly. Could somethinghave happened out there to keep her away? Could she have been reachedby his wife? Surely not. So little did he consider Drouet that it neveronce occurred to him to worry about his finding out. He grew restless ashe ruminated, and then decided that perhaps it was nothing. She had notbeen able to get away this morning. That was why no letter notifying himhad come. He would get one to-day. It would probably be on his desk whenhe got back. He would look for it at once. 

After a time he gave up waiting and drearily headed for the Madison car. To add to his distress, the bright blue sky became overcast with littlefleecy clouds which shut out the sun. The wind veered to the east, andby the time he reached his office it was threatening to drizzle allafternoon. 

He went in and examined his letters, but there was nothing from Carrie. Fortunately, there was nothing from his wife either. He thanked hisstars that he did not have to confront that proposition just now when heneeded to think so much. He walked the floor again, pretending to be inan ordinary mood, but secretly troubled beyond the expression of words. 

At one-thirty he went to Rector's for lunch, and when he returned amessenger was waiting for him. He looked at the little chap with afeeling of doubt. 

"I'm to bring an answer, " said the boy. 

Hurstwood recognised his wife's writing. He tore it open and readwithout a show of feeling. It began in the most formal manner and wassharply and coldly worded throughout. 

"I want you to send the money I asked for at once. I need it to carryout my plans. You can stay away if you want to. It doesn't matter in theleast. But I must have some money. So don't delay, but send it by theboy. "

When he had finished it, he stood holding it in his hands. The audacityof the thing took his breath. It roused his ire also--the deepestelement of revolt in him. His first impulse was to write but four wordsin reply--"Go to the devil!"--but he compromised by telling the boy thatthere would be no reply. Then he sat down in his chair and gazed withoutseeing, contemplating the result of his work. What would she do aboutthat? The confounded wretch! Was she going to try to bulldoze him intosubmission? He would go up there and have it out with her, that's whathe would do. She was carrying things with too high a hand. These werehis first thoughts. 

Later, however, his old discretion asserted itself. Something had tobe done. A climax was near and she would not sit idle. He knew her wellenough to know that when she had decided upon a plan she would follow itup. Possibly matters would go into a lawyer's hands at once. 

"Damn her!" he said softly, with his teeth firmly set, "I'll make ithot for her if she causes me trouble. I'll make her change her tone if Ihave to use force to do it!"

He arose from his chair and went and looked out into the street. Thelong drizzle had begun. Pedestrians had turned up collars, and trousersat the bottom. Hands were hidden in the pockets of the umbrellaless;umbrellas were up. The street looked like a sea of round black clothroofs, twisting, bobbing, moving. Trucks and vans were rattling in anoisy line and everywhere men were shielding themselves as best theycould. He scarcely noticed the picture. He was forever confrontinghis wife, demanding of her to change her attitude toward him before heworked her bodily harm. 

At four o'clock another note came, which simply said that if themoney was not forthcoming that evening the matter would be laid beforeFitzgerald and Moy on the morrow, and other steps would be taken to getit. 

Hurstwood almost exclaimed out loud at the insistency of this thing. Yes, he would send her the money. He'd take it to her--he would go upthere and have a talk with her, and that at once. 

He put on his hat and looked around for his umbrella. He would have somearrangement of this thing. 

He called a cab and was driven through the dreary rain to the NorthSide. On the way his temper cooled as he thought of the details of thecase. What did she know? What had she done? Maybe she'd got hold ofCarrie, who knows--or--or Drouet. Perhaps she really had evidence, andwas prepared to fell him as a man does another from secret ambush. She was shrewd. Why should she taunt him this way unless she had goodgrounds?

He began to wish that he had compromised in some way or other--that hehad sent the money. Perhaps he could do it up here. He would go in andsee, anyhow. He would have no row. By the time he reached his own streethe was keenly alive to the difficulties of his situation and wished overand over that some solution would offer itself, that he could see hisway out. He alighted and went up the steps to the front door, but it waswith a nervous palpitation of the heart. He pulled out his key and triedto insert it, but another key was on the inside. He shook at the knob, but the door was locked. Then he rang the bell. No answer. He rangagain--this time harder. Still no answer. He jangled it fiercely severaltimes in succession, but without avail. Then he went below. 

There was a door which opened under the steps into the kitchen, protected by an iron grating, intended as a safeguard against burglars. When he reached this he noticed that it also was bolted and that thekitchen windows were down. What could it mean? He rang the bell and thenwaited. Finally, seeing that no one was coming, he turned and went backto his cab. 

"I guess they've gone out, " he said apologetically to the individual whowas hiding his red face in a loose tarpaulin raincoat. 

"I saw a young girl up in that winder, " returned the cabby. 

Hurstwood looked, but there was no face there now. He climbed moodilyinto the cab, relieved and distressed. 

So this was the game, was it? Shut him out and make him pay. Well, bythe Lord, that did beat all!

Chapter XXV. ASHES OF TINDER--THE LOOSING OF STAYS

When Hurstwood got back to his office again he was in a greater quandarythan ever. Lord, Lord, he thought, what had he got into? How couldthings have taken such a violent turn, and so quickly? He could hardlyrealise how it had all come about. It seemed a monstrous, unnatural, unwarranted condition which had suddenly descended upon him without hislet or hindrance. 

Meanwhile he gave a thought now and then to Carrie. What could be thetrouble in that quarter? No letter had come, no word of any kind, andyet here it was late in the evening and she had agreed to meet him thatmorning. To-morrow they were to have met and gone off--where? He sawthat in the excitement of recent events he had not formulated a planupon that score. He was desperately in love, and would have taken greatchances to win her under ordinary circumstances, but now--now what?Supposing she had found out something? Supposing she, too, wrote him andtold him that she knew all--that she would have nothing more to do withhim? It would be just like this to happen as things were going now. Meanwhile he had not sent the money. 

He strolled up and down the polished floor of the resort, his hands inhis pockets, his brow wrinkled, his mouth set. He was getting some vaguecomfort out of a good cigar, but it was no panacea for the ill whichaffected him. Every once in a while he would clinch his fingers and taphis foot--signs of the stirring mental process he was undergoing. Hiswhole nature was vigorously and powerfully shaken up, and he was findingwhat limits the mind has to endurance. He drank more brandy and sodathan he had any evening in months. He was altogether a fine example ofgreat mental perturbation. 

For all his study nothing came of the evening except this--he sent themoney. It was with great opposition, after two or three hours of themost urgent mental affirmation and denial, that at last he got anenvelope, placed in it the requested amount, and slowly sealed it up. 

Then he called Harry, the boy of all work around the place. 

"You take this to this address, " he said, handing him the envelope, "andgive it to Mrs. Hurstwood. "

"Yes, sir, " said the boy. 

"If she isn't there bring it back. "

"Yes, sir"

"You've seen my wife?" he asked as a precautionary measure as the boyturned to go. 

"Oh, yes, sir. I know her. "

"All right, now. Hurry right back. "

"Any answer?"

"I guess not. "

The boy hastened away and the manager fell to his musings. Now he haddone it. There was no use speculating over that. He was beaten forto-night and he might just as well make the best of it. But, oh, thewretchedness of being forced this way! He could see her meeting the boyat the door and smiling sardonically. She would take the envelope andknow that she had triumphed. If he only had that letter back he wouldn'tsend it. He breathed heavily and wiped the moisture from his face. 

For relief, he arose and joined in conversation with a few friends whowere drinking. He tried to get the interest of things about him, but itwas not to be. All the time his thoughts would run out to his home andsee the scene being therein enacted. All the time he was wondering whatshe would say when the boy handed her the envelope. 

In about an hour and three-quarters the boy returned. He had evidentlydelivered the package, for, as he came up, he made no sign of takinganything out of his pocket. 

"Well?" said Hurstwood. 

"I gave it to her. "

"My wife?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Any answer?"

"She said it was high time. "

Hurstwood scowled fiercely. 

There was no more to be done upon that score that night. He went onbrooding over his situation until midnight, when he repaired again tothe Palmer House. He wondered what the morning would bring forth, andslept anything but soundly upon it. Next day he went again to the officeand opened his mail, suspicious and hopeful of its contents. No wordfrom Carrie. Nothing from his wife, which was pleasant. 

The fact that he had sent the money and that she had received itworked to the ease of his mind, for, as the thought that he had doneit receded, his chagrin at it grew less and his hope of peace more. Hefancied, as he sat at his desk, that nothing would be done for a week ortwo. Meanwhile, he would have time to think. 

This process of THINKING began by a reversion to Carrie and thearrangement by which he was to get her away from Drouet. How about thatnow? His pain at her failure to meet or write him rapidly increased ashe devoted himself to this subject. He decided to write her care of theWest Side Post-office and ask for an explanation, as well as to haveher meet him. The thought that this letter would probably not reachher until Monday chafed him exceedingly. He must get some speediermethod--but how?

He thought upon it for a half-hour, not contemplating a messenger or acab direct to the house, owing to the exposure of it, but finding thattime was slipping away to no purpose, he wrote the letter and then beganto think again. 

The hours slipped by, and with them the possibility of the union he hadcontemplated. He had thought to be joyously aiding Carrie by now inthe task of joining her interests to his, and here it was afternoon andnothing done. Three o'clock came, four, five, six, and no letter. Thehelpless manager paced the floor and grimly endured the gloom of defeat. He saw a busy Saturday ushered out, the Sabbath in, and nothing done. All day, the bar being closed, he brooded alone, shut out from home, from the excitement of his resort, from Carrie, and without the abilityto alter his condition one iota. It was the worst Sunday he had spent inhis life. 

In Monday's second mail he encountered a very legal-looking letter, which held his interest for some time. It bore the imprint of the lawoffices of McGregor, James and Hay, and with a very formal "Dear Sir, "and "We beg to state, " went on to inform him briefly that they had beenretained by Mrs. Julia Hurstwood to adjust certain matters which relatedto her sustenance and property rights, and would he kindly call and seethem about the matter at once. 

He read it through carefully several times, and then merely shook hishead. It seemed as if his family troubles were just beginning. 

"Well!" he said after a time, quite audibly, "I don't know. "

Then he folded it up and put it in his pocket. 

To add to his misery there was no word from Carrie. He was quite certainnow that she knew he was married and was angered at his perfidy. Hisloss seemed all the more bitter now that he needed her most. He thoughthe would go out and insist on seeing her if she did not send him wordof some sort soon. He was really affected most miserably of all bythis desertion. He had loved her earnestly enough, but now that thepossibility of losing her stared him in the face she seemed much moreattractive. He really pined for a word, and looked out upon her with hismind's eye in the most wistful manner. He did not propose to lose her, whatever she might think. Come what might, he would adjust this matter, and soon. He would go to her and tell her all his family complications. He would explain to her just where he stood and how much he needed her. Surely she couldn't go back on him now? It wasn't possible. He wouldplead until her anger would melt--until she would forgive him. 

Suddenly he thought: "Supposing she isn't out there--suppose she hasgone?"

He was forced to take his feet. It was too much to think of and sitstill. 

Nevertheless, his rousing availed him nothing. 

On Tuesday it was the same way. He did manage to bring himself into themood to go out to Carrie, but when he got in Ogden Place he thought hesaw a man watching him and went away. He did not go within a block ofthe house. 

One of the galling incidents of this visit was that he came back on aRandolph Street car, and without noticing arrived almost opposite thebuilding of the concern with which his son was connected. This sent apang through his heart. He had called on his boy there several times. Now the lad had not sent him a word. His absence did not seem to benoticed by either of his children. Well, well, fortune plays a man queertricks. He got back to his office and joined in a conversation withfriends. It was as if idle chatter deadened the sense of misery. 

That night he dined at Rector's and returned at once to his office. Inthe bustle and show of the latter was his only relief. He troubled overmany little details and talked perfunctorily to everybody. He stayed athis desk long after all others had gone, and only quitted it when thenight watchman on his round pulled at the front door to see if it wassafely locked. 

On Wednesday he received another polite note from McGregor, James andHay. It read:

"Dear Sir: We beg to inform you that we are instructed to wait untilto-morrow (Thursday) at one o'clock, before filing suit against you, onbehalf of Mrs. Julia Hurstwood, for divorce and alimony. If we do nothear from you before that time we shall consider that you do not wish tocompromise the matter in any way and act accordingly. 

"Very truly yours, etc. "

"Compromise!" exclaimed Hurstwood bitterly. "Compromise!"

Again he shook his head. 

So here it was spread out clear before him, and now he knew what toexpect. If he didn't go and see them they would sue him promptly. If hedid, he would be offered terms that would make his blood boil. He foldedthe letter and put it with the other one. Then he put on his hat andwent for a turn about the block. 

Chapter XXVI. THE AMBASSADOR FALLEN--A SEARCH FOR THE GATE

Carrie, left alone by Drouet, listened to his retreating steps, scarcelyrealising what had happened. She knew that he had stormed out. It wassome moments before she questioned whether he would return, not nowexactly, but ever. She looked around her upon the rooms, out of whichthe evening light was dying, and wondered why she did not feel quitethe same towards them. She went over to the dresser and struck a match, lighting the gas. Then she went back to the rocker to think. 

It was some time before she could collect her thoughts, but when shedid, this truth began to take on importance. She was quite alone. Suppose Drouet did not come back? Suppose she should never hear anythingmore of him? This fine arrangement of chambers would not last long. Shewould have to quit them. 

To her credit, be it said, she never once counted on Hurstwood. Shecould only approach that subject with a pang of sorrow and regret. Fora truth, she was rather shocked and frightened by this evidence of humandepravity. He would have tricked her without turning an eyelash. Shewould have been led into a newer and worse situation. And yet she couldnot keep out the pictures of his looks and manners. Only this one deedseemed strange and miserable. It contrasted sharply with all she feltand knew concerning the man. 

But she was alone. That was the greater thought just at present. Howabout that? Would she go out to work again? Would she begin to lookaround in the business district? The stage! Oh, yes. Drouet had spokenabout that. Was there any hope there? She moved to and fro, in deepand varied thoughts, while the minutes slipped away and night fellcompletely. She had had nothing to eat, and yet there she sat, thinkingit over. 

She remembered that she was hungry and went to the little cupboard inthe rear room where were the remains of one of their breakfasts. Shelooked at these things with certain misgivings. The contemplation offood had more significance than usual. 

While she was eating she began to wonder how much money she had. Itstruck her as exceedingly important, and without ado she went to lookfor her purse. It was on the dresser, and in it were seven dollars inbills and some change. She quailed as she thought of the insignificanceof the amount and rejoiced because the rent was paid until the end ofthe month. She began also to think what she would have done if she hadgone out into the street when she first started. By the side of thatsituation, as she looked at it now, the present seemed agreeable. Shehad a little time at least, and then, perhaps, everything would come outall right, after all. 

Drouet had gone, but what of it? He did not seem seriously angry. Heonly acted as if he were huffy. He would come back--of course he would. There was his cane in the corner. Here was one of his collars. He hadleft his light overcoat in the wardrobe. She looked about and tried toassure herself with the sight of a dozen such details, but, alas, thesecondary thought arrived. Supposing he did come back. Then what?

Here was another proposition nearly, if not quite, as disturbing. Shewould have to talk with and explain to him. He would want her to admitthat he was right. It would be impossible for her to live with him. 

On Friday Carrie remembered her appointment with Hurstwood, and thepassing of the hour when she should, by all right of promise, havebeen in his company served to keep the calamity which had befallen herexceedingly fresh and clear. In her nervousness and stress of mind shefelt it necessary to act, and consequently put on a brown street dress, and at eleven o'clock started to visit the business portion once again. She must look for work. 

The rain, which threatened at twelve and began at one, served equallywell to cause her to retrace her steps and remain within doors as it didto reduce Hurstwood's spirits and give him a wretched day. 

The morrow was Saturday, a half-holiday in many business quarters, andbesides it was a balmy, radiant day, with the trees and grass shiningexceedingly green after the rain of the night before. When she went outthe sparrows were twittering merrily in joyous choruses. She could nothelp feeling, as she looked across the lovely park, that life was ajoyous thing for those who did not need to worry, and she wished overand over that something might interfere now to preserve for her thecomfortable state which she had occupied. She did not want Drouet or hismoney when she thought of it, nor anything more to do with Hurstwood, but only the content and ease of mind she had experienced, for, afterall, she had been happy--happier, at least, than she was now whenconfronted by the necessity of making her way alone. 

When she arrived in the business part it was quite eleven o'clock, and the business had little longer to run. She did not realise this atfirst, being affected by some of the old distress which was a resultof her earlier adventure into this strenuous and exacting quarter. Shewandered about, assuring herself that she was making up her mind tolook for something, and at the same time feeling that perhaps it wasnot necessary to be in such haste about it. The thing was difficult toencounter, and she had a few days. Besides, she was not sure thatshe was really face to face again with the bitter problem ofself-sustenance. Anyhow, there was one change for the better. She knewthat she had improved in appearance. Her manner had vastly changed. Herclothes were becoming, and men--well-dressed men, some of the kindwho before had gazed at her indifferently from behind their polishedrailings and imposing office partitions--now gazed into her face with asoft light in their eyes. In a way, she felt the power and satisfactionof the thing, but it did not wholly reassure her. She looked for nothingsave what might come legitimately and without the appearance of specialfavour. She wanted something, but no man should buy her by falseprotestations or favour. She proposed to earn her living honestly. 

"This store closes at one on Saturdays, " was a pleasing and satisfactorylegend to see upon doors which she felt she ought to enter and inquirefor work. It gave her an excuse, and after encountering quite a numberof them, and noting that the clock registered 12. 15, she decided that itwould be no use to seek further to-day, so she got on a car and went toLincoln Park. There was always something to see there--the flowers, theanimals, the lake--and she flattered herself that on Monday she would beup betimes and searching. Besides, many things might happen between nowand Monday. 

Sunday passed with equal doubts, worries, assurances, and heaven knowswhat vagaries of mind and spirit. Every half-hour in the day the thoughtwould come to her most sharply, like the tail of a swishing whip, thataction--immediate action--was imperative. At other times she would lookabout her and assure herself that things were not so bad--that certainlyshe would come out safe and sound. At such times she would think ofDrouet's advice about going on the stage, and saw some chance forherself in that quarter. She decided to take up that opportunity on themorrow. 

Accordingly, she arose early Monday morning and dressed herselfcarefully. She did not know just how such applications were made, butshe took it to be a matter which related more directly to the theatrebuildings. All you had to do was to inquire of some one about thetheatre for the manager and ask for a position. If there was anything, you might get it, or, at least, he could tell you how. 

She had had no experience with this class of individuals whatsoever, anddid not know the salacity and humour of the theatrical tribe. She onlyknew of the position which Mr. Hale occupied, but, of all things, shedid not wish to encounter that personage, on account of her intimacywith his wife. 

There was, however, at this time, one theatre, the Chicago Opera House, which was considerably in the public eye, and its manager, David A. Henderson, had a fair local reputation. Carrie had seen one or twoelaborate performances there and had heard of several others. Sheknew nothing of Henderson nor of the methods of applying, but sheinstinctively felt that this would be a likely place, and accordinglystrolled about in that neighbourhood. She came bravely enough to theshowy entrance way, with the polished and begilded lobby, set withframed pictures out of the current attraction, leading up to the quietbox-office, but she could get no further. A noted comic opera comedianwas holding forth that week, and the air of distinction and prosperityoverawed her. She could not imagine that there would be anything in sucha lofty sphere for her. She almost trembled at the audacity which mighthave carried her on to a terrible rebuff. She could find heart only tolook at the pictures which were showy and then walk out. It seemed toher as if she had made a splendid escape and that it would be foolhardyto think of applying in that quarter again. 

This little experience settled her hunting for one day. She lookedaround elsewhere, but it was from the outside. She got the location ofseveral playhouses fixed in her mind--notably the Grand Opera House andMcVickar's, both of which were leading in attractions--and then cameaway. Her spirits were materially reduced, owing to the newly restoredsense of magnitude of the great interests and the insignificance of herclaims upon society, such as she understood them to be. 

That night she was visited by Mrs. Hale, whose chatter and protractedstay made it impossible to dwell upon her predicament or the fortuneof the day. Before retiring, however, she sat down to think, and gaveherself up to the most gloomy forebodings. Drouet had not put in anappearance. She had had no word from any quarter, she had spent adollar of her precious sum in procuring food and paying car fare. It wasevident that she would not endure long. Besides, she had discovered noresource. 

In this situation her thoughts went out to her sister in Van BurenStreet, whom she had not seen since the night of her flight, and to herhome at Columbia City, which seemed now a part of something that couldnot be again. She looked for no refuge in that direction. Nothing butsorrow was brought her by thoughts of Hurstwood, which would return. That he could have chosen to dupe her in so ready a manner seemed acruel thing. 

Tuesday came, and with it appropriate indecision and speculation. Shewas in no mood, after her failure of the day before, to hasten forthupon her work-seeking errand, and yet she rebuked herself for what sheconsidered her weakness the day before. Accordingly she started out torevisit the Chicago Opera House, but possessed scarcely enough courageto approach. 

She did manage to inquire at the box-office, however. 

"Manager of the company or the house?" asked the smartly dressedindividual who took care of the tickets. He was favourably impressed byCarrie's looks. 

"I don't know, " said Carrie, taken back by the question. 

"You couldn't see the manager of the house to-day, anyhow, " volunteeredthe young man. "He's out of town. "

He noted her puzzled look, and then added: "What is it you wish to seeabout?"

"I want to see about getting a position, " she answered. 

"You'd better see the manager of the company, " he returned, "but heisn't here now. "

"When will he be in?" asked Carrie, somewhat relieved by thisinformation. 

"Well, you might find him in between eleven and twelve. He's here aftertwo o'clock. "

Carrie thanked him and walked briskly out, while the young man gazedafter her through one of the side windows of his gilded coop. 

"Good-looking, " he said to himself, and proceeded to visions ofcondescensions on her part which were exceedingly flattering to himself. 

One of the principal comedy companies of the day was playing anengagement at the Grand Opera House. Here Carrie asked to see themanager of the company. She little knew the trivial authority of thisindividual, or that had there been a vacancy an actor would have beensent on from New York to fill it. 

"His office is upstairs, " said a man in the box-office. 

Several persons were in the manager's office, two lounging near awindow, another talking to an individual sitting at a roll-top desk--themanager. Carrie glanced nervously about, and began to fear that sheshould have to make her appeal before the assembled company, two ofwhom--the occupants of the window--were already observing her carefully. 

"I can't do it, " the manager was saying; "it's a rule of Mr. Frohman'snever to allow visitors back of the stage. No, no!"

Carrie timidly waited, standing. There were chairs, but no one motionedher to be seated. The individual to whom the manager had been talkingwent away quite crestfallen. That luminary gazed earnestly at somepapers before him, as if they were of the greatest concern. 

"Did you see that in the 'Herald' this morning about Nat Goodwin, Harris?"

"No, " said the person addressed. "What was it?" "Made quite a curtainaddress at Hooley's last night. Better look it up. "

Harris reached over to a table and began to look for the "Herald. "

"What is it?" said the manager to Carrie, apparently noticing her forthe first time. He thought he was going to be held up for free tickets. 

Carrie summoned up all her courage, which was little at best. Sherealised that she was a novice, and felt as if a rebuff were certain. Ofthis she was so sure that she only wished now to pretend she had calledfor advice. 

"Can you tell me how to go about getting on the stage?"

It was the best way after all to have gone about the matter. Shewas interesting, in a manner, to the occupant of the chair, and thesimplicity of her request and attitude took his fancy. He smiled, as didthe others in the room, who, however, made some slight effort to concealtheir humour. 

"I don't know, " he answered, looking her brazenly over. "Have you everhad any experience upon the stage?"

"A little, " answered Carrie. "I have taken part in amateurperformances. "

She thought she had to make some sort of showing in order to retain hisinterest. 

"Never studied for the stage?" he said, putting on an air intended asmuch to impress his friends with his discretion as Carrie. 

"No, sir. "

"Well, I don't know, " he answered, tipping lazily back in his chairwhile she stood before him. "What makes you want to get on the stage?"

She felt abashed at the man's daring, but could only smile in answer tohis engaging smirk, and say:

"I need to make a living. "

"Oh, " he answered, rather taken by her trim appearance, and feeling asif he might scrape up an acquaintance with her. "That's a good reason, isn't it? Well, Chicago is not a good place for what you want to do. You ought to be in New York. There's more chance there. You could hardlyexpect to get started out here. " Carrie smiled genially, grateful thathe should condescend to advise her even so much. He noticed the smile, and put a slightly different construction on it. He thought he saw aneasy chance for a little flirtation. 

"Sit down, " he said, pulling a chair forward from the side of his deskand dropping his voice so that the two men in the room should not hear. Those two gave each other the suggestion of a wink. 

"Well, I'll be going, Barney, " said one, breaking away and so addressingthe manager. "See you this afternoon. "

"All right, " said the manager. 

The remaining individual took up a paper as if to read. 

"Did you have any idea what sort of part you would like to get?" askedthe manager softly. 

"Oh, no, " said Carrie. "I would take anything to begin with. "

"I see, " he said. "Do you live here in the city?"

"Yes, sir. "

The manager smiled most blandly. 

"Have you ever tried to get in as a chorus girl?" he asked, assuming amore confidential air. 

Carrie began to feel that there was something exuberant and unnatural inhis manner. 

"No, " she said. 

"That's the way most girls begin, " he went on, "who go on the stage. It's a good way to get experience. "

He was turning on her a glance of the companionable and persuasivemanner. 

"I didn't know that, " said Carrie. 

"It's a difficult thing, " he went on, "but there's always a chance, youknow. " Then, as if he suddenly remembered, he pulled out his watch andconsulted it. "I've an appointment at two, " he said, "and I've got togo to lunch now. Would you care to come and dine with me? We can talk itover there. "

"Oh, no, " said Carrie, the whole motive of the man flashing on her atonce. "I have an engagement myself. "

"That's too bad, " he said, realising that he had been a littlebeforehand in his offer and that Carrie was about to go away. "Come inlater. I may know of something. "

"Thank you, " she answered, with some trepidation and went out. 

"She was good-looking, wasn't she?" said the manager's companion, whohad not caught all the details of the game he had played. 

"Yes, in a way, " said the other, sore to think the game had been lost. "She'd never make an actress, though. Just another chorus girl--that'sall. "

This little experience nearly destroyed her ambition to call upon themanager at the Chicago Opera House, but she decided to do so after atime. He was of a more sedate turn of mind. He said at once that therewas no opening of any sort, and seemed to consider her search foolish. 

"Chicago is no place to get a start, " he said. "You ought to be in NewYork. "

Still she persisted, and went to McVickar's, where she could not findany one. "The Old Homestead" was running there, but the person to whomshe was referred was not to be found. 

These little expeditions took up her time until quite four o'clock, whenshe was weary enough to go home. She felt as if she ought to continueand inquire elsewhere, but the results so far were too dispiriting. Shetook the car and arrived at Ogden Place in three-quarters of an hour, but decided to ride on to the West Side branch of the Post-office, whereshe was accustomed to receive Hurstwood's letters. There was onethere now, written Saturday, which she tore open and read with mingledfeelings. There was so much warmth in it and such tense complaint at herhaving failed to meet him, and her subsequent silence, that she ratherpitied the man. That he loved her was evident enough. That he had wishedand dared to do so, married as he was, was the evil. She felt as if thething deserved an answer, and consequently decided that she would writeand let him know that she knew of his married state and was justlyincensed at his deception. She would tell him that it was all overbetween them. 

At her room, the wording of this missive occupied her for some time, forshe fell to the task at once. It was most difficult. 

"You do not need to have me explain why I did not meet you, " she wrotein part. "How could you deceive me so? You cannot expect me to haveanything more to do with you. I wouldn't under any circumstances. Oh, how could you act so?" she added in a burst of feeling. "You havecaused me more misery than you can think. I hope you will get over yourinfatuation for me. We must not meet any more. Good-bye. "

She took the letter the next morning, and at the corner dropped itreluctantly into the letter-box, still uncertain as to whether sheshould do so or not. Then she took the car and went down town. 

This was the dull season with the department stores, but she waslistened to with more consideration than was usually accorded to youngwomen applicants, owing to her neat and attractive appearance. She wasasked the same old questions with which she was already familiar. 

"What can you do? Have you ever worked in a retail store before? Are youexperienced?"

At The Fair, See and Company's, and all the great stores it was much thesame. It was the dull season, she might come in a little later, possiblythey would like to have her. 

When she arrived at the house at the end of the day, weary anddisheartened, she discovered that Drouet had been there. His umbrellaand light overcoat were gone. She thought she missed other things, butcould not be sure. Everything had not been taken. 

So his going was crystallising into staying. What was she to do now?Evidently she would be facing the world in the same old way within a dayor two. Her clothes would get poor. She put her two hands togetherin her customary expressive way and pressed her fingers. Large tearsgathered in her eyes and broke hot across her cheeks. She was alone, very much alone. 

Drouet really had called, but it was with a very different mind fromthat which Carrie had imagined. He expected to find her, to justifyhis return by claiming that he came to get the remaining portion of hiswardrobe, and before he got away again to patch up a peace. 

Accordingly, when he arrived, he was disappointed to find Carrie out. He trifled about, hoping that she was somewhere in the neighbourhood andwould soon return. He constantly listened, expecting to hear her foot onthe stair. 

When he did so, it was his intention to make believe that he had justcome in and was disturbed at being caught. Then he would explain hisneed of his clothes and find out how things stood. 

Wait as he did, however, Carrie did not come. From pottering aroundamong the drawers, in momentary expectation of her arrival he changedto looking out of the window, and from that to resting himself in therocking-chair. Still no Carrie. He began to grow restless and lit acigar. After that he walked the floor. Then he looked out of the windowand saw clouds gathering. He remembered an appointment at three. Hebegan to think that it would be useless to wait, and got hold of hisumbrella and light coat, intending to take these things, any way. Itwould scare her, he hoped. To-morrow he would come back for the others. He would find out how things stood. 

As he started to go he felt truly sorry that he had missed her. Therewas a little picture of her on the wall, showing her arrayed in thelittle jacket he had first bought her--her face a little more wistfulthan he had seen it lately. He was really touched by it, and looked intothe eyes of it with a rather rare feeling for him. 

"You didn't do me right, Cad, " he said, as if he were addressing her inthe flesh. 

Then he went to the door, took a good look around and went out. 

Chapter XXVII. WHEN WATERS ENGULF US WE REACH FOR A STAR

It was when he returned from his disturbed stroll about the streets, after receiving the decisive note from McGregor, James and Hay, thatHurstwood found the letter Carrie had written him that morning. Hethrilled intensely as he noted the handwriting, and rapidly tore itopen. 

"Then, " he thought, "she loves me or she would not have written to me atall. "

He was slightly depressed at the tenor of the note for the first fewminutes, but soon recovered. "She wouldn't write at all if she didn'tcare for me. "

This was his one resource against the depression which held him. Hecould extract little from the wording of the letter, but the spirit hethought he knew. 

There was really something exceedingly human--if not pathetic--in hisbeing thus relieved by a clearly worded reproof. He who had for solong remained satisfied with himself now looked outside of himself forcomfort--and to such a source. The mystic cords of affection! How theybind us all. 

The colour came to his cheeks. For the moment he forgot the letter fromMcGregor, James and Hay. If he could only have Carrie, perhaps he couldget out of the whole entanglement--perhaps it would not matter. Hewouldn't care what his wife did with herself if only he might not loseCarrie. He stood up and walked about, dreaming his delightful dream of alife continued with this lovely possessor of his heart. 

It was not long, however, before the old worry was back forconsideration, and with it what weariness! He thought of the morrow andthe suit. He had done nothing, and here was the afternoon slipping away. It was now a quarter of four. At five the attorneys would have gonehome. He still had the morrow until noon. Even as he thought, the lastfifteen minutes passed away and it was five. Then he abandoned thethought of seeing them any more that day and turned to Carrie. 

It is to be observed that the man did not justify himself to himself. Hewas not troubling about that. His whole thought was the possibility ofpersuading Carrie. Nothing was wrong in that. He loved her dearly. Theirmutual happiness depended upon it. Would that Drouet were only away!

While he was thinking thus elatedly, he remembered that he wanted someclean linen in the morning. 

This he purchased, together with a half-dozen ties, and went to thePalmer House. As he entered he thought he saw Drouet ascending thestairs with a key. Surely not Drouet! Then he thought, perhaps they hadchanged their abode temporarily. He went straight up to the desk. 

"Is Mr. Drouet stopping here?" he asked of the clerk. 

"I think he is, " said the latter, consulting his private registry list. "Yes. "

"Is that so?" exclaimed Hurstwood, otherwise concealing hisastonishment. "Alone?" he added. 

"Yes, " said the clerk. 

Hurstwood turned away and set his lips so as best to express and concealhis feelings. 

"How's that?" he thought. "They've had a row. "

He hastened to his room with rising spirits and changed his linen. As hedid so, he made up his mind that if Carrie was alone, or if she had goneto another place, it behooved him to find out. He decided to call atonce. 

"I know what I'll do, " he thought. "I'll go to the door and ask if Mr. Drouet is at home. That will bring out whether he is there or not andwhere Carrie is. "

He was almost moved to some muscular display as he thought of it. Hedecided to go immediately after supper. 

On coming down from his room at six, he looked carefully about to seeif Drouet was present and then went out to lunch. He could scarcely eat, however, he was so anxious to be about his errand. Before starting hethought it well to discover where Drouet would be, and returned to hishotel. 

"Has Mr. Drouet gone out?" he asked of the clerk. 

"No, " answered the latter, "he's in his room. Do you wish to send up acard?" "No, I'll call around later, " answered Hurstwood, and strolledout. 

He took a Madison car and went direct to Ogden Place this time walkingboldly up to the door. The chambermaid answered his knock. 

"Is Mr. Drouet in?" said Hurstwood blandly. 

"He is out of the city, " said the girl, who had heard Carrie tell thisto Mrs. Hale. 

"Is Mrs. Drouet in?"

"No, she has gone to the theatre. "

"Is that so?" said Hurstwood, considerably taken back; then, as ifburdened with something important, "You don't know to which theatre?"

The girl really had no idea where she had gone, but not likingHurstwood, and wishing to cause him trouble, answered: "Yes, Hooley's. "

"Thank you, " returned the manager, and, tipping his hat slightly, wentaway. 

"I'll look in at Hooley's, " thought he, but as a matter of fact he didnot. Before he had reached the central portion of the city he thoughtthe whole matter over and decided it would be useless. As much as helonged to see Carrie, he knew she would be with some one and did notwish to intrude with his plea there. A little later he might do so--inthe morning. Only in the morning he had the lawyer question before him. 

This little pilgrimage threw quite a wet blanket upon his risingspirits. He was soon down again to his old worry, and reached the resortanxious to find relief. Quite a company of gentlemen were making theplace lively with their conversation. A group of Cook County politicianswere conferring about a round cherry-wood table in the rear portion ofthe room. Several young merrymakers were chattering at the bar beforemaking a belated visit to the theatre. A shabbily-genteel individual, with a red nose and an old high hat, was sipping a quiet glass of alealone at one end of the bar. Hurstwood nodded to the politicians andwent into his office. 

About ten o'clock a friend of his, Mr. Frank L. Taintor, a local sportand racing man, dropped in, and seeing Hurstwood alone in his officecame to the door. 

"Hello, George!" he exclaimed. 

"How are you, Frank?" said Hurstwood, somewhat relieved by the sight ofhim. "Sit down, " and he motioned him to one of the chairs in the littleroom. 

"What's the matter, George?" asked Taintor. "You look a little glum. Haven't lost at the track, have you?"

"I'm not feeling very well to-night. I had a slight cold the other day. "

"Take whiskey, George, " said Taintor. "You ought to know that. "

Hurstwood smiled. 

While they were still conferring there, several other of Hurstwood'sfriends entered, and not long after eleven, the theatres being out, someactors began to drop in--among them some notabilities. 

Then began one of those pointless social conversations so common inAmerican resorts where the would-be gilded attempt to rub off gilt fromthose who have it in abundance. If Hurstwood had one leaning, it wastoward notabilities. He considered that, if anywhere, he belonged amongthem. He was too proud to toady, too keen not to strictly observe theplane he occupied when there were those present who did not appreciatehim, but, in situations like the present, where he could shine as agentleman and be received without equivocation as a friend and equalamong men of known ability, he was most delighted. It was on suchoccasions, if ever, that he would "take something. " When the socialflavour was strong enough he would even unbend to the extent of drinkingglass for glass with his associates, punctiliously observing his turnto pay as if he were an outsider like the others. If he ever approachedintoxication--or rather that ruddy warmth and comfortableness whichprecedes the more sloven state--it was when individuals such as thesewere gathered about him, when he was one of a circle of chattingcelebrities. To-night, disturbed as was his state, he was ratherrelieved to find company, and now that notabilities were gathered, helaid aside his troubles for the nonce, and joined in right heartily. 

It was not long before the imbibing began to tell. Stories began to cropup--those ever-enduring, droll stories which form the major portion ofthe conversation among American men under such circumstances. 

Twelve o'clock arrived, the hour for closing, and with it the companytook leave. Hurstwood shook hands with them most cordially. He was veryroseate physically. He had arrived at that state where his mind, though clear, was, nevertheless, warm in its fancies. He felt as if histroubles were not very serious. Going into his office, he began to turnover certain accounts, awaiting the departure of the bartenders and thecashier, who soon left. 

It was the manager's duty, as well as his custom, after all were goneto see that everything was safely closed up for the night. As a rule, no money except the cash taken in after banking hours was kept aboutthe place, and that was locked in the safe by the cashier, who, with theowners, was joint keeper of the secret combination, but, nevertheless, Hurstwood nightly took the precaution to try the cash drawers and thesafe in order to see that they were tightly closed. Then he would lockhis own little office and set the proper light burning near the safe, after which he would take his departure. 

Never in his experience had he found anything out of order, butto-night, after shutting down his desk, he came out and tried the safe. His way was to give a sharp pull. This time the door responded. He wasslightly surprised at that, and looking in found the money cases as leftfor the day, apparently unprotected. His first thought was, of course, to inspect the drawers and shut the door. 

"I'll speak to Mayhew about this to-morrow, " he thought. 

The latter had certainly imagined upon going out a half-hour beforethat he had turned the knob on the door so as to spring the lock. He hadnever failed to do so before. But to-night Mayhew had other thoughts. Hehad been revolving the problem of a business of his own. 

"I'll look in here, " thought the manager, pulling out the moneydrawers. He did not know why he wished to look in there. It was quite asuperfluous action, which another time might not have happened at all. 

As he did so, a layer of bills, in parcels of a thousand, such as banksissue, caught his eye. He could not tell how much they represented, butpaused to view them. Then he pulled out the second of the cash drawers. In that were the receipts of the day. 

"I didn't know Fitzgerald and Moy ever left any money this way, " hismind said to itself. "They must have forgotten it. "

He looked at the other drawer and paused again. 

"Count them, " said a voice in his ear. 

He put his hand into the first of the boxes and lifted the stack, letting the separate parcels fall. They were bills of fifty and onehundred dollars done in packages of a thousand. He thought he countedten such. 

"Why don't I shut the safe?" his mind said to itself, lingering. "Whatmakes me pause here?"

For answer there came the strangest words:

"Did you ever have ten thousand dollars in ready money?"

Lo, the manager remembered that he had never had so much. All hisproperty had been slowly accumulated, and now his wife owned that. Hewas worth more than forty thousand, all told--but she would get that. 

He puzzled as he thought of these things, then pushed in the drawersand closed the door, pausing with his hand upon the knob, which might soeasily lock it all beyond temptation. Still he paused. Finally he wentto the windows and pulled down the curtains. Then he tried the door, which he had previously locked. What was this thing, making himsuspicious? Why did he wish to move about so quietly. He came back tothe end of the counter as if to rest his arm and think. Then he went andunlocked his little office door and turned on the light. He also openedhis desk, sitting down before it, only to think strange thoughts. 

"The safe is open, " said a voice. "There is just the least little crackin it. The lock has not been sprung. "

The manager floundered among a jumble of thoughts. Now all theentanglement of the day came back. Also the thought that here was asolution. That money would do it. If he had that and Carrie. He rose upand stood stock-still, looking at the floor. 

"What about it?" his mind asked, and for answer he put his hand slowlyup and scratched his head. 

The manager was no fool to be led blindly away by such an errantproposition as this, but his situation was peculiar. Wine was in hisveins. It had crept up into his head and given him a warm view of thesituation. It also coloured the possibilities of ten thousand for him. He could see great opportunities with that. He could get Carrie. Oh, yes, he could! He could get rid of his wife. That letter, too, waswaiting discussion to-morrow morning. He would not need to answer that. He went back to the safe and put his hand on the knob. Then he pulledthe door open and took the drawer with the money quite out. 

With it once out and before him, it seemed a foolish thing to thinkabout leaving it. Certainly it would. Why, he could live quietly withCarrie for years. 

Lord! what was that? For the first time he was tense, as if a stern handhad been laid upon his shoulder. He looked fearfully around. Not a soulwas present. Not a sound. Some one was shuffling by on the sidewalk. Hetook the box and the money and put it back in the safe. Then he partlyclosed the door again. 

To those who have never wavered in conscience, the predicament of theindividual whose mind is less strongly constituted and who tremblesin the balance between duty and desire is scarcely appreciable, unlessgraphically portrayed. Those who have never heard that solemn voice ofthe ghostly clock which ticks with awful distinctness, "thou shalt, ""thou shalt not, " "thou shalt, " "thou shalt not, " are in no position tojudge. Not alone in sensitive, highly organised natures is such a mentalconflict possible. The dullest specimen of humanity, when drawnby desire toward evil, is recalled by a sense of right, which isproportionate in power and strength to his evil tendency. We mustremember that it may not be a knowledge of right, for no knowledge ofright is predicated of the animal's instinctive recoil at evil. Menare still led by instinct before they are regulated by knowledge. Itis instinct which recalls the criminal--it is instinct (where highlyorganised reasoning is absent) which gives the criminal his feeling ofdanger, his fear of wrong. 

At every first adventure, then, into some untried evil, the mind wavers. The clock of thought ticks out its wish and its denial. To those whohave never experienced such a mental dilemma, the following will appealon the simple ground of revelation. 

When Hurstwood put the money back, his nature again resumed its ease anddaring. No one had observed him. He was quite alone. No one could tellwhat he wished to do. He could work this thing out for himself. 

The imbibation of the evening had not yet worn off. Moist as was hisbrow, tremble as did his hand once after the nameless fright, he wasstill flushed with the fumes of liquor. He scarcely noticed that thetime was passing. He went over his situation once again, his eye alwaysseeing the money in a lump, his mind always seeing what it would do. Hestrolled into his little room, then to the door, then to the safe again. He put his hand on the knob and opened it. There was the money! Surelyno harm could come from looking at it!

He took out the drawer again and lifted the bills. They were so smooth, so compact, so portable. How little they made, after all. He decided hewould take them. Yes, he would. He would put them in his pocket. Then helooked at that and saw they would not go there. His hand satchel! To besure, his hand satchel. They would go in that--all of it would. No onewould think anything of it either. He went into the little office andtook it from the shelf in the corner. Now he set it upon his desk andwent out toward the safe. For some reason he did not want to fill it outin the big room. First he brought the bills and then the loose receiptsof the day. He would take it all. He put the empty drawers back andpushed the iron door almost to, then stood beside it meditating. 

The wavering of a mind under such circumstances is an almostinexplicable thing, and yet it is absolutely true. Hurstwood could notbring himself to act definitely. He wanted to think about it--to ponderover it, to decide whether it were best. He was drawn by such a keendesire for Carrie, driven by such a state of turmoil in his own affairsthat he thought constantly it would be best, and yet he wavered. He didnot know what evil might result from it to him--how soon he might cometo grief. The true ethics of the situation never once occurred to him, and never would have, under any circumstances. 

After he had all the money in the handbag, a revulsion of feeling seizedhim. He would not do it--no! Think of what a scandal it would make. Thepolice! They would be after him. He would have to fly, and where? Oh, the terror of being a fugitive from justice! He took out the two boxesand put all the money back. In his excitement he forgot what he wasdoing, and put the sums in the wrong boxes. As he pushed the door to, he thought he remembered doing it wrong and opened the door again. Therewere the two boxes mixed. 

He took them out and straightened the matter, but now the terror hadgone. Why be afraid?

While the money was in his hand the lock clicked. It had sprung! Didhe do it? He grabbed at the knob and pulled vigorously. It had closed. Heavens! he was in for it now, sure enough. 

The moment he realised that the safe was locked for a surety, the sweatburst out upon his brow and he trembled violently. He looked about himand decided instantly. There was no delaying now. 

"Supposing I do lay it on the top, " he said, "and go away, they'llknow who took it. I'm the last to close up. Besides, other things willhappen. "

At once he became the man of action. 

"I must get out of this, " he thought. 

He hurried into his little room, took down his light overcoat and hat, locked his desk, and grabbed the satchel. Then he turned out all but onelight and opened the door. He tried to put on his old assured air, butit was almost gone. He was repenting rapidly. 

"I wish I hadn't done that, " he said. "That was a mistake. "

He walked steadily down the street, greeting a night watchman whomhe knew who was trying doors. He must get out of the city, and thatquickly. 

"I wonder how the trains run?" he thought. 

Instantly he pulled out his watch and looked. It was nearly half-pastone. 

At the first drugstore he stopped, seeing a long-distance telephonebooth inside. It was a famous drugstore, and contained one of the firstprivate telephone booths ever erected. "I want to use your 'phone aminute, " he said to the night clerk. 

The latter nodded. 

"Give me 1643, " he called to Central, after looking up the MichiganCentral depot number. Soon he got the ticket agent. 

"How do the trains leave here for Detroit?" he asked. 

The man explained the hours. 

"No more to-night?"

"Nothing with a sleeper. Yes, there is, too, " he added. "There is a mailtrain out of here at three o'clock. "

"All right, " said Hurstwood. "What time does that get to Detroit?"

He was thinking if he could only get there and cross the river intoCanada, he could take his time about getting to Montreal. He wasrelieved to learn that it would reach there by noon. 

"Mayhew won't open the safe till nine, " he thought. "They can't get onmy track before noon. "

Then he thought of Carrie. With what speed must he get her, if he gother at all. She would have to come along. He jumped into the nearest cabstanding by. 

"To Ogden Place, " he said sharply. "I'll give you a dollar more if youmake good time. "

The cabby beat his horse into a sort of imitation gallop which wasfairly fast, however. On the way Hurstwood thought what to do. Reachingthe number, he hurried up the steps and did not spare the bell in wakingthe servant. 

"Is Mrs. Drouet in?" he asked. 

"Yes, " said the astonished girl. 

"Tell her to dress and come to the door at once. Her husband is in thehospital, injured, and wants to see her. "

The servant girl hurried upstairs, convinced by the man's strained andemphatic manner. 

"What!" said Carrie, lighting the gas and searching for her clothes. 

"Mr. Drouet is hurt and in the hospital. He wants to see you. The cab'sdownstairs. "

Carrie dressed very rapidly, and soon appeared below, forgettingeverything save the necessities. 

"Drouet is hurt, " said Hurstwood quickly. "He wants to see you. Comequickly. "

Carrie was so bewildered that she swallowed the whole story. 

"Get in, " said Hurstwood, helping her and jumping after. 

The cabby began to turn the horse around. "Michigan Central depot, " hesaid, standing up and speaking so low that Carrie could not hear, "asfast as you can go. "

Chapter XXVIII. A PILGRIM, AN OUTLAW--THE SPIRIT DETAINED

The cab had not travelled a short block before Carrie, settling herselfand thoroughly waking in the night atmosphere, asked:

"What's the matter with him? Is he hurt badly?"

"It isn't anything very serious, " Hurstwood said solemnly. He was verymuch disturbed over his own situation, and now that he had Carrie withhim, he only wanted to get safely out of reach of the law. Therefore hewas in no mood for anything save such words as would further his plansdistinctly. 

Carrie did not forget that there was something to be settled betweenher and Hurstwood, but the thought was ignored in her agitation. The onething was to finish this strange pilgrimage. 

"Where is he?"

"Way out on the South Side, " said Hurstwood. "We'll have to take thetrain. It's the quickest way. "

Carrie said nothing, and the horse gambolled on. The weirdness of thecity by night held her attention. She looked at the long receding rowsof lamps and studied the dark, silent houses. 

"How did he hurt himself?" she asked--meaning what was the nature of hisinjuries. Hurstwood understood. He hated to lie any more than necessary, and yet he wanted no protests until he was out of danger. 

"I don't know exactly, " he said. "They just called me up to go and getyou and bring you out. They said there wasn't any need for alarm, butthat I shouldn't fail to bring you. "

The man's serious manner convinced Carrie, and she became silent, wondering. 

Hurstwood examined his watch and urged the man to hurry. For one in sodelicate a position he was exceedingly cool. He could only think of howneedful it was to make the train and get quietly away. Carrie seemedquite tractable, and he congratulated himself. 

In due time they reached the depot, and after helping her out he handedthe man a five-dollar bill and hurried on. 

"You wait here, " he said to Carrie, when they reached the waiting-room, "while I get the tickets. "

"Have I much time to catch that train for Detroit?" he asked of theagent. 

"Four minutes, " said the latter. 

He paid for two tickets as circumspectly as possible. 

"Is it far?" said Carrie, as he hurried back. 

"Not very, " he said. "We must get right in. "

He pushed her before him at the gate, stood between her and the ticketman while the latter punched their tickets, so that she could not see, and then hurried after. 

There was a long line of express and passenger cars and one or twocommon day coaches. As the train had only recently been made up and fewpassengers were expected, there were only one or two brakemen waiting. They entered the rear day coach and sat down. Almost immediately, "Allaboard, " resounded faintly from the outside, and the train started. 

Carrie began to think it was a little bit curious--this going to adepot--but said nothing. The whole incident was so out of the naturalthat she did not attach too much weight to anything she imagined. 

"How have you been?" asked Hurstwood gently, for he now breathed easier. 

"Very well, " said Carrie, who was so disturbed that she could not bringa proper attitude to bear in the matter. She was still nervous to reachDrouet and see what could be the matter. Hurstwood contemplated her andfelt this. He was not disturbed that it should be so. He did not troublebecause she was moved sympathetically in the matter. It was one of thequalities in her which pleased him exceedingly. He was only thinking howhe should explain. Even this was not the most serious thing in his mind, however. His own deed and present flight were the great shadows whichweighed upon him. 

"What a fool I was to do that, " he said over and over. "What a mistake!"

In his sober senses, he could scarcely realise that the thing had beendone. He could not begin to feel that he was a fugitive from justice. He had often read of such things, and had thought they must be terrible, but now that the thing was upon him, he only sat and looked into thepast. The future was a thing which concerned the Canadian line. Hewanted to reach that. As for the rest he surveyed his actions for theevening, and counted them parts of a great mistake. 

"Still, " he said, "what could I have done?"

Then he would decide to make the best of it, and would begin to do soby starting the whole inquiry over again. It was a fruitless, harassinground, and left him in a queer mood to deal with the proposition he hadin the presence of Carrie. 

The train clacked through the yards along the lake front, and ran ratherslowly to Twenty-fourth Street. Brakes and signals were visible without. The engine gave short calls with its whistle, and frequently the bellrang. Several brakemen came through, bearing lanterns. They were lockingthe vestibules and putting the cars in order for a long run. 

Presently it began to gain speed, and Carrie saw the silent streetsflashing by in rapid succession. The engine also began its whistle-callsof four parts, with which it signalled danger to important crossings. 

"Is it very far?" asked Carrie. "Not so very, " said Hurstwood. He couldhardly repress a smile at her simplicity. He wanted to explain andconciliate her, but he also wanted to be well out of Chicago. 

In the lapse of another half-hour it became apparent to Carrie that itwas quite a run to wherever he was taking her, anyhow. 

"Is it in Chicago?" she asked nervously. They were now far beyond thecity limits, and the train was scudding across the Indiana line at agreat rate. 

"No, " he said, "not where we are going. "

There was something in the way he said this which aroused her in aninstant. 

Her pretty brow began to contract. 

"We are going to see Charlie, aren't we?" she asked. 

He felt that the time was up. An explanation might as well come now aslater. Therefore, he shook his head in the most gentle negative. 

"What?" said Carrie. She was nonplussed at the possibility of the errandbeing different from what she had thought. 

He only looked at her in the most kindly and mollifying way. 

"Well, where are you taking me, then?" she asked, her voice showing thequality of fright. 

"I'll tell you, Carrie, if you'll be quiet. I want you to come alongwith me to another city. "

"Oh, " said Carrie, her voice rising into a weak cry. "Let me off. Idon't want to go with you. "

She was quite appalled at the man's audacity. This was something whichhad never for a moment entered her head. Her one thought now was to getoff and away. If only the flying train could be stopped, the terribletrick would be amended. 

She arose and tried to push out into the aisle--anywhere. She knew shehad to do something. Hurstwood laid a gentle hand on her. 

"Sit still, Carrie, " he said. "Sit still. It won't do you any goodto get up here. Listen to me and I'll tell you what I'll do. Wait amoment. "

She was pushing at his knees, but he only pulled her back. No one sawthis little altercation, for very few persons were in the car, and theywere attempting to doze. 

"I won't, " said Carrie, who was, nevertheless, complying against herwill. "Let me go, " she said. "How dare you?" and large tears began togather in her eyes. 

Hurstwood was now fully aroused to the immediate difficulty, and ceasedto think of his own situation. He must do something with this girl, orshe would cause him trouble. He tried the art of persuasion with all hispowers aroused. 

"Look here now, Carrie, " he said, "you mustn't act this way. I didn'tmean to hurt your feelings. I don't want to do anything to make you feelbad. "

"Oh, " sobbed Carrie, "oh, oh--oo--o!"

"There, there, " he said, "you mustn't cry. Won't you listen to me?Listen to me a minute, and I'll tell you why I came to do this thing. Icouldn't help it. I assure you I couldn't. Won't you listen?"

Her sobs disturbed him so that he was quite sure she did not hear a wordhe said. 

"Won't you listen?" he asked. 

"No, I won't, " said Carrie, flashing up. "I want you to take me out ofthis, or I'll tell the conductor. I won't go with you. It's a shame, "and again sobs of fright cut off her desire for expression. 

Hurstwood listened with some astonishment. He felt that she had justcause for feeling as she did, and yet he wished that he could straightenthis thing out quickly. Shortly the conductor would come through for thetickets. He wanted no noise, no trouble of any kind. Before everythinghe must make her quiet. 

"You couldn't get out until the train stops again, " said Hurstwood. "Itwon't be very long until we reach another station. You can get out thenif you want to. I won't stop you. All I want you to do is to listen amoment. You'll let me tell you, won't you?"

Carrie seemed not to listen. She only turned her head toward the window, where outside all was black. The train was speeding with steady graceacross the fields and through patches of wood. The long whistlescame with sad, musical effect as the lonely woodland crossings wereapproached. 

Now the conductor entered the car and took up the one or two fares thathad been added at Chicago. He approached Hurstwood, who handed out thetickets. Poised as she was to act, Carrie made no move. She did not lookabout. 

When the conductor had gone again Hurstwood felt relieved. 

"You're angry at me because I deceived you, " he said. "I didn't meanto, Carrie. As I live I didn't. I couldn't help it. I couldn't stay awayfrom you after the first time I saw you. "

He was ignoring the last deception as something that might go by theboard. He wanted to convince her that his wife could no longer be afactor in their relationship. The money he had stolen he tried to shutout of his mind. 

"Don't talk to me, " said Carrie, "I hate you. I want you to go away fromme. I am going to get out at the very next station. "

She was in a tremble of excitement and opposition as she spoke. 

"All right, " he said, "but you'll hear me out, won't you? After all youhave said about loving me, you might hear me. I don't want to do you anyharm. I'll give you the money to go back with when you go. I merely wantto tell you, Carrie. You can't stop me from loving you, whatever you maythink. "

He looked at her tenderly, but received no reply. "You think I havedeceived you badly, but I haven't. I didn't do it willingly. I'm throughwith my wife. She hasn't any claims on me. I'll never see her any more. That's why I'm here to-night. That's why I came and got you. "

"You said Charlie was hurt, " said Carrie, savagely. "You deceived me. You've been deceiving me all the time, and now you want to force me torun away with you. "

She was so excited that she got up and tried to get by him again. He lether, and she took another seat. Then he followed. 

"Don't run away from me, Carrie, " he said gently. "Let me explain. Ifyou will only hear me out you will see where I stand. I tell you my wifeis nothing to me. She hasn't been anything for years or I wouldn't haveever come near you. I'm going to get a divorce just as soon as I can. I'll never see her again. I'm done with all that. You're the only personI want. If I can have you I won't ever think of another woman again. "

Carrie heard all this in a very ruffled state. It sounded sincereenough, however, despite all he had done. There was a tenseness inHurstwood's voice and manner which could but have some effect. She didnot want anything to do with him. He was married, he had deceivedher once, and now again, and she thought him terrible. Still there issomething in such daring and power which is fascinating to a woman, especially if she can be made to feel that it is all prompted by love ofher. 

The progress of the train was having a great deal to do with thesolution of this difficult situation. The speeding wheels anddisappearing country put Chicago farther and farther behind. Carriecould feel that she was being borne a long distance off--that the enginewas making an almost through run to some distant city. She felt at timesas if she could cry out and make such a row that some one would come toher aid; at other times it seemed an almost useless thing--so far wasshe from any aid, no matter what she did. All the while Hurstwood wasendeavouring to formulate his plea in such a way that it would strikehome and bring her into sympathy with him. 

"I was simply put where I didn't know what else to do. "

Carrie deigned no suggestion of hearing this. 

"When I say you wouldn't come unless I could marry you, I decided to puteverything else behind me and get you to come away with me. I'm goingoff now to another city. I want to go to Montreal for a while, and thenanywhere you want to. We'll go and live in New York, if you say. "

"I'll not have anything to do with you, " said Carrie. "I want to get offthis train. Where are we going?"

"To Detroit, " said Hurstwood. 

"Oh!" said Carrie, in a burst of anguish. So distant and definite apoint seemed to increase the difficulty. 

"Won't you come along with me?" he said, as if there was great dangerthat she would not. "You won't need to do anything but travel with me. I'll not trouble you in any way. You can see Montreal and New York, andthen if you don't want to stay you can go back. It will be better thantrying to go back to-night. "

The first gleam of fairness shone in this proposition for Carrie. Itseemed a plausible thing to do, much as she feared his opposition if shetried to carry it out. Montreal and New York! Even now she was speedingtoward those great, strange lands, and could see them if she liked. Shethought, but made no sign. 

Hurstwood thought he saw a shade of compliance in this. He redoubled hisardour. 

"Think, " he said, "what I've given up. I can't go back to Chicago anymore. I've got to stay away and live alone now, if you don't come withme. You won't go back on me entirely, will you, Carrie?"

"I don't want you to talk to me, " she answered forcibly. 

Hurstwood kept silent for a while. 

Carrie felt the train to be slowing down. It was the moment to act ifshe was to act at all. She stirred uneasily. 

"Don't think of going, Carrie, " he said. "If you ever cared for me atall, come along and let's start right. I'll do whatever you say. I'llmarry you, or I'll let you go back. Give yourself time to think it over. I wouldn't have wanted you to come if I hadn't loved you. I tell you, Carrie, before God, I can't live without you. I won't!"

There was the tensity of fierceness in the man's plea which appealeddeeply to her sympathies. It was a dissolving fire which was actuatinghim now. He was loving her too intensely to think of giving her up inthis, his hour of distress. He clutched her hand nervously and pressedit with all the force of an appeal. 

The train was now all but stopped. It was running by some cars on a sidetrack. Everything outside was dark and dreary. A few sprinkles on thewindow began to indicate that it was raining. Carrie hung in a quandary, balancing between decision and helplessness. Now the train stopped, andshe was listening to his plea. The engine backed a few feet and all wasstill. 

She wavered, totally unable to make a move. Minute after minute slippedby and still she hesitated, he pleading. 

"Will you let me come back if I want to?" she asked, as if she now hadthe upper hand and her companion was utterly subdued. 

"Of course, " he answered, "you know I will. "

Carrie only listened as one who has granted a temporary amnesty. Shebegan to feel as if the matter were in her hands entirely. 

The train was again in rapid motion. Hurstwood changed the subject. 

"Aren't you very tired?" he said. 

"No, " she answered. 

"Won't you let me get you a berth in the sleeper?"

She shook her head, though for all her distress and his trickery she wasbeginning to notice what she had always felt--his thoughtfulness. 

"Oh, yes, " he said, "you will feel so much better. "

She shook her head. 

"Let me fix my coat for you, anyway, " and he arose and arranged hislight coat in a comfortable position to receive her head. 

"There, " he said tenderly, "now see if you can't rest a little. " Hecould have kissed her for her compliance. He took his seat beside herand thought a moment. 

"I believe we're in for a heavy rain, " he said. 

"So it looks, " said Carrie, whose nerves were quieting under thesound of the rain drops, driven by a gusty wind, as the train swept onfrantically through the shadow to a newer world. 

The fact that he had in a measure mollified Carrie was a source ofsatisfaction to Hurstwood, but it furnished only the most temporaryrelief. Now that her opposition was out of the way, he had all of histime to devote to the consideration of his own error. 

His condition was bitter in the extreme, for he did not want themiserable sum he had stolen. He did not want to be a thief. That sumor any other could never compensate for the state which he had thusfoolishly doffed. It could not give him back his host of friends, hisname, his house and family, nor Carrie, as he had meant to have her. He was shut out from Chicago--from his easy, comfortable state. Hehad robbed himself of his dignity, his merry meetings, his pleasantevenings. And for what? The more he thought of it the more unbearable itbecame. He began to think that he would try and restore himself to hisold state. He would return the miserable thievings of the night andexplain. Perhaps Moy would understand. Perhaps they would forgive himand let him come back. 

By noontime the train rolled into Detroit and he began to feelexceedingly nervous. The police must be on his track by now. They hadprobably notified all the police of the big cities, and detectives wouldbe watching for him. He remembered instances in which defaulters hadbeen captured. Consequently, he breathed heavily and paled somewhat. Hishands felt as if they must have something to do. He simulated interestin several scenes without which he did not feel. He repeatedly beat hisfoot upon the floor. 

Carrie noticed his agitation, but said nothing. She had no idea what itmeant or that it was important. 

He wondered now why he had not asked whether this train went on throughto Montreal or some Canadian point. Perhaps he could have saved time. Hejumped up and sought the conductor. 

"Does any part of this train go to Montreal?" he asked. 

"Yes, the next sleeper back does. "

He would have asked more, but it did not seem wise, so he decided toinquire at the depot. 

The train rolled into the yards, clanging and puffing. 

"I think we had better go right on through to Montreal, " he said toCarrie. "I'll see what the connections are when we get off. "

He was exceedingly nervous, but did his best to put on a calm exterior. Carrie only looked at him with large, troubled eyes. She was driftingmentally, unable to say to herself what to do. 

The train stopped and Hurstwood led the way out. He looked warily aroundhim, pretending to look after Carrie. Seeing nothing that indicatedstudied observation, he made his way to the ticket office. 

"The next train for Montreal leaves when?" he asked. 

"In twenty minutes, " said the man. 

He bought two tickets and Pullman berths. Then he hastened back toCarrie. 

"We go right out again, " he said, scarcely noticing that Carrie lookedtired and weary. 

"I wish I was out of all this, " she exclaimed gloomily. 

"You'll feel better when we reach Montreal, " he said. 

"I haven't an earthly thing with me, " said Carrie; "not even ahandkerchief. "

"You can buy all you want as soon as you get there, dearest, " heexplained. "You can call in a dressmaker. "

Now the crier called the train ready and they got on. Hurstwood breatheda sigh of relief as it started. There was a short run to the river, andthere they were ferried over. They had barely pulled the train off theferry-boat when he settled back with a sigh. 

"It won't be so very long now, " he said, remembering her in his relief. "We get there the first thing in the morning. "

Carrie scarcely deigned to reply. 

"I'll see if there is a dining-car, " he added. "I'm hungry. "

Chapter XXIX. THE SOLACE OF TRAVEL--THE BOATS OF THE SEA

To the untravelled, territory other than their own familiar heath isinvariably fascinating. Next to love, it is the one thing which solacesand delights. Things new are too important to be neglected, and mind, which is a mere reflection of sensory impressions, succumbs to the floodof objects. Thus lovers are forgotten, sorrows laid aside, death hiddenfrom view. There is a world of accumulated feeling back of the tritedramatic expression--"I am going away. "

As Carrie looked out upon the flying scenery she almost forgot that shehad been tricked into this long journey against her will and that shewas without the necessary apparel for travelling. She quite forgotHurstwood's presence at times, and looked away to homely farmhouses andcosey cottages in villages with wondering eyes. It was an interestingworld to her. Her life had just begun. She did not feel herself defeatedat all. Neither was she blasted in hope. The great city held much. Possibly she would come out of bondage into freedom--who knows? Perhapsshe would be happy. These thoughts raised her above the level of erring. She was saved in that she was hopeful. 

The following morning the train pulled safely into Montreal and theystepped down, Hurstwood glad to be out of danger, Carrie wondering atthe novel atmosphere of the northern city. Long before, Hurstwood hadbeen here, and now he remembered the name of the hotel at which he hadstopped. As they came out of the main entrance of the depot he heard itcalled anew by a busman. 

"We'll go right up and get rooms, " he said. 

At the clerk's office Hurstwood swung the register about while the clerkcame forward. He was thinking what name he would put down. With thelatter before him he found no time for hesitation. A name he had seenout of the car window came swiftly to him. It was pleasing enough. Withan easy hand he wrote, "G. W. Murdock and wife. " It was the largestconcession to necessity he felt like making. His initials he could notspare. 

When they were shown their room Carrie saw at once that he had securedher a lovely chamber. 

"You have a bath there, " said he. "Now you can clean up when you getready. "

Carrie went over and looked out the window, while Hurstwood looked athimself in the glass. He felt dusty and unclean. He had no trunk, nochange of linen, not even a hair-brush. 

"I'll ring for soap and towels, " he said, "and send you up a hair-brush. Then you can bathe and get ready for breakfast. I'll go for a shave andcome back and get you, and then we'll go out and look for some clothesfor you. "

He smiled good-naturedly as he said this. 

"All right, " said Carrie. 

She sat down in one of the rocking-chairs, while Hurstwood waited forthe boy, who soon knocked. 

"Soap, towels, and a pitcher of ice-water. "

"Yes, sir. "

"I'll go now, " he said to Carrie, coming toward her and holding out hishands, but she did not move to take them. 

"You're not mad at me, are you?" he asked softly. 

"Oh, no!" she answered, rather indifferently. 

"Don't you care for me at all?"

She made no answer, but looked steadily toward the window. 

"Don't you think you could love me a little?" he pleaded, taking one ofher hands, which she endeavoured to draw away. "You once said you did. "

"What made you deceive me so?" asked Carrie. 

"I couldn't help it, " he said, "I wanted you too much. "

"You didn't have any right to want me, " she answered, striking cleanlyhome. 

"Oh, well, Carrie, " he answered, "here I am. It's too late now. Won'tyou try and care for me a little?"

He looked rather worsted in thought as he stood before her. 

She shook her head negatively. 

"Let me start all over again. Be my wife from to-day on. "

Carrie rose up as if to step away, he holding her hand. Now he slippedhis arm about her and she struggled, but in vain. He held her quiteclose. Instantly there flamed up in his body the all compelling desire. His affection took an ardent form. 

"Let me go, " said Carrie, who was folded close to him. 

"Won't you love me?" he said. "Won't you be mine from now on?"

Carrie had never been ill-disposed toward him. Only a moment before shehad been listening with some complacency, remembering her old affectionfor him. He was so handsome, so daring!

Now, however, this feeling had changed to one of opposition, which rosefeebly. It mastered her for a moment, and then, held close as she was, began to wane. Something else in her spoke. This man, to whose bosom shewas being pressed, was strong; he was passionate, he loved her, and shewas alone. If she did not turn to him--accept of his love--where elsemight she go? Her resistance half dissolved in the flood of his strongfeeling. 

She found him lifting her head and looking into her eyes. What magnetismthere was she could never know. His many sins, however, were for themoment all forgotten. 

He pressed her closer and kissed her, and she felt that furtheropposition was useless. 

"Will you marry me?" she asked, forgetting how. 

"This very day, " he said, with all delight. 

Now the hall-boy pounded on the door and he released his hold upon herregretfully. 

"You get ready now, will you, " he said, "at once?"

"Yes, " she answered. 

"I'll be back in three-quarters of an hour. "

Carrie, flushed and excited, moved away as he admitted the boy. 

Below stairs, he halted in the lobby to look for a barber shop. For themoment, he was in fine feather. His recent victory over Carrie seemedto atone for much he had endured during the last few days. Life seemedworth fighting for. This eastward flight from all things customary andattached seemed as if it might have happiness in store. The storm showeda rainbow at the end of which might be a pot of gold. 

He was about to cross to a little red-and-white striped bar which wasfastened up beside a door when a voice greeted him familiarly. Instantlyhis heart sank. "Why, hello, George, old man!" said the voice. "What areyou doing down here?"

Hurstwood was already confronted, and recognised his friend Kenny, thestock-broker. 

"Just attending to a little private matter, " he answered, his mindworking like a key-board of a telephone station. This man evidently didnot know--he had not read the papers. 

"Well, it seems strange to see you way up here, " said Mr. Kennygenially. "Stopping here?"

"Yes, " said Hurstwood uneasily, thinking of his handwriting on theregister. 

"Going to be in town long?"

"No, only a day or so. "

"Is that so? Had your breakfast?"

"Yes, " said Hurstwood, lying blandly. "I'm just going for a shave. "

"Won't you come have a drink?"

"Not until afterwards, " said the ex-manager. "I'll see you later. Areyou stopping here?"

"Yes, " said Mr. Kenny, and then, turning the word again added: "How arethings out in Chicago?"

"About the same as usual, " said Hurstwood, smiling genially. 

"Wife with you?"

"No. "

"Well, I must see more of you to-day. I'm just going in here forbreakfast. Come in when you're through. "

"I will, " said Hurstwood, moving away. The whole conversation was atrial to him. It seemed to add complications with very word. This mancalled up a thousand memories. He represented everything he had left. Chicago, his wife, the elegant resort--all these were in his greetingand inquiries. And here he was in this same hotel expecting to conferwith him, unquestionably waiting to have a good time with him. Allat once the Chicago papers would arrive. The local papers would haveaccounts in them this very day. He forgot his triumph with Carrie in thepossibility of soon being known for what he was, in this man's eyes, asafe-breaker. He could have groaned as he went into the barber shop. Hedecided to escape and seek a more secluded hotel. 

Accordingly, when he came out he was glad to see the lobby clear, and hastened toward the stairs. He would get Carrie and go out by theladies' entrance. They would have breakfast in some more inconspicuousplace. 

Across the lobby, however, another individual was surveying him. He wasof a commonplace Irish type, small of stature, cheaply dressed, and witha head that seemed a smaller edition of some huge ward politician's. This individual had been evidently talking with the clerk, but now hesurveyed the ex-manager keenly. 

Hurstwood felt the long-range examination and recognised the type. Instinctively he felt that the man was a detective--that he was beingwatched. He hurried across, pretending not to notice, but in his mindwas a world of thoughts. What would happen now? What could these peopledo? He began to trouble concerning the extradition laws. He did notunderstand them absolutely. Perhaps he could be arrested. Oh, if Carrieshould find out! Montreal was too warm for him. He began to long to beout of it. 

Carrie had bathed and was waiting when he arrived. She lookedrefreshed--more delightful than ever, but reserved. Since he had goneshe had resumed somewhat of her cold attitude towards him. Love was notblazing in her heart. He felt it, and his troubles seemed increased. Hecould not take her in his arms; he did not even try. Something about herforbade it. In part his opinion was the result of his own experiencesand reflections below stairs. 

"You're ready, are you?" he said kindly. 

"Yes, " she answered. 

"We'll go out for breakfast. This place down here doesn't appeal to mevery much. "

"All right, " said Carrie. 

They went out, and at the corner the commonplace Irish individual wasstanding, eyeing him. Hurstwood could scarcely refrain from showing thathe knew of this chap's presence. The insolence in the fellow's eye wasgalling. Still they passed, and he explained to Carrie concerning thecity. Another restaurant was not long in showing itself, and here theyentered. 

"What a queer town this is, " said Carrie, who marvelled at it solelybecause it was not like Chicago. 

"It Isn't as lively as Chicago, " said Hurstwood. "Don't you like it?"

"No, " said Carrie, whose feelings were already localised in the greatWestern city. 

"Well, it isn't as interesting, " said Hurstwood. 

"What's here?" asked Carrie, wondering at his choosing to visit thistown. 

"Nothing much, " returned Hurstwood. "It's quite a resort. There's somepretty scenery about here. "

Carrie listened, but with a feeling of unrest. There was much about hersituation which destroyed the possibility of appreciation. 

"We won't stay here long, " said Hurstwood, who was now really gladto note her dissatisfaction. "You pick out your clothes as soon asbreakfast is over and we'll run down to New York soon. You'll like that. It's a lot more like a city than any place outside Chicago. "

He was really planning to slip out and away. He would see what thesedetectives would do--what move his employers at Chicago would make--thenhe would slip away--down to New York, where it was easy to hide. He knewenough about that city to know that its mysteries and possibilities ofmystification were infinite. 

The more he thought, however, the more wretched his situation became. He saw that getting here did not exactly clear up the ground. The firmwould probably employ detectives to watch him--Pinkerton men or agentsof Mooney and Boland. They might arrest him the moment he tried to leaveCanada. So he might be compelled to remain here months, and in what astate!

Back at the hotel Hurstwood was anxious and yet fearful to see themorning papers. He wanted to know how far the news of his criminal deedhad spread. So he told Carrie he would be up in a few moments, and wentto secure and scan the dailies. No familiar or suspicious faces wereabout, and yet he did not like reading in the lobby, so he sought themain parlour on the floor above and, seated by a window there, lookedthem over. Very little was given to his crime, but it was there, several "sticks" in all, among all the riffraff of telegraphed murders, accidents, marriages, and other news. He wished, half sadly, that hecould undo it all. Every moment of his time in this far-off abode ofsafety but added to his feeling that he had made a great mistake. Therecould have been an easier way out if he had only known. 

He left the papers before going to the room, thinking thus to keep themout of the hands of Carrie. 

"Well, how are you feeling?" he asked of her. She was engaged in lookingout of the window. 

"Oh, all right, " she answered. 

He came over, and was about to begin a conversation with her, when aknock came at their door. 

"Maybe it's one of my parcels, " said Carrie. 

Hurstwood opened the door, outside of which stood the individual whom hehad so thoroughly suspected. 

"You're Mr. Hurstwood, are you?" said the latter, with a volume ofaffected shrewdness and assurance. 

"Yes, " said Hurstwood calmly. He knew the type so thoroughly that someof his old familiar indifference to it returned. Such men as these wereof the lowest stratum welcomed at the resort. He stepped out and closedthe door. 

"Well, you know what I am here for, don't you?" said the manconfidentially. 

"I can guess, " said Hurstwood softly. 

"Well, do you intend to try and keep the money?"

"That's my affair, " said Hurstwood grimly. 

"You can't do it, you know, " said the detective, eyeing him coolly. 

"Look here, my man, " said Hurstwood authoritatively, "you don'tunderstand anything about this case, and I can't explain to you. Whatever I intend to do I'll do without advice from the outside. You'llhave to excuse me. " "Well, now, there's no use of your talking thatway, " said the man, "when you're in the hands of the police. We can makea lot of trouble for you if we want to. You're not registered right inthis house, you haven't got your wife with you, and the newspapers don'tknow you're here yet. You might as well be reasonable. "

"What do you want to know?" asked Hurstwood. 

"Whether you're going to send back that money or not. "

Hurstwood paused and studied the floor. 

"There's no use explaining to you about this, " he said at last. "There'sno use of your asking me. I'm no fool, you know. I know just what youcan do and what you can't. You can create a lot of trouble if you wantto. I know that all right, but it won't help you to get the money. Now, I've made up my mind what to do. I've already written Fitzgerald andMoy, so there's nothing I can say. You wait until you hear more fromthem. "

All the time he had been talking he had been moving away from the door, down the corridor, out of the hearing of Carrie. They were now near theend where the corridor opened into the large general parlour. 

"You won't give it up?" said the man. 

The words irritated Hurstwood greatly. Hot blood poured into his brain. Many thoughts formulated themselves. He was no thief. He didn't want themoney. If he could only explain to Fitzgerald and Moy, maybe it would beall right again. 

"See here, " he said, "there's no use my talking about this at all. Irespect your power all right, but I'll have to deal with the people whoknow. "

"Well, you can't get out of Canada with it, " said the man. 

"I don't want to get out, " said Hurstwood. "When I get ready there'll benothing to stop me for. "

He turned back, and the detective watched him closely. It seemed anintolerable thing. Still he went on and into the room. 

"Who was it?" asked Carrie. 

"A friend of mine from Chicago. "

The whole of this conversation was such a shock that, coming as it didafter all the other worry of the past week, it sufficed to induce a deepgloom and moral revulsion in Hurstwood. What hurt him most was the factthat he was being pursued as a thief. He began to see the nature of thatsocial injustice which sees but one side--often but a single point ina long tragedy. All the newspapers noted but one thing, his taking themoney. How and wherefore were but indifferently dealt with. All thecomplications which led up to it were unknown. He was accused withoutbeing understood. 

Sitting in his room with Carrie the same day, he decided to send themoney back. He would write Fitzgerald and Moy, explain all, and thensend it by express. Maybe they would forgive him. Perhaps they wouldask him back. He would make good the false statement he had made aboutwriting them. Then he would leave this peculiar town. 

For an hour he thought over this plausible statement of the tangle. Hewanted to tell them about his wife, but couldn't. He finally narrowed itdown to an assertion that he was light-headed from entertaining friends, had found the safe open, and having gone so far as to take the moneyout, had accidentally closed it. This act he regretted very much. He wassorry he had put them to so much trouble. He would undo what he could bysending the money back--the major portion of it. The remainder he wouldpay up as soon as he could. Was there any possibility of his beingrestored? This he only hinted at. 

The troubled state of the man's mind may be judged by the veryconstruction of this letter. For the nonce he forgot what a painfulthing it would be to resume his old place, even if it were given him. Heforgot that he had severed himself from the past as by a sword, and thatif he did manage to in some way reunite himself with it, the jagged lineof separation and reunion would always show. He was always forgettingsomething--his wife, Carrie, his need of money, present situation, orsomething--and so did not reason clearly. Nevertheless, he sent theletter, waiting a reply before sending the money. 

Meanwhile, he accepted his present situation with Carrie, getting whatjoy out of it he could. 

Out came the sun by noon, and poured a golden flood through their openwindows. Sparrows were twittering. There were laughter and song in theair. Hurstwood could not keep his eyes from Carrie. She seemed theone ray of sunshine in all his trouble. Oh, if she would only love himwholly--only throw her arms around him in the blissful spirit in whichhe had seen her in the little park in Chicago--how happy he would be!It would repay him; it would show him that he had not lost all. He wouldnot care. 

"Carrie, " he said, getting up once and coming over to her, "are yougoing to stay with me from now on?"

She looked at him quizzically, but melted with sympathy as the value ofthe look upon his face forced itself upon her. It was love now, keenand strong--love enhanced by difficulty and worry. She could not helpsmiling. 

"Let me be everything to you from now on, " he said. "Don't make me worryany more. I'll be true to you. We'll go to New York and get a nice flat. I'll go into business again, and we'll be happy. Won't you be mine?"

Carrie listened quite solemnly. There was no great passion in her, butthe drift of things and this man's proximity created a semblance ofaffection. She felt rather sorry for him--a sorrow born of what had onlyrecently been a great admiration. True love she had never felt for him. She would have known as much if she could have analysed her feelings, but this thing which she now felt aroused by his great feeling brokedown the barriers between them. 

"You'll stay with me, won't you?" he asked. 

"Yes, " she said, nodding her head. 

He gathered her to himself, imprinting kisses upon her lips and cheeks. 

"You must marry me, though, " she said. "I'll get a license to-day, " heanswered. 

"How?" she asked. 

"Under a new name, " he answered. "I'll take a new name and live a newlife. From now on I'm Murdock. "

"Oh, don't take that name, " said Carrie. 

"Why not?" he said. 

"I don't like it. "

"Well, what shall I take?" he asked. 

"Oh, anything, only don't take that. "

He thought a while, still keeping his arms about her, and then said:

"How would Wheeler do?"

"That's all right, " said Carrie. 

"Well, then, Wheeler, " he said. "I'll get the license this afternoon. "

They were married by a Baptist minister, the first divine they foundconvenient. 

At last the Chicago firm answered. It was by Mr. Moy's dictation. Hewas astonished that Hurstwood had done this; very sorry that it had comeabout as it had. If the money were returned, they would not troubleto prosecute him, as they really bore him no ill-will. As for hisreturning, or their restoring him to his former position, they had notquite decided what the effect of it would be. They would think it overand correspond with him later, possibly, after a little time, and so on. 

The sum and substance of it was that there was no hope, and they wantedthe money with the least trouble possible. Hurstwood read his doom. He decided to pay $9, 500 to the agent whom they said they would send, keeping $1, 300 for his own use. He telegraphed his acquiescence, explained to the representative who called at the hotel the same day, took a certificate of payment, and told Carrie to pack her trunk. He wasslightly depressed over this newest move at the time he began to makeit, but eventually restored himself. He feared that even yet he might beseized and taken back, so he tried to conceal his movements, but it wasscarcely possible. He ordered Carrie's trunk sent to the depot, where hehad it sent by express to New York. No one seemed to be observing him, but he left at night. He was greatly agitated lest at the first stationacross the border or at the depot in New York there should be waitingfor him an officer of the law. 

Carrie, ignorant of his theft and his fears, enjoyed the entry intothe latter city in the morning. The round green hills sentinelling thebroad, expansive bosom of the Hudson held her attention by their beautyas the train followed the line of the stream. She had heard of theHudson River, the great city of New York, and now she looked out, filling her mind with the wonder of it. 

As the train turned east at Spuyten Duyvil and followed the east bank ofthe Harlem River, Hurstwood nervously called her attention to thefact that they were on the edge of the city. After her experience withChicago, she expected long lines of cars--a great highway of tracks--andnoted the difference. The sight of a few boats in the Harlem and morein the East River tickled her young heart. It was the first sign of thegreat sea. Next came a plain street with five-story brick flats, andthen the train plunged into the tunnel. 

"Grand Central Station!" called the trainman, as, after a few minutes ofdarkness and smoke, daylight reappeared. Hurstwood arose and gathered uphis small grip. He was screwed up to the highest tension. With Carriehe waited at the door and then dismounted. No one approached him, buthe glanced furtively to and fro as he made for the street entrance. So excited was he that he forgot all about Carrie, who fell behind, wondering at his self-absorption. As he passed through the depot properthe strain reached its climax and began to wane. All at once he was onthe sidewalk, and none but cabmen hailed him. He heaved a great breathand turned, remembering Carrie. 

"I thought you were going to run off and leave me, " she said. 

"I was trying to remember which car takes us to the Gilsey, " heanswered. 

Carrie hardly heard him, so interested was she in the busy scene. 

"How large is New York?" she asked. 

"Oh a million or more, " said Hurstwood. 

He looked around and hailed a cab, but he did so in a changed way. 

For the first time in years the thought that he must count these littleexpenses flashed through his mind. It was a disagreeable thing. 

He decided he would lose no time living in hotels but would rent a flat. Accordingly he told Carrie, and she agreed. 

"We'll look to-day, if you want to, " she said. 

Suddenly he thought of his experience in Montreal. At the more importanthotels he would be certain to meet Chicagoans whom he knew. He stood upand spoke to the driver. 

"Take me to the Belford, " he said, knowing it to be less frequented bythose whom he knew. Then he sat down. 

"Where is the residence part?" asked Carrie, who did not take the tallfive-story walls on either hand to be the abodes of families. 

"Everywhere, " said Hurstwood, who knew the city fairly well. "There areno lawns in New York. All these are houses. "

"Well, then, I don't like it, " said Carrie, who was coming to have a fewopinions of her own. 

Chapter XXX. THE KINGDOM OF GREATNESS--THE PILGRIM A DREAM

Whatever a man like Hurstwood could be in Chicago, it is very evidentthat he would be but an inconspicuous drop in an ocean like New York. InChicago, whose population still ranged about 500, 000, millionaires werenot numerous. The rich had not become so conspicuously rich as to drownall moderate incomes in obscurity. The attention of the inhabitantswas not so distracted by local celebrities in the dramatic, artistic, social, and religious fields as to shut the well-positioned man fromview. In Chicago the two roads to distinction were politics and trade. In New York the roads were any one of a half-hundred, and each had beendiligently pursued by hundreds, so that celebrities were numerous. The sea was already full of whales. A common fish must needs disappearwholly from view--remain unseen. In other words, Hurstwood was nothing. 

There is a more subtle result of such a situation as this, which, thoughnot always taken into account, produces the tragedies of the world. The great create an atmosphere which reacts badly upon the small. This atmosphere is easily and quickly felt. Walk among the magnificentresidences, the splendid equipages, the gilded shops, restaurants, resorts of all kinds; scent the flowers, the silks, the wines; drinkof the laughter springing from the soul of luxurious content, of theglances which gleam like light from defiant spears; feel the qualityof the smiles which cut like glistening swords and of strides born ofplace, and you shall know of what is the atmosphere of the highand mighty. Little use to argue that of such is not the kingdom ofgreatness, but so long as the world is attracted by this and the humanheart views this as the one desirable realm which it must attain, solong, to that heart, will this remain the realm of greatness. So long, also, will the atmosphere of this realm work its desperate results inthe soul of man. It is like a chemical reagent. One day of it, like onedrop of the other, will so affect and discolour the views, the aims, thedesire of the mind, that it will thereafter remain forever dyed. A dayof it to the untried mind is like opium to the untried body. A cravingis set up which, if gratified, shall eternally result in dreams anddeath. Aye! dreams unfulfilled--gnawing, luring, idle phantoms whichbeckon and lead, beckon and lead, until death and dissolution dissolvetheir power and restore us blind to nature's heart. 

A man of Hurstwood's age and temperament is not subject to the illusionsand burning desires of youth, but neither has he the strength of hopewhich gushes as a fountain in the heart of youth. Such an atmospherecould not incite in him the cravings of a boy of eighteen, but in so faras they were excited, the lack of hope made them proportionately bitter. He could not fail to notice the signs of affluence and luxury on everyhand. He had been to New York before and knew the resources of itsfolly. In part it was an awesome place to him, for here gathered allthat he most respected on this earth--wealth, place, and fame. Themajority of the celebrities with whom he had tipped glasses in his dayas manager hailed from this self-centred and populous spot. The mostinviting stories of pleasure and luxury had been told of places andindividuals here. He knew it to be true that unconsciously he wasbrushing elbows with fortune the livelong day; that a hundred orfive hundred thousand gave no one the privilege of living more thancomfortably in so wealthy a place. Fashion and pomp required more amplesums, so that the poor man was nowhere. All this he realised, now quitesharply, as he faced the city, cut off from his friends, despoiled ofhis modest fortune, and even his name, and forced to begin the battlefor place and comfort all over again. He was not old, but he was not sodull but that he could feel he soon would be. Of a sudden, then, thisshow of fine clothes, place, and power took on peculiar significance. Itwas emphasised by contrast with his own distressing state. 

And it was distressing. He soon found that freedom from fear of arrestwas not the sine qua non of his existence. That danger dissolved, thenext necessity became the grievous thing. The paltry sum of thirteenhundred and some odd dollars set against the need of rent, clothing, food, and pleasure for years to come was a spectacle little calculatedto induce peace of mind in one who had been accustomed to spend fivetimes that sum in the course of a year. He thought upon the subjectrather actively the first few days he was in New York, and decidedthat he must act quickly. As a consequence, he consulted the businessopportunities advertised in the morning papers and began investigationson his own account. 

That was not before he had become settled, however. Carrie and he wentlooking for a flat, as arranged, and found one in Seventy-eighth Streetnear Amsterdam Avenue. It was a five-story building, and their flat wason the third floor. Owing to the fact that the street was not yet builtup solidly, it was possible to see east to the green tops of the treesin Central Park and west to the broad waters of the Hudson, a glimpseof which was to be had out of the west windows. For the privilege of sixrooms and a bath, running in a straight line, they were compelled to paythirty-five dollars a month--an average, and yet exorbitant, rent for ahome at the time. Carrie noticed the difference between the size of therooms here and in Chicago and mentioned it. 

"You'll not find anything better, dear, " said Hurstwood, "unless yougo into one of the old-fashioned houses, and then you won't have any ofthese conveniences. "

Carrie picked out the new abode because of its newness and brightwood-work. It was one of the very new ones supplied with steam heat, which was a great advantage. The stationary range, hot and cold water, dumb-waiter, speaking tubes, and call-bell for the janitor pleased hervery much. She had enough of the instincts of a housewife to take greatsatisfaction in these things. 

Hurstwood made arrangements with one of the instalment houses wherebythey furnished the flat complete and accepted fifty dollars down andten dollars a month. He then had a little plate, bearing the name G. W. Wheeler, made, which he placed on his letter-box in the hall. It soundedexceedingly odd to Carrie to be called Mrs. Wheeler by the janitor, butin time she became used to it and looked upon the name as her own. 

These house details settled, Hurstwood visited some of the advertisedopportunities to purchase an interest in some flourishing down-townbar. After the palatial resort in Adams Street, he could not stomach thecommonplace saloons which he found advertised. He lost a number of dayslooking up these and finding them disagreeable. He did, however, gainconsiderable knowledge by talking, for he discovered the influence ofTammany Hall and the value of standing in with the police. The mostprofitable and flourishing places he found to be those which conductedanything but a legitimate business, such as that controlled byFitzgerald and Moy. Elegant back rooms and private drinking booths onthe second floor were usually adjuncts of very profitable places. Hesaw by portly keepers, whose shirt fronts shone with large diamonds, and whose clothes were properly cut, that the liquor business here, as elsewhere, yielded the same golden profit. At last he found anindividual who had a resort in Warren Street, which seemed an excellentventure. It was fairly well-appearing and susceptible of improvement. The owner claimed the business to be excellent, and it certainly lookedso. 

"We deal with a very good class of people, " he told Hurstwood. "Merchants, salesmen, and professionals. It's a well-dressed class. Nobums. We don't allow 'em in the place. "

Hurstwood listened to the cash-register ring, and watched the trade fora while. 

"It's profitable enough for two, is it?" he asked. 

"You can see for yourself if you're any judge of the liquor trade, " saidthe owner. "This is only one of the two places I have. The other is downin Nassau Street. I can't tend to them both alone. If I had some one whoknew the business thoroughly I wouldn't mind sharing with him in thisone and letting him manage it. "

"I've had experience enough, " said Hurstwood blandly, but he felt alittle diffident about referring to Fitzgerald and Moy. 

"Well, you can suit yourself, Mr. Wheeler, " said the proprietor. 

He only offered a third interest in the stock, fixtures, and good-will, and this in return for a thousand dollars and managerial ability onthe part of the one who should come in. There was no property involved, because the owner of the saloon merely rented from an estate. 

The offer was genuine enough, but it was a question with Hurstwoodwhether a third interest in that locality could be made to yield onehundred and fifty dollars a month, which he figured he must have inorder to meet the ordinary family expenses and be comfortable. It wasnot the time, however, after many failures to find what he wanted, tohesitate. It looked as though a third would pay a hundred a month now. By judicious management and improvement, it might be made to pay more. Accordingly he agreed to enter into partnership, and made over histhousand dollars, preparing to enter the next day. 

His first inclination was to be elated, and he confided to Carriethat he thought he had made an excellent arrangement. Time, however, introduced food for reflection. He found his partner to be verydisagreeable. Frequently he was the worse for liquor, which made himsurly. This was the last thing which Hurstwood was used to in business. Besides, the business varied. It was nothing like the class of patronagewhich he had enjoyed in Chicago. He found that it would take a long timeto make friends. These people hurried in and out without seeking thepleasures of friendship. It was no gathering or lounging place. Wholedays and weeks passed without one such hearty greeting as he had beenwont to enjoy every day in Chicago. 

For another thing, Hurstwood missed the celebrities--those well-dressed, elite individuals who lend grace to the average bars and bring newsfrom far-off and exclusive circles. He did not see one such in a month. Evenings, when still at his post, he would occasionally read in theevening papers incidents concerning celebrities whom he knew--whomhe had drunk a glass with many a time. They would visit a bar likeFitzgerald and Moy's in Chicago, or the Hoffman House, uptown, but heknew that he would never see them down here. Again, the business did notpay as well as he thought. It increased a little, but he found he wouldhave to watch his household expenses, which was humiliating. 

In the very beginning it was a delight to go home late at night, ashe did, and find Carrie. He managed to run up and take dinner with herbetween six and seven, and to remain home until nine o'clock in themorning, but the novelty of this waned after a time, and he began tofeel the drag of his duties. 

The first month had scarcely passed before Carrie said in a very naturalway: "I think I'll go down this week and buy a dress. '

"What kind?" said Hurstwood. 

"Oh, something for street wear. "

"All right, " he answered, smiling, although he noted mentally that itwould be more agreeable to his finances if she didn't. Nothing was saidabout it the next day, but the following morning he asked:

"Have you done anything about your dress?"

"Not yet, " said Carrie. 

He paused a few moments, as if in thought, and then said:

"Would you mind putting it off a few days?"

"No, " replied Carrie, who did not catch the drift of his remarks. Shehad never thought of him in connection with money troubles before. "Why?"

"Well, I'll tell you, " said Hurstwood. "This investment of mine istaking a lot of money just now. I expect to get it all back shortly, butjust at present I am running close. "

"Oh!" answered Carrie. "Why, certainly, dear. Why didn't you tell mebefore?"

"It wasn't necessary, " said Hurstwood. 

For all her acquiescence, there was something about the way Hurstwoodspoke which reminded Carrie of Drouet and his little deal which he wasalways about to put through. It was only the thought of a second, but itwas a beginning. It was something new in her thinking of Hurstwood. 

Other things followed from time to time, little things of the samesort, which in their cumulative effect were eventually equal to a fullrevelation. Carrie was not dull by any means. Two persons cannot longdwell together without coming to an understanding of one another. The mental difficulties of an individual reveal themselves whetherhe voluntarily confesses them or not. Trouble gets in the air andcontributes gloom, which speaks for itself. Hurstwood dressed as nicelyas usual, but they were the same clothes he had in Canada. Carrienoticed that he did not install a large wardrobe, though his own wasanything but large. She noticed, also, that he did not suggest manyamusements, said nothing about the food, seemed concerned about hisbusiness. This was not the easy Hurstwood of Chicago--not the liberal, opulent Hurstwood she had known. The change was too obvious to escapedetection. 

In time she began to feel that a change had come about, and that shewas not in his confidence. He was evidently secretive and kept his owncounsel. She found herself asking him questions about little things. This is a disagreeable state to a woman. Great love makes it seemreasonable, sometimes plausible, but never satisfactory. Where greatlove is not, a more definite and less satisfactory conclusion isreached. 

As for Hurstwood, he was making a great fight against the difficultiesof a changed condition. He was too shrewd not to realise the tremendousmistake he had made, and appreciate that he had done well in gettingwhere he was, and yet he could not help contrasting his present statewith his former, hour after hour, and day after day. 

Besides, he had the disagreeable fear of meeting old-time friends, eversince one such encounter which he made shortly after his arrival in thecity. It was in Broadway that he saw a man approaching him whom heknew. There was no time for simulating non-recognition. The exchange ofglances had been too sharp, the knowledge of each other too apparent. So the friend, a buyer for one of the Chicago wholesale houses, felt, perforce, the necessity of stopping. 

"How are you?" he said, extending his hand with an evident mixture offeeling and a lack of plausible interest. 

"Very well, " said Hurstwood, equally embarrassed. "How is it with you?"

"All right; I'm down here doing a little buying. Are you located herenow?"

"Yes, " said Hurstwood, "I have a place down in Warren Street. "

"Is that so?" said the friend. "Glad to hear it. I'll come down and seeyou. "

"Do, " said Hurstwood. 

"So long, " said the other, smiling affably and going on. 

"He never asked for my number, " thought Hurstwood; "he wouldn't thinkof coming. " He wiped his forehead, which had grown damp, and hopedsincerely he would meet no one else. 

These things told upon his good-nature, such as it was. His one hope wasthat things would change for the better in a money way. 

He had Carrie. His furniture was being paid for. He was maintaining hisposition. As for Carrie, the amusements he could give her would haveto do for the present. He could probably keep up his pretensionssufficiently long without exposure to make good, and then all wouldbe well. He failed therein to take account of the frailties of humannature--the difficulties of matrimonial life. Carrie was young. Withhim and with her varying mental states were common. At any moment theextremes of feeling might be anti-polarised at the dinner table. Thisoften happens in the best regulated families. Little things brought outon such occasions need great love to obliterate them afterward. Wherethat is not, both parties count two and two and make a problem after awhile. 

Chapter XXXI. A PET OF GOOD FORTUNE--BROADWAY FLAUNTS ITS JOYS

The effect of the city and his own situation on Hurstwood was paralleledin the case of Carrie, who accepted the things which fortune providedwith the most genial good-nature. New York, despite her first expressionof disapproval, soon interested her exceedingly. Its clear atmosphere, more populous thoroughfares, and peculiar indifference struck herforcibly. She had never seen such a little flat as hers, and yet it soonenlisted her affection. The new furniture made an excellent showing, the sideboard which Hurstwood himself arranged gleamed brightly. Thefurniture for each room was appropriate, and in the so-called parlour, or front room, was installed a piano, because Carrie said she would liketo learn to play. She kept a servant and developed rapidly in householdtactics and information. For the first time in her life she feltsettled, and somewhat justified in the eyes of society as she conceivedof it. Her thoughts were merry and innocent enough. For a long while sheconcerned herself over the arrangement of New York flats, and wonderedat ten families living in one building and all remaining strange andindifferent to each other. She also marvelled at the whistles of thehundreds of vessels in the harbour--the long, low cries of the Soundsteamers and ferry-boats when fog was on. The mere fact that thesethings spoke from the sea made them wonderful. She looked much at whatshe could see of the Hudson from her west windows and of the great citybuilding up rapidly on either hand. It was much to ponder over, andsufficed to entertain her for more than a year without becoming stale. 

For another thing, Hurstwood was exceedingly interesting in hisaffection for her. Troubled as he was, he never exposed his difficultiesto her. He carried himself with the same self-important air, took hisnew state with easy familiarity, and rejoiced in Carrie's proclivitiesand successes. Each evening he arrived promptly to dinner, and found thelittle dining-room a most inviting spectacle. In a way, the smallnessof the room added to its luxury. It looked full and replete. Thewhite-covered table was arrayed with pretty dishes and lighted with afour-armed candelabra, each light of which was topped with a red shade. Between Carrie and the girl the steaks and chops came out all right, andcanned goods did the rest for a while. Carrie studied the art of makingbiscuit, and soon reached the stage where she could show a plate oflight, palatable morsels for her labour. 

In this manner the second, third, and fourth months passed. Winter came, and with it a feeling that indoors was best, so that the attending oftheatres was not much talked of. Hurstwood made great efforts to meetall expenditures without a show of feeling one way or the other. He pretended that he was reinvesting his money in strengthening thebusiness for greater ends in the future. He contented himself witha very moderate allowance of personal apparel, and rarely suggestedanything for Carrie. Thus the first winter passed. 

In the second year, the business which Hurstwood managed did increasesomewhat. He got out of it regularly the $150 per month which he hadanticipated. Unfortunately, by this time Carrie had reached certainconclusions, and he had scraped up a few acquaintances. 

Being of a passive and receptive rather than an active and aggressivenature, Carrie accepted the situation. Her state seemed satisfactoryenough. Once in a while they would go to a theatre together, occasionally in season to the beaches and different points about thecity, but they picked up no acquaintances. Hurstwood naturally abandonedhis show of fine manners with her and modified his attitude to oneof easy familiarity. There were no misunderstandings, no apparentdifferences of opinion. In fact, without money or visiting friends, he led a life which could neither arouse jealousy nor comment. Carrierather sympathised with his efforts and thought nothing upon her lackof entertainment such as she had enjoyed in Chicago. New York as acorporate entity and her flat temporarily seemed sufficient. 

However, as Hurstwood's business increased, he, as stated, began topick up acquaintances. He also began to allow himself more clothes. He convinced himself that his home life was very precious to him, butallowed that he could occasionally stay away from dinner. The first timehe did this he sent a message saying that he would be detained. Carrieate alone, and wished that it might not happen again. The second time, also, he sent word, but at the last moment. The third time he forgotentirely and explained afterwards. These events were months apart, each. 

"Where were you, George?" asked Carrie, after the first absence. 

"Tied up at the office, " he said genially. "There were some accounts Ihad to straighten. "

"I'm sorry you couldn't get home, " she said kindly. "I was fixing tohave such a nice dinner. "

The second time he gave a similar excuse, but the third time the feelingabout it in Carrie's mind was a little bit out of the ordinary. 

"I couldn't get home, " he said, when he came in later in the evening, "Iwas so busy. "

"Couldn't you have sent me word?" asked Carrie. 

"I meant to, " he said, "but you know I forgot it until it was too lateto do any good. "

"And I had such a good dinner!" said Carrie. 

Now, it so happened that from his observations of Carrie he began toimagine that she was of the thoroughly domestic type of mind. He reallythought, after a year, that her chief expression in life was finding itsnatural channel in household duties. Notwithstanding the fact that hehad observed her act in Chicago, and that during the past year he hadonly seen her limited in her relations to her flat and him by conditionswhich he made, and that she had not gained any friends or associates, hedrew this peculiar conclusion. With it came a feeling of satisfactionin having a wife who could thus be content, and this satisfaction workedits natural result. That is, since he imagined he saw her satisfied, he felt called upon to give only that which contributed to suchsatisfaction. He supplied the furniture, the decorations, the food, andthe necessary clothing. Thoughts of entertaining her, leading her outinto the shine and show of life, grew less and less. He felt attractedto the outer world, but did not think she would care to go along. Oncehe went to the theatre alone. Another time he joined a couple of hisnew friends at an evening game of poker. Since his money-feathers werebeginning to grow again he felt like sprucing about. All this, however, in a much less imposing way than had been his wont in Chicago. Heavoided the gay places where he would be apt to meet those who had knownhim. Now, Carrie began to feel this in various sensory ways. She wasnot the kind to be seriously disturbed by his actions. Not loving himgreatly, she could not be jealous in a disturbing way. In fact, she wasnot jealous at all. Hurstwood was pleased with her placid manner, whenhe should have duly considered it. When he did not come home it didnot seem anything like a terrible thing to her. She gave him credit forhaving the usual allurements of men--people to talk to, places to stop, friends to consult with. She was perfectly willing that he should enjoyhimself in his way, but she did not care to be neglected herself. Herstate still seemed fairly reasonable, however. All she did observe wasthat Hurstwood was somewhat different. 

Some time in the second year of their residence in Seventy-eighth Streetthe flat across the hall from Carrie became vacant, and into it moveda very handsome young woman and her husband, with both of whom Carrieafterwards became acquainted. This was brought about solely by thearrangement of the flats, which were united in one place, as it were, bythe dumb-waiter. This useful elevator, by which fuel, groceries, and thelike were sent up from the basement, and garbage and waste sent down, was used by both residents of one floor; that is, a small door openedinto it from each flat. 

If the occupants of both flats answered to the whistle of the janitorat the same time, they would stand face to face when they opened thedumb-waiter doors. One morning, when Carrie went to remove her paper, the newcomer, a handsome brunette of perhaps twenty-three years of age, was there for a like purpose. She was in a night-robe and dressing-gown, with her hair very much tousled, but she looked so pretty andgood-natured that Carrie instantly conceived a liking for her. Thenewcomer did no more than smile shamefacedly, but it was sufficient. Carrie felt that she would like to know her, and a similar feelingstirred in the mind of the other, who admired Carrie's innocent face. 

"That's a real pretty woman who has moved in next door, " said Carrie toHurstwood at the breakfast table. 

"Who are they?" asked Hurstwood. 

"I don't know, " said Carrie. "The name on the bell is Vance. Some oneover there plays beautifully. I guess it must be she. "

"Well, you never can tell what sort of people you're living next to inthis town, can you?" said Hurstwood, expressing the customary New Yorkopinion about neighbours. 

"Just think, " said Carrie, "I have been in this house with nine otherfamilies for over a year and I don't know a soul. These people have beenhere over a month and I haven't seen any one before this morning. "

"It's just as well, " said Hurstwood. "You never know who you're going toget in with. Some of these people are pretty bad company. "

"I expect so, " said Carrie, agreeably. 

The conversation turned to other things, and Carrie thought no more uponthe subject until a day or two later, when, going out to market, sheencountered Mrs. Vance coming in. The latter recognised her and nodded, for which Carrie returned a smile. This settled the probability ofacquaintanceship. If there had been no faint recognition on thisoccasion, there would have been no future association. 

Carrie saw no more of Mrs. Vance for several weeks, but she heard herplay through the thin walls which divided the front rooms of the flats, and was pleased by the merry selection of pieces and the brillianceof their rendition. She could play only moderately herself, and suchvariety as Mrs. Vance exercised bordered, for Carrie, upon the verge ofgreat art. Everything she had seen and heard thus far--the merest scrapsand shadows--indicated that these people were, in a measure, refined andin comfortable circumstances. So Carrie was ready for any extension ofthe friendship which might follow. 

One day Carrie's bell rang and the servant, who was in the kitchen, pressed the button which caused the front door of the general entranceon the ground floor to be electrically unlatched. When Carrie waited ather own door on the third floor to see who it might be coming up to callon her, Mrs. Vance appeared. 

"I hope you'll excuse me, " she said. "I went out a while ago and forgotmy outside key, so I thought I'd ring your bell. "

This was a common trick of other residents of the building, wheneverthey had forgotten their outside keys. They did not apologise for it, however. 

"Certainly, " said Carrie. "I'm glad you did. I do the same thingsometimes. "

"Isn't it just delightful weather?" said Mrs. Vance, pausing for amoment. 

Thus, after a few more preliminaries, this visiting acquaintance waswell launched, and in the young Mrs. Vance Carrie found an agreeablecompanion. 

On several occasions Carrie visited her and was visited. Both flats weregood to look upon, though that of the Vances tended somewhat more to theluxurious. 

"I want you to come over this evening and meet my husband, " said Mrs. Vance, not long after their intimacy began. "He wants to meet you. Youplay cards, don't you?"

"A little, " said Carrie. 

"Well, we'll have a game of cards. If your husband comes home bring himover. "

"He's not coming to dinner to-night, " said Carrie. 

"Well, when he does come we'll call him in. "

Carrie acquiesced, and that evening met the portly Vance, an individuala few years younger than Hurstwood, and who owed his seeminglycomfortable matrimonial state much more to his money than to his goodlooks. He thought well of Carrie upon the first glance and laid himselfout to be genial, teaching her a new game of cards and talking to herabout New York and its pleasures. Mrs. Vance played some upon the piano, and at last Hurstwood came. 

"I am very glad to meet you, " he said to Mrs. Vance when Carrieintroduced him, showing much of the old grace which had captivatedCarrie. "Did you think your wife had run away?" said Mr. Vance, extending his hand upon introduction. 

"I didn't know but what she might have found a better husband, " saidHurstwood. 

He now turned his attention to Mrs. Vance, and in a flash Carrie sawagain what she for some time had subconsciously missed in Hurstwood--theadroitness and flattery of which he was capable. She also saw that shewas not well dressed--not nearly as well dressed--as Mrs. Vance. Thesewere not vague ideas any longer. Her situation was cleared up for her. She felt that her life was becoming stale, and therein she felt causefor gloom. The old helpful, urging melancholy was restored. The desirousCarrie was whispered to concerning her possibilities. 

There were no immediate results to this awakening, for Carrie had littlepower of initiative; but, nevertheless, she seemed ever capable ofgetting herself into the tide of change where she would be easily bornealong. Hurstwood noticed nothing. He had been unconscious of the markedcontrasts which Carrie had observed. 

He did not even detect the shade of melancholy which settled in hereyes. Worst of all, she now began to feel the loneliness of the flat andseek the company of Mrs. Vance, who liked her exceedingly. 

"Let's go to the matinee this afternoon, " said Mrs. Vance, who hadstepped across into Carrie's flat one morning, still arrayed in a softpink dressing-gown, which she had donned upon rising. Hurstwood andVance had gone their separate ways nearly an hour before. 

"All right, " said Carrie, noticing the air of the petted andwell-groomed woman in Mrs. Vance's general appearance. She looked asthough she was dearly loved and her every wish gratified. "What shall wesee?"

"Oh, I do want to see Nat Goodwin, " said Mrs. Vance. "I do think he isthe jolliest actor. The papers say this is such a good play. "

"What time will we have to start?" asked Carrie. 

"Let's go at once and walk down Broadway from Thirty-fourth Street, "said Mrs. Vance. "It's such an interesting walk. He's at the MadisonSquare. "

"I'll be glad to go, " said Carrie. "How much will we have to pay forseats?"

"Not more than a dollar, " said Mrs. Vance. 

The latter departed, and at one o'clock reappeared, stunningly arrayedin a dark-blue walking dress, with a nobby hat to match. Carrie hadgotten herself up charmingly enough, but this woman pained her bycontrast. She seemed to have so many dainty little things which Carriehad not. There were trinkets of gold, an elegant green leather purse setwith her initials, a fancy handkerchief, exceedingly rich in design, andthe like. Carrie felt that she needed more and better clothes to comparewith this woman, and that any one looking at the two would pick Mrs. Vance for her raiment alone. It was a trying, though rather unjustthought, for Carrie had now developed an equally pleasing figure, andhad grown in comeliness until she was a thoroughly attractive type ofher colour of beauty. There was some difference in the clothing of thetwo, both of quality and age, but this difference was not especiallynoticeable. It served, however, to augment Carrie's dissatisfaction withher state. 

The walk down Broadway, then as now, was one of the remarkable featuresof the city. There gathered, before the matinee and afterwards, not onlyall the pretty women who love a showy parade, but the men who love togaze upon and admire them. It was a very imposing procession of prettyfaces and fine clothes. Women appeared in their very best hats, shoes, and gloves, and walked arm in arm on their way to the fine shops ortheatres strung along from Fourteenth to Thirty-fourth Streets. Equallythe men paraded with the very latest they could afford. A tailor mighthave secured hints on suit measurements, a shoemaker on proper lasts andcolours, a hatter on hats. It was literally true that if a lover offine clothes secured a new suit, it was sure to have its first airing onBroadway. So true and well understood was this fact, that several yearslater a popular song, detailing this and other facts concerning theafternoon parade on matinee days, and entitled "What Right Has He onBroadway?" was published, and had quite a vogue about the music-halls ofthe city. 

In all her stay in the city, Carrie had never heard of this showyparade; had never even been on Broadway when it was taking place. On theother hand, it was a familiar thing to Mrs. Vance, who not only knew ofit as an entity, but had often been in it, going purposely to see and beseen, to create a stir with her beauty and dispel any tendency to fallshort in dressiness by contrasting herself with the beauty and fashionof the town. 

Carrie stepped along easily enough after they got out of the car atThirty-fourth Street, but soon fixed her eyes upon the lovely companywhich swarmed by and with them as they proceeded. She noticed suddenlythat Mrs. Vance's manner had rather stiffened under the gaze of handsomemen and elegantly dressed ladies, whose glances were not modified by anyrules of propriety. To stare seemed the proper and natural thing. Carriefound herself stared at and ogled. Men in flawless top-coats, high hats, and silver-headed walking sticks elbowed near and looked too often intoconscious eyes. Ladies rustled by in dresses of stiff cloth, sheddingaffected smiles and perfume. Carrie noticed among them the sprinklingof goodness and the heavy percentage of vice. The rouged and powderedcheeks and lips, the scented hair, the large, misty, and languorouseye, were common enough. With a start she awoke to find that she wasin fashion's crowd, on parade in a show place--and such a show place!Jewellers' windows gleamed along the path with remarkable frequency. Florist shops, furriers, haberdashers, confectioners--all followed inrapid succession. The street was full of coaches. Pompous doormenin immense coats, shiny brass belts and buttons, waited in front ofexpensive salesrooms. Coachmen in tan boots, white tights, and bluejackets waited obsequiously for the mistresses of carriages who wereshopping inside. The whole street bore the flavour of riches and show, and Carrie felt that she was not of it. She could not, for the lifeof her, assume the attitude and smartness of Mrs. Vance, who, in herbeauty, was all assurance. She could only imagine that it must beevident to many that she was the less handsomely dressed of the two. It cut her to the quick, and she resolved that she would not come hereagain until she looked better. At the same time she longed to feel thedelight of parading here as an equal. Ah, then she would be happy!

Chapter XXXII. THE FEAST OF BELSHAZZAR--A SEER TO TRANSLATE

Such feelings as were generated in Carrie by this walk put her in anexceedingly receptive mood for the pathos which followed in the play. The actor whom they had gone to see had achieved his popularity bypresenting a mellow type of comedy, in which sufficient sorrow wasintroduced to lend contrast and relief to humour. For Carrie, as we wellknow, the stage had a great attraction. She had never forgotten her onehistrionic achievement in Chicago. It dwelt in her mind and occupied herconsciousness during many long afternoons in which her rocking-chairand her latest novel contributed the only pleasures of her state. Nevercould she witness a play without having her own ability vividly broughtto consciousness. Some scenes made her long to be a part of them--togive expression to the feelings which she, in the place of the characterrepresented, would feel. Almost invariably she would carry the vividimaginations away with her and brood over them the next day alone. Shelived as much in these things as in the realities which made up herdaily life. 

It was not often that she came to the play stirred to her heart's coreby actualities. To-day a low song of longing had been set singing in herheart by the finery, the merriment, the beauty she had seen. Oh, thesewomen who had passed her by, hundreds and hundreds strong, who werethey? Whence came the rich, elegant dresses, the astonishingly colouredbuttons, the knick-knacks of silver and gold? Where were these lovelycreatures housed? Amid what elegancies of carved furniture, decoratedwalls, elaborate tapestries did they move? Where were their richapartments, loaded with all that money could provide? In what stableschamped these sleek, nervous horses and rested the gorgeous carriages?Where lounged the richly groomed footmen? Oh, the mansions, the lights, the perfume, the loaded boudoirs and tables! New York must be filledwith such bowers, or the beautiful, insolent, supercilious creaturescould not be. Some hothouses held them. It ached her to know that shewas not one of them--that, alas, she had dreamed a dream and it had notcome true. She wondered at her own solitude these two years past--herindifference to the fact that she had never achieved what she hadexpected. 

The play was one of those drawing-room concoctions in which charminglyoverdressed ladies and gentlemen suffer the pangs of love and jealousyamid gilded surroundings. Such bon-mots are ever enticing to those whohave all their days longed for such material surroundings and have neverhad them gratified. They have the charm of showing suffering under idealconditions. Who would not grieve upon a gilded chair? Who would notsuffer amid perfumed tapestries, cushioned furniture, and liveriedservants? Grief under such circumstances becomes an enticing thing. Carrie longed to be of it. She wanted to take her sufferings, whateverthey were, in such a world, or failing that, at least to simulate themunder such charming conditions upon the stage. So affected was hermind by what she had seen, that the play now seemed an extraordinarilybeautiful thing. She was soon lost in the world it represented, andwished that she might never return. Between the acts she studied thegalaxy of matinee attendants in front rows and boxes, and conceived anew idea of the possibilities of New York. She was sure she had not seenit all--that the city was one whirl of pleasure and delight. 

Going out, the same Broadway taught her a sharper lesson. The scene shehad witnessed coming down was now augmented and at its height. Sucha crush of finery and folly she had never seen. It clinched herconvictions concerning her state. She had not lived, could not lay claimto having lived, until something of this had come into her own life. Women were spending money like water; she could see that in everyelegant shop she passed. Flowers, candy, jewelry, seemed the principalthings in which the elegant dames were interested. And she--she hadscarcely enough pin money to indulge in such outings as this a few timesa month. 

That night the pretty little flat seemed a commonplace thing. It was notwhat the rest of the world was enjoying. She saw the servant working atdinner with an indifferent eye. In her mind were running scenes of theplay. Particularly she remembered one beautiful actress--the sweetheartwho had been wooed and won. The grace of this woman had won Carrie'sheart. Her dresses had been all that art could suggest, her sufferingshad been so real. The anguish which she had portrayed Carrie could feel. It was done as she was sure she could do it. There were places in whichshe could even do better. Hence she repeated the lines to herself. Oh, if she could only have such a part, how broad would be her life! She, too, could act appealingly. 

When Hurstwood came, Carrie was moody. She was sitting, rocking andthinking, and did not care to have her enticing imaginations broken inupon; so she said little or nothing. 

"What's the matter, Carrie?" said Hurstwood after a time, noticing herquiet, almost moody state. 

"Nothing, " said Carrie. "I don't feel very well tonight. "

"Not sick, are you?" he asked, approaching very close. 

"Oh, no, " she said, almost pettishly, "I just don't feel very good. "

"That's too bad, " he said, stepping away and adjusting his vestafter his slight bending over. "I was thinking we might go to a showto-night. "

"I don't want to go, " said Carrie, annoyed that her fine visions shouldhave thus been broken into and driven out of her mind. "I've been to thematinee this afternoon. "

"Oh, you have?" said Hurstwood. "What was it?"

"A Gold Mine. "

"How was it?"

"Pretty good, " said Carrie. 

"And you don't want to go again to night?"

"I don't think I do, " she said. 

Nevertheless, wakened out of her melancholia and called to the dinnertable, she changed her mind. A little food in the stomach does wonders. She went again, and in so doing temporarily recovered her equanimity. The great awakening blow had, however, been delivered. As often as shemight recover from these discontented thoughts now, they would occuragain. Time and repetition--ah, the wonder of it! The dropping water andthe solid stone--how utterly it yields at last!

Not long after this matinee experience--perhaps a month--Mrs. Vanceinvited Carrie to an evening at the theatre with them. She heard Carriesay that Hurstwood was not coming home to dinner. 

"Why don't you come with us? Don't get dinner for yourself. We're goingdown to Sherry's for dinner and then over to the Lyceum. Come along withus. "

"I think I will, " answered Carrie. 

She began to dress at three o'clock for her departure at half-pastfive for the noted dining-room which was then crowding Delmonico's forposition in society. In this dressing Carrie showed the influence ofher association with the dashing Mrs. Vance. She had constantly had herattention called by the latter to novelties in everything which pertainsto a woman's apparel. 

"Are you going to get such and such a hat?" or, "Have you seen the newgloves with the oval pearl buttons?" were but sample phrases out of alarge selection. 

"The next time you get a pair of shoes, dearie, " said Mrs. Vance, "getbutton, with thick soles and patent-leather tips. They're all the ragethis fall. "

"I will, " said Carrie. 

"Oh, dear, have you seen the new shirtwaists at Altman's? They havesome of the loveliest patterns. I saw one there that I know would lookstunning on you. I said so when I saw it. "

Carrie listened to these things with considerable interest, for theywere suggested with more of friendliness than is usually common betweenpretty women. Mrs. Vance liked Carrie's stable good-nature so well thatshe really took pleasure in suggesting to her the latest things. 

"Why don't you get yourself one of those nice serge skirts they'reselling at Lord & Taylor's?" she said one day. "They're the circularstyle, and they're going to be worn from now on. A dark blue one wouldlook so nice on you. "

Carrie listened with eager ears. These things never came up between herand Hurstwood. Nevertheless, she began to suggest one thing and another, which Hurstwood agreed to without any expression of opinion. He noticedthe new tendency on Carrie's part, and finally, hearing much of Mrs. Vance and her delightful ways, suspected whence the change came. He wasnot inclined to offer the slightest objection so soon, but he felt thatCarrie's wants were expanding. This did not appeal to him exactly, buthe cared for her in his own way, and so the thing stood. Still, therewas something in the details of the transactions which caused Carrieto feel that her requests were not a delight to him. He did not enthuseover the purchases. This led her to believe that neglect was creepingin, and so another small wedge was entered. 

Nevertheless, one of the results of Mrs. Vance's suggestions was thefact that on this occasion Carrie was dressed somewhat to her ownsatisfaction. She had on her best, but there was comfort in the thoughtthat if she must confine herself to a best, it was neat and fitting. Shelooked the well-groomed woman of twenty-one, and Mrs. Vance praised her, which brought colour to her plump cheeks and a noticeable brightnessinto her large eyes. It was threatening rain, and Mr. Vance, at hiswife's request, had called a coach. "Your husband isn't coming?"suggested Mr. Vance, as he met Carrie in his little parlour. 

"No; he said he wouldn't be home for dinner. "

"Better leave a little note for him, telling him where we are. He mightturn up. "

"I will, " said Carrie, who had not thought of it before. 

"Tell him we'll be at Sherry's until eight o'clock. He knows, though Iguess. "

Carrie crossed the hall with rustling skirts, and scrawled the note, gloves on. When she returned a newcomer was in the Vance flat. 

"Mrs. Wheeler, let me introduce Mr. Ames, a cousin of mine, " said Mrs. Vance. "He's going along with us, aren't you, Bob?"

"I'm very glad to meet you, " said Ames, bowing politely to Carrie. 

The latter caught in a glance the dimensions of a very stalwart figure. She also noticed that he was smooth-shaven, good looking, and young, butnothing more. 

"Mr. Ames is just down in New York for a few days, " put in Vance, "andwe're trying to show him around a little. "

"Oh, are you?" said Carrie, taking another glance at the newcomer. 

"Yes; I am just on here from Indianapolis for a week or so, " said youngAmes, seating himself on the edge of a chair to wait while Mrs. Vancecompleted the last touches of her toilet. 

"I guess you find New York quite a thing to see, don't you?" saidCarrie, venturing something to avoid a possible deadly silence. 

"It is rather large to get around in a week, " answered Ames, pleasantly. 

He was an exceedingly genial soul, this young man, and wholly free ofaffectation. It seemed to Carrie he was as yet only overcoming the lasttraces of the bashfulness of youth. He did not seem apt at conversation, but he had the merit of being well dressed and wholly courageous. Carriefelt as if it were not going to be hard to talk to him. 

"Well, I guess we're ready now. The coach is outside. "

"Come on, people, " said Mrs. Vance, coming in smiling. "Bob, you'll haveto look after Mrs. Wheeler. "

"I'll try to, " said Bob smiling, and edging closer to Carrie. "You won'tneed much watching, will you?" he volunteered, in a sort of ingratiatingand help-me-out kind of way. 

"Not very, I hope, " said Carrie. 

They descended the stairs, Mrs. Vance offering suggestions, and climbedinto the open coach. 

"All right, " said Vance, slamming the coach door, and the conveyancerolled away. 

"What is it we're going to see?" asked Ames. 

"Sothern, " said Vance, "in 'Lord Chumley. '"

"Oh, he is so good!" said Mrs. Vance. "He's just the funniest man. "

"I notice the papers praise it, " said Ames. 

"I haven't any doubt, " put in Vance, "but we'll all enjoy it very much. "

Ames had taken a seat beside Carrie, and accordingly he felt it hisbounden duty to pay her some attention. He was interested to find her soyoung a wife, and so pretty, though it was only a respectful interest. There was nothing of the dashing lady's man about him. He had respectfor the married state, and thought only of some pretty marriageablegirls in Indianapolis. 

"Are you a born New Yorker?" asked Ames of Carrie. 

"Oh, no; I've only been here for two years. "

"Oh, well, you've had time to see a great deal of it, anyhow. "

"I don't seem to have, " answered Carrie. "It's about as strange to me aswhen I first came here. "

"You're not from the West, are you?"

"Yes. I'm from Wisconsin, " she answered. 

"Well, it does seem as if most people in this town haven't been here sovery long. I hear of lots of Indiana people in my line who are here. "

"What is your line?" asked Carrie. 

"I'm connected with an electrical company, " said the youth. 

Carrie followed up this desultory conversation with occasionalinterruptions from the Vances. Several times it became general andpartially humorous, and in that manner the restaurant was reached. 

Carrie had noticed the appearance of gayety and pleasure-seeking in thestreets which they were following. Coaches were numerous, pedestriansmany, and in Fifty-ninth Street the street cars were crowded. AtFifty-ninth Street and Fifth Avenue a blaze of lights from several newhotels which bordered the Plaza Square gave a suggestion of sumptuoushotel life. Fifth Avenue, the home of the wealthy, was noticeablycrowded with carriages, and gentlemen in evening dress. At Sherry's animposing doorman opened the coach door and helped them out. Young Amesheld Carrie's elbow as he helped her up the steps. They enteredthe lobby already swarming with patrons, and then, after divestingthemselves of their wraps, went into a sumptuous dining-room. 

In all Carrie's experience she had never seen anything like this. In thewhole time she had been in New York Hurstwood's modified state hadnot permitted his bringing her to such a place. There was an almostindescribable atmosphere about it which convinced the newcomer that thiswas the proper thing. Here was the place where the matter of expenselimited the patrons to the moneyed or pleasure-loving class. Carriehad read of it often in the "Morning" and "Evening World. " She had seennotices of dances, parties, balls, and suppers at Sherry's. The MissesSo-and-so would give a party on Wednesday evening at Sherry's. Young Mr. So-and-So would entertain a party of friends at a private luncheon onthe sixteenth, at Sherry's. The common run of conventional, perfunctorynotices of the doings of society, which she could scarcely refrain fromscanning each day, had given her a distinct idea of the gorgeousnessand luxury of this wonderful temple of gastronomy. Now, at last, she wasreally in it. She had come up the imposing steps, guarded by the largeand portly doorman. She had seen the lobby, guarded by another large andportly gentleman, and been waited upon by uniformed youths who took careof canes, overcoats, and the like. Here was the splendid dining-chamber, all decorated and aglow, where the wealthy ate. Ah, how fortunate wasMrs. Vance; young, beautiful, and well off--at least, sufficiently so tocome here in a coach. What a wonderful thing it was to be rich. 

Vance led the way through lanes of shining tables, at which were seatedparties of two, three, four, five, or six. The air of assurance anddignity about it all was exceedingly noticeable to the novitiate. Incandescent lights, the reflection of their glow in polished glasses, and the shine of gilt upon the walls, combined into one tone of lightwhich it requires minutes of complacent observation to separate and takeparticular note of. The white shirt fronts of the gentlemen, the brightcostumes of the ladies, diamonds, jewels, fine feathers--all wereexceedingly noticeable. 

Carrie walked with an air equal to that of Mrs. Vance, and accepted theseat which the head waiter provided for her. She was keenly aware ofall the little things that were done--the little genuflections andattentions of the waiters and head waiter which Americans pay for. Theair with which the latter pulled out each chair, and the wave of thehand with which he motioned them to be seated, were worth severaldollars in themselves. 

Once seated, there began that exhibition of showy, wasteful, andunwholesome gastronomy as practised by wealthy Americans, which is thewonder and astonishment of true culture and dignity the world over. Thelarge bill of fare held an array of dishes sufficient to feed an army, sidelined with prices which made reasonable expenditure a ridiculousimpossibility--an order of soup at fifty cents or a dollar, with a dozenkinds to choose from; oysters in forty styles and at sixty cents thehalf-dozen; entrees, fish, and meats at prices which would house oneover night in an average hotel. One dollar fifty and two dollars seemedto be the most common figures upon this most tastefully printed bill offare. 

Carrie noticed this, and in scanning it the price of spring chickencarried her back to that other bill of fare and far different occasionwhen, for the first time, she sat with Drouet in a good restaurant inChicago. It was only momentary--a sad note as out of an old song--andthen it was gone. But in that flash was seen the other Carrie--poor, hungry, drifting at her wits' ends, and all Chicago a cold and closedworld, from which she only wandered because she could not find work. 

On the walls were designs in colour, square spots of robin's-egg blue, set in ornate frames of gilt, whose corners were elaborate mouldings offruit and flowers, with fat cupids hovering in angelic comfort. On theceilings were coloured traceries with more gilt, leading to a centrewhere spread a cluster of lights--incandescent globes mingled withglittering prisms and stucco tendrils of gilt. The floor was ofa reddish hue, waxed and polished, and in every direction weremirrors--tall, brilliant, bevel-edged mirrors--reflecting andre-reflecting forms, faces, and candelabra a score and a hundred times. 

The tables were not so remarkable in themselves, and yet the imprintof Sherry upon the napery, the name of Tiffany upon the silverware, thename of Haviland upon the china, and over all the glow of the small, red-shaded candelabra and the reflected tints of the walls on garmentsand faces, made them seem remarkable. Each waiter added an air ofexclusiveness and elegance by the manner in which he bowed, scraped, touched, and trifled with things. The exclusively personal attentionwhich he devoted to each one, standing half bent, ear to one side, elbows akimbo, saying: "Soup--green turtle, yes. One portion, yes. Oysters--certainly--half-dozen--yes. Asparagus. Olives--yes. "

It would be the same with each one, only Vance essayed to order for all, inviting counsel and suggestions. Carrie studied the company with openeyes. So this was high life in New York. It was so that the rich spenttheir days and evenings. Her poor little mind could not rise aboveapplying each scene to all society. Every fine lady must be in the crowdon Broadway in the afternoon, in the theatre at the matinee, in thecoaches and dining-halls at night. It must be glow and shine everywhere, with coaches waiting, and footmen attending, and she was out of it all. In two long years she had never even been in such a place as this. 

Vance was in his element here, as Hurstwood would have been in formerdays. He ordered freely of soup, oysters, roast meats, and side dishes, and had several bottles of wine brought, which were set down beside thetable in a wicker basket. 

Ames was looking away rather abstractedly at the crowd and showed aninteresting profile to Carrie. His forehead was high, his nose ratherlarge and strong, his chin moderately pleasing. He had a good, wide, well-shaped mouth, and his dark-brown hair was parted slightly on oneside. He seemed to have the least touch of boyishness to Carrie, and yethe was a man full grown. 

"Do you know, " he said, turning back to Carrie, after his reflection, "I sometimes think it is a shame for people to spend so much money thisway. "

Carrie looked at him a moment with the faintest touch of surprise at hisseriousness. He seemed to be thinking about something over which she hadnever pondered. 

"Do you?" she answered, interestedly. 

"Yes, " he said, "they pay so much more than these things are worth. Theyput on so much show. "

"I don't know why people shouldn't spend when they have it, " said Mrs. Vance. 

"It doesn't do any harm, " said Vance, who was still studying the bill offare, though he had ordered. 

Ames was looking away again, and Carrie was again looking at hisforehead. To her he seemed to be thinking about strange things. As hestudied the crowd his eye was mild. 

"Look at that woman's dress over there, " he said, again turning toCarrie, and nodding in a direction. 

"Where?" said Carrie, following his eyes. 

"Over there in the corner--way over. Do you see that brooch?"

"Isn't it large?" said Carrie. 

"One of the largest clusters of jewels I have ever seen, " said Ames. 

"It is, isn't it?" said Carrie. She felt as if she would like to beagreeable to this young man, and also there came with it, or perhapspreceded it, the slightest shade of a feeling that he was bettereducated than she was--that his mind was better. He seemed to look it, and the saving grace in Carrie was that she could understand that peoplecould be wiser. She had seen a number of people in her life who remindedher of what she had vaguely come to think of as scholars. This strongyoung man beside her, with his clear, natural look, seemed to get a holdof things which she did not quite understand, but approved of. It wasfine to be so, as a man, she thought. 

The conversation changed to a book that was having its vogue at thetime--"Moulding a Maiden, " by Albert Ross. Mrs. Vance had read it. Vancehad seen it discussed in some of the papers. 

"A man can make quite a strike writing a book, " said Vance. "I noticethis fellow Ross is very much talked about. " He was looking at Carrie ashe spoke. 

"I hadn't heard of him, " said Carrie, honestly. 

"Oh, I have, " said Mrs. Vance. "He's written lots of things. This laststory is pretty good. "

"He doesn't amount to much, " said Ames. 

Carrie turned her eyes toward him as to an oracle. 

"His stuff is nearly as bad as 'Dora Thorne, '" concluded Ames. 

Carrie felt this as a personal reproof. She read "Dora Thorne, " or hada great deal in the past. It seemed only fair to her, but she supposedthat people thought it very fine. Now this clear-eyed, fine-headedyouth, who looked something like a student to her, made fun of it. Itwas poor to him, not worth reading. She looked down, and for the firsttime felt the pain of not understanding. 

Yet there was nothing sarcastic or supercilious in the way Ames spoke. He had very little of that in him. Carrie felt that it was just kindlythought of a high order--the right thing to think, and wondered whatelse was right, according to him. He seemed to notice that she listenedand rather sympathised with him, and from now on he talked mostly toher. 

As the waiter bowed and scraped about, felt the dishes to see if theywere hot enough, brought spoons and forks, and did all those littleattentive things calculated to impress the luxury of the situationupon the diner, Ames also leaned slightly to one side and told her ofIndianapolis in an intelligent way. He really had a very bright mind, which was finding its chief development in electrical knowledge. Hissympathies for other forms of information, however, and for types ofpeople, were quick and warm. The red glow on his head gave it a sandytinge and put a bright glint in his eye. Carrie noticed all these thingsas he leaned toward her and felt exceedingly young. This man was farahead of her. He seemed wiser than Hurstwood, saner and brighter thanDrouet. He seemed innocent and clean, and she thought that he wasexceedingly pleasant. She noticed, also, that his interest in her was afar-off one. She was not in his life, nor any of the things that touchedhis life, and yet now, as he spoke of these things, they appealed toher. 

"I shouldn't care to be rich, " he told her, as the dinner proceeded andthe supply of food warmed up his sympathies; "not rich enough to spendmy money this way. "

"Oh, wouldn't you?" said Carrie, the, to her, new attitude forcingitself distinctly upon her for the first time. 

"No, " he said. "What good would it do? A man doesn't need this sort ofthing to be happy. "

Carrie thought of this doubtfully; but, coming from him, it had weightwith her. 

"He probably could be happy, " she thought to herself, "all alone. He'sso strong. "

Mr. And Mrs. Vance kept up a running fire of interruptions, and theseimpressive things by Ames came at odd moments. They were sufficient, however, for the atmosphere that went with this youth impressed itselfupon Carrie without words. There was something in him, or the world hemoved in, which appealed to her. He reminded her of scenes she had seenon the stage--the sorrows and sacrifices that always went with sheknew not what. He had taken away some of the bitterness of the contrastbetween this life and her life, and all by a certain calm indifferencewhich concerned only him. 

As they went out, he took her arm and helped her into the coach, andthen they were off again, and so to the show. 

During the acts Carrie found herself listening to him very attentively. He mentioned things in the play which she most approved of--things whichswayed her deeply. 

"Don't you think it rather fine to be an actor?" she asked once. 

"Yes, I do, " he said, "to be a good one. I think the theatre a greatthing. "

Just this little approval set Carrie's heart bounding. Ah, if she couldonly be an actress--a good one! This man was wise--he knew--and heapproved of it. If she were a fine actress, such men as he would approveof her. She felt that he was good to speak as he had, although it didnot concern her at all. She did not know why she felt this way. 

At the close of the show it suddenly developed that he was not goingback with them. 

"Oh, aren't you?" said Carrie, with an unwarrantable feeling. 

"Oh, no, " he said; "I'm stopping right around here in Thirty-thirdStreet. "

Carrie could not say anything else, but somehow this development shockedher. She had been regretting the wane of a pleasant evening, but she hadthought there was a half-hour more. Oh, the half-hours, the minutes ofthe world; what miseries and griefs are crowded into them!

She said good-bye with feigned indifference. What matter could it make?Still, the coach seemed lorn. 

When she went into her own flat she had this to think about. She did notknow whether she would ever see this man any more. What difference couldit make--what difference could it make?

Hurstwood had returned, and was already in bed. His clothes werescattered loosely about. Carrie came to the door and saw him, thenretreated. She did not want to go in yet a while. She wanted to think. It was disagreeable to her. 

Back in the dining-room she sat in her chair and rocked. Her littlehands were folded tightly as she thought. Through a fog of longing andconflicting desires she was beginning to see. Oh, ye legions of hope andpity--of sorrow and pain! She was rocking, and beginning to see. 

Chapter XXXIII. WITHOUT THE WALLED CITY--THE SLOPE OF THE YEARS

The immediate result of this was nothing. Results from such thingsare usually long in growing. Morning brings a change of feeling. Theexistent condition invariably pleads for itself. It is only at oddmoments that we get glimpses of the misery of things. The heartunderstands when it is confronted with contrasts. Take them away and theache subsides. 

Carrie went on, leading much this same life for six months thereafter ormore. She did not see Ames any more. He called once upon the Vances, butshe only heard about it through the young wife. Then he went West, and there was a gradual subsidence of whatever personal attraction hadexisted. The mental effect of the thing had not gone, however, and neverwould entirely. She had an ideal to contrast men by--particularly menclose to her. 

During all this time--a period rapidly approaching threeyears--Hurstwood had been moving along in an even path. There was noapparent slope downward, and distinctly none upward, so far as thecasual observer might have seen. But psychologically there was a change, which was marked enough to suggest the future very distinctly indeed. This was in the mere matter of the halt his career had received when hedeparted from Chicago. A man's fortune or material progress is very muchthe same as his bodily growth. Either he is growing stronger, healthier, wiser, as the youth approaching manhood, or he is growing weaker, older, less incisive mentally, as the man approaching old age. There are noother states. Frequently there is a period between the cessation ofyouthful accretion and the setting in, in the case of the middle-agedman, of the tendency toward decay when the two processes are almostperfectly balanced and there is little doing in either direction. Giventime enough, however, the balance becomes a sagging to the grave side. Slowly at first, then with a modest momentum, and at last the gravewardprocess is in the full swing. So it is frequently with man's fortune. If its process of accretion is never halted, if the balancing stage isnever reached, there will be no toppling. Rich men are, frequently, in these days, saved from this dissolution of their fortune by theirability to hire younger brains. These younger brains look upon theinterests of the fortune as their own, and so steady and direct itsprogress. If each individual were left absolutely to the care of his owninterests, and were given time enough in which to grow exceedingly old, his fortune would pass as his strength and will. He and his would beutterly dissolved and scattered unto the four winds of the heavens. 

But now see wherein the parallel changes. A fortune, like a man, is anorganism which draws to itself other minds and other strength than thatinherent in the founder. Beside the young minds drawn to it by salaries, it becomes allied with young forces, which make for its existenceeven when the strength and wisdom of the founder are fading. It may beconserved by the growth of a community or of a state. It may be involvedin providing something for which there is a growing demand. This removesit at once beyond the special care of the founder. It needs not so muchforesight now as direction. The man wanes, the need continues or grows, and the fortune, fallen into whose hands it may, continues. Hence, somemen never recognise the turning in the tide of their abilities. It isonly in chance cases, where a fortune or a state of success is wrestedfrom them, that the lack of ability to do as they did formerly becomesapparent. Hurstwood, set down under new conditions, was in a position tosee that he was no longer young. If he did not, it was due wholly to thefact that his state was so well balanced that an absolute change for theworse did not show. 

Not trained to reason or introspect himself, he could not analyse thechange that was taking place in his mind, and hence his body, but hefelt the depression of it. Constant comparison between his old state andhis new showed a balance for the worse, which produced a constant stateof gloom or, at least, depression. Now, it has been shown experimentallythat a constantly subdued frame of mind produces certain poisons inthe blood, called katastates, just as virtuous feelings of pleasureand delight produce helpful chemicals called anastates. The poisonsgenerated by remorse inveigh against the system, and eventually producemarked physical deterioration. To these Hurstwood was subject. 

In the course of time it told upon his temper. His eye no longerpossessed that buoyant, searching shrewdness which had characterisedit in Adams Street. His step was not as sharp and firm. He was givento thinking, thinking, thinking. The new friends he made were notcelebrities. They were of a cheaper, a slightly more sensual and cruder, grade. He could not possibly take the pleasure in this company that hehad in that of those fine frequenters of the Chicago resort. He was leftto brood. 

Slowly, exceedingly slowly, his desire to greet, conciliate, and make athome these people who visited the Warren Street place passed from him. More and more slowly the significance of the realm he had left began tobe clear. It did not seem so wonderful to be in it when he was in it. Ithad seemed very easy for any one to get up there and have ample raimentand money to spend, but now that he was out of it, how far off itbecame. He began to see as one sees a city with a wall about it. Menwere posted at the gates. You could not get in. Those inside did notcare to come out to see who you were. They were so merry inside therethat all those outside were forgotten, and he was on the outside. 

Each day he could read in the evening papers of the doings within thiswalled city. In the notices of passengers for Europe he read the namesof eminent frequenters of his old resort. In the theatrical columnappeared, from time to time, announcements of the latest successes ofmen he had known. He knew that they were at their old gayeties. Pullmanswere hauling them to and fro about the land, papers were greeting themwith interesting mentions, the elegant lobbies of hotels and the glowof polished dining-rooms were keeping them close within the walled city. Men whom he had known, men whom he had tipped glasses with--rich men, and he was forgotten! Who was Mr. Wheeler? What was the Warren Streetresort? Bah!

If one thinks that such thoughts do not come to so common a type ofmind--that such feelings require a higher mental development--I wouldurge for their consideration the fact that it is the higher mentaldevelopment that does away with such thoughts. It is the higher mentaldevelopment which induces philosophy and that fortitude which refusesto dwell upon such things--refuses to be made to suffer by theirconsideration. The common type of mind is exceedingly keen on allmatters which relate to its physical welfare--exceedingly keen. Itis the unintellectual miser who sweats blood at the loss of a hundreddollars. It is the Epictetus who smiles when the last vestige ofphysical welfare is removed. 

The time came, in the third year, when this thinking began to produceresults in the Warren Street place. The tide of patronage dropped alittle below what it had been at its best since he had been there. Thisirritated and worried him. 

There came a night when he confessed to Carrie that the business was notdoing as well this month as it had the month before. This was in lieu ofcertain suggestions she had made concerning little things she wanted tobuy. She had not failed to notice that he did not seem to consult herabout buying clothes for himself. For the first time, it struck her asa ruse, or that he said it so that she would not think of asking forthings. Her reply was mild enough, but her thoughts were rebellious. Hewas not looking after her at all. She was depending for her enjoymentupon the Vances. 

And now the latter announced that they were going away. It wasapproaching spring, and they were going North. 

"Oh, yes, " said Mrs. Vance to Carrie, "we think we might as well giveup the flat and store our things. We'll be gone for the summer, and itwould be a useless expense. I think we'll settle a little farther downtown when we come back. "

Carrie heard this with genuine sorrow. She had enjoyed Mrs. Vance'scompanionship so much. There was no one else in the house whom she knew. Again she would be all alone. 

Hurstwood's gloom over the slight decrease in profits and the departureof the Vances came together. So Carrie had loneliness and this moodof her husband to enjoy at the same time. It was a grievous thing. Shebecame restless and dissatisfied, not exactly, as she thought, withHurstwood, but with life. What was it? A very dull round indeed. Whatdid she have? Nothing but this narrow, little flat. The Vances couldtravel, they could do the things worth doing, and here she was. Forwhat was she made, anyhow? More thought followed, and then tears--tearsseemed justified, and the only relief in the world. 

For another period this state continued, the twain leading a rathermonotonous life, and then there was a slight change for the worse. Oneevening, Hurstwood, after thinking about a way to modify Carrie's desirefor clothes and the general strain upon his ability to provide, said:

"I don't think I'll ever be able to do much with Shaughnessy. "

"What's the matter?" said Carrie. 

"Oh, he's a slow, greedy 'mick'! He won't agree to anything to improvethe place, and it won't ever pay without it. "

"Can't you make him?" said Carrie. 

"No; I've tried. The only thing I can see, if I want to improve, is toget hold of a place of my own. "

"Why don't you?" said Carrie. 

"Well, all I have is tied up in there just now. If I had a chance tosave a while I think I could open a place that would give us plenty ofmoney. "

"Can't we save?" said Carrie. 

"We might try it, " he suggested. "I've been thinking that if we'd takea smaller flat down town and live economically for a year, I would haveenough, with what I have invested, to open a good place. Then we couldarrange to live as you want to. "

"It would suit me all right, " said Carrie, who, nevertheless, feltbadly to think it had come to this. Talk of a smaller flat sounded likepoverty. 

"There are lots of nice little flats down around Sixth Avenue, belowFourteenth Street. We might get one down there. "

"I'll look at them if you say so, " said Carrie. 

"I think I could break away from this fellow inside of a year, " saidHurstwood. "Nothing will ever come of this arrangement as it's going onnow. "

"I'll look around, " said Carrie, observing that the proposed changeseemed to be a serious thing with him. 

The upshot of this was that the change was eventually effected; notwithout great gloom on the part of Carrie. It really affected her moreseriously than anything that had yet happened. She began to look uponHurstwood wholly as a man, and not as a lover or husband. She feltthoroughly bound to him as a wife, and that her lot was cast withhis, whatever it might be; but she began to see that he was gloomy andtaciturn, not a young, strong, and buoyant man. He looked a little bitold to her about the eyes and mouth now, and there were other thingswhich placed him in his true rank, so far as her estimation wasconcerned. She began to feel that she had made a mistake. Incidentally, she also began to recall the fact that he had practically forced her toflee with him. 

The new flat was located in Thirteenth Street, a half block west ofSixth Avenue, and contained only four rooms. The new neighbourhood didnot appeal to Carrie as much. There were no trees here, no west view ofthe river. The street was solidly built up. There were twelve familieshere, respectable enough, but nothing like the Vances. Richer peoplerequired more space. 

Being left alone in this little place, Carrie did without a girl. Shemade it charming enough, but could not make it delight her. Hurstwoodwas not inwardly pleased to think that they should have to modify theirstate, but he argued that he could do nothing. He must put the best faceon it, and let it go at that. 

He tried to show Carrie that there was no cause for financial alarm, butonly congratulation over the chance he would have at the end of the yearby taking her rather more frequently to the theatre and by providing aliberal table. This was for the time only. He was getting in the frameof mind where he wanted principally to be alone and to be allowed tothink. The disease of brooding was beginning to claim him as a victim. Only the newspapers and his own thoughts were worth while. The delightof love had again slipped away. It was a case of live, now, making thebest you can out of a very commonplace station in life. 

The road downward has but few landings and level places. The very stateof his mind, superinduced by his condition, caused the breach to widenbetween him and his partner. At last that individual began to wish thatHurstwood was out of it. It so happened, however, that a real estatedeal on the part of the owner of the land arranged things even moreeffectually than ill-will could have schemed. 

"Did you see that?" said Shaughnessy one morning to Hurstwood, pointingto the real estate column in a copy of the "Herald, " which he held. 

"No, what is it?" said Hurstwood, looking down the items of news. 

"The man who owns this ground has sold it. "

"You don't say so?" said Hurstwood. 

He looked, and there was the notice. Mr. August Viele had yesterdayregistered the transfer of the lot, 25 x 75 feet, at the corner ofWarren and Hudson Streets, to J. F. Slawson for the sum of $57, 000. 

"Our lease expires when?" asked Hurstwood, thinking. "Next February, isn't it?"

"That's right, " said Shaughnessy. 

"It doesn't say what the new man's going to do with it, " remarkedHurstwood, looking back to the paper. 

"We'll hear, I guess, soon enough, " said Shaughnessy. 

Sure enough, it did develop. Mr. Slawson owned the property adjoining, and was going to put up a modern office building. The present one was tobe torn down. It would take probably a year and a half to complete theother one. 

All these things developed by degrees, and Hurstwood began to ponderover what would become of the saloon. One day he spoke about it to hispartner. 

"Do you think it would be worth while to open up somewhere else in theneighbourhood?"

"What would be the use?" said Shaughnessy. "We couldn't get anothercorner around here. "

"It wouldn't pay anywhere else, do you think?"

"I wouldn't try it, " said the other. The approaching change now took ona most serious aspect to Hurstwood. Dissolution meant the loss of histhousand dollars, and he could not save another thousand in the time. He understood that Shaughnessy was merely tired of the arrangement, andwould probably lease the new corner, when completed, alone. He beganto worry about the necessity of a new connection and to see impendingserious financial straits unless something turned up. This left him inno mood to enjoy his flat or Carrie, and consequently the depressioninvaded that quarter. 

Meanwhile, he took such time as he could to look about, butopportunities were not numerous. More, he had not the same impressivepersonality which he had when he first came to New York. Bad thoughtshad put a shade into his eyes which did not impress others favourably. Neither had he thirteen hundred dollars in hand to talk with. Abouta month later, finding that he had not made any progress, Shaughnessyreported definitely that Slawson would not extend the lease. 

"I guess this thing's got to come to an end, " he said, affecting an airof concern. 

"Well, if it has, it has, " answered Hurstwood, grimly. He would not givethe other a key to his opinions, whatever they were. He should not havethe satisfaction. 

A day or two later he saw that he must say something to Carrie. 

"You know, " he said, "I think I'm going to get the worst of my deal downthere. "

"How is that?" asked Carrie in astonishment. 

"Well, the man who owns the ground has sold it, and the new owner won'trelease it to us. The business may come to an end. "

"Can't you start somewhere else?"

"There doesn't seem to be any place. Shaughnessy doesn't want to. "

"Do you lose what you put in?"

"Yes, " said Hurstwood, whose face was a study. 

"Oh, isn't that too bad?" said Carrie. 

"It's a trick, " said Hurstwood. "That's all. They'll start another placethere all right. "

Carrie looked at him, and gathered from his whole demeanour what itmeant. It was serious, very serious. 

"Do you think you can get something else?" she ventured, timidly. 

Hurstwood thought a while. It was all up with the bluff about money andinvestment. She could see now that he was "broke. "

"I don't know, " he said solemnly; "I can try. "

Chapter XXXIV. THE GRIND OF THE MILLSTONES--A SAMPLE OF CHAFF

Carrie pondered over this situation as consistently as Hurstwood, onceshe got the facts adjusted in her mind. It took several days for herto fully realise that the approach of the dissolution of her husband'sbusiness meant commonplace struggle and privation. Her mind went back toher early venture in Chicago, the Hansons and their flat, and her heartrevolted. That was terrible! Everything about poverty was terrible. Shewished she knew a way out. Her recent experiences with the Vances hadwholly unfitted her to view her own state with complacence. The glamourof the high life of the city had, in the few experiences afforded her bythe former, seized her completely. She had been taught how to dressand where to go without having ample means to do either. Now, thesethings--ever-present realities as they were--filled her eyes and mind. The more circumscribed became her state, the more entrancing seemed thisother. And now poverty threatened to seize her entirely and to removethis other world far upward like a heaven to which any Lazarus mightextend, appealingly, his hands. 

So, too, the ideal brought into her life by Ames remained. He had gone, but here was his word that riches were not everything; that there was agreat deal more in the world than she knew; that the stage was good, andthe literature she read poor. He was a strong man and clean--how muchstronger and better than Hurstwood and Drouet she only half formulatedto herself, but the difference was painful. It was something to whichshe voluntarily closed her eyes. 

During the last three months of the Warren Street connection, Hurstwoodtook parts of days off and hunted, tracking the business advertisements. It was a more or less depressing business, wholly because of the thoughtthat he must soon get something or he would begin to live on thefew hundred dollars he was saving, and then he would have nothing toinvest--he would have to hire out as a clerk. 

Everything he discovered in his line advertised as an opportunity, was either too expensive or too wretched for him. Besides, winter wascoming, the papers were announcing hardships, and there was a generalfeeling of hard times in the air, or, at least, he thought so. In hisworry, other people's worries became apparent. No item about a firmfailing, a family starving, or a man dying upon the streets, supposedlyof starvation, but arrested his eye as he scanned the morning papers. Once the "World" came out with a flaring announcement about "80, 000people out of employment in New York this winter, " which struck as aknife at his heart. 

"Eighty thousand!" he thought. "What an awful thing that is. "

This was new reasoning for Hurstwood. In the old days the world hadseemed to be getting along well enough. He had been wont to see similarthings in the "Daily News, " in Chicago, but they did not hold hisattention. Now, these things were like grey clouds hovering along thehorizon of a clear day. They threatened to cover and obscure his lifewith chilly greyness. He tried to shake them off, to forget and braceup. Sometimes he said to himself, mentally:

"What's the use worrying? I'm not out yet. I've got six weeks more. Evenif worst comes to worst, I've got enough to live on for six months. "

Curiously, as he troubled over his future, his thoughts occasionallyreverted to his wife and family. He had avoided such thoughts for thefirst three years as much as possible. He hated her, and he could getalong without her. Let her go. He would do well enough. Now, however, when he was not doing well enough, he began to wonder what she wasdoing, how his children were getting along. He could see them living asnicely as ever, occupying the comfortable house and using his property. 

"By George! it's a shame they should have it all, " he vaguely thought tohimself on several occasions. "I didn't do anything. "

As he looked back now and analysed the situation which led up to histaking the money, he began mildly to justify himself. What had hedone--what in the world--that should bar him out this way and heap suchdifficulties upon him? It seemed only yesterday to him since he wascomfortable and well-to-do. But now it was all wrested from him. 

"She didn't deserve what she got out of me, that is sure. I didn't do somuch, if everybody could just know. "

There was no thought that the facts ought to be advertised. It was onlya mental justification he was seeking from himself--something that wouldenable him to bear his state as a righteous man. 

One afternoon, five weeks before the Warren Street place closed up, heleft the saloon to visit three or four places he saw advertised in the"Herald. " One was down in Gold Street, and he visited that, but did notenter. It was such a cheap looking place he felt that he could notabide it. Another was on the Bowery, which he knew contained many showyresorts. It was near Grand Street, and turned out to be very handsomelyfitted up. He talked around about investments for fully three-quartersof an hour with the proprietor, who maintained that his health was poor, and that was the reason he wished a partner. 

"Well, now, just how much money would it take to buy a half interesthere?" said Hurstwood, who saw seven hundred dollars as his limit. 

"Three thousand, " said the man. 

Hurstwood's jaw fell. 

"Cash?" he said. 

"Cash. "

He tried to put on an air of deliberation, as one who might really buy;but his eyes showed gloom. He wound up by saying he would think it over, and came away. The man he had been talking to sensed his condition in avague way. 

"I don't think he wants to buy, " he said to himself. "He doesn't talkright. "

The afternoon was as grey as lead and cold. It was blowing up adisagreeable winter wind. He visited a place far up on the east side, near Sixty-ninth Street, and it was five o'clock, and growing dim, whenhe reached there. A portly German kept this place. 

"How about this ad of yours?" asked Hurstwood, who rather objected tothe looks of the place. 

"Oh, dat iss all over, " said the German. "I vill not sell now. "

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yes; dere is nothing to dat. It iss all over. "

"Very well, " said Hurstwood, turning around. 

The German paid no more attention to him, and it made him angry. 

"The crazy ass!" he said to himself. "What does he want to advertisefor?"

Wholly depressed, he started for Thirteenth Street. The flat had only alight in the kitchen, where Carrie was working. He struck a match and, lighting the gas, sat down in the dining-room without even greeting her. She came to the door and looked in. 

"It's you, is it?" she said, and went back. 

"Yes, " he said, without even looking up from the evening paper he hadbought. 

Carrie saw things were wrong with him. He was not so handsome whengloomy. The lines at the sides of the eyes were deepened. Naturallydark of skin, gloom made him look slightly sinister. He was quite adisagreeable figure. 

Carrie set the table and brought in the meal. 

"Dinner's ready, " she said, passing him for something. 

He did not answer, reading on. 

She came in and sat down at her place, feeling exceedingly wretched. 

"Won't you eat now?" she asked. 

He folded his paper and drew near, silence holding for a time, exceptfor the "Pass me's. "

"It's been gloomy to-day, hasn't it?" ventured Carrie, after a time. 

"Yes, " he said. 

He only picked at his food. 

"Are you still sure to close up?" said Carrie, venturing to take up thesubject which they had discussed often enough. 

"Of course we are, " he said, with the slightest modification ofsharpness. 

This retort angered Carrie. She had had a dreary day of it herself. 

"You needn't talk like that, " she said. 

"Oh!" he exclaimed, pushing back from the table, as if to say more, but letting it go at that. Then he picked up his paper. Carrie left herseat, containing herself with difficulty. He saw she was hurt. 

"Don't go 'way, " he said, as she started back into the kitchen. "Eatyour dinner. "

She passed, not answering. 

He looked at the paper a few moments, and then rose up and put on hiscoat. 

"I'm going downtown, Carrie, " he said, coming out. "I'm out of sortsto-night. "

She did not answer. 

"Don't be angry, " he said. "It will be all right to morrow. "

He looked at her, but she paid no attention to him, working at herdishes. 

"Good-bye!" he said finally, and went out. 

This was the first strong result of the situation between them, but withthe nearing of the last day of the business the gloom became almosta permanent thing. Hurstwood could not conceal his feelings about thematter. Carrie could not help wondering where she was drifting. It gotso that they talked even less than usual, and yet it was not Hurstwoodwho felt any objection to Carrie. It was Carrie who shied away from him. This he noticed. It aroused an objection to her becoming indifferentto him. He made the possibility of friendly intercourse almost a gianttask, and then noticed with discontent that Carrie added to it by hermanner and made it more impossible. 

At last the final day came. When it actually arrived, Hurstwood, whohad got his mind into such a state where a thunderclap and raging stormwould have seemed highly appropriate, was rather relieved to findthat it was a plain, ordinary day. The sun shone, the temperature waspleasant. He felt, as he came to the breakfast table, that it wasn't soterrible, after all. 

"Well, " he said to Carrie, "to-day's my last day on earth. "

Carrie smiled in answer to his humour. 

Hurstwood glanced over his paper rather gayly. He seemed to have lost aload. 

"I'll go down for a little while, " he said after breakfast, "and thenI'll look around. To-morrow I'll spend the whole day looking about. Ithink I can get something, now this thing's off my hands. "

He went out smiling and visited the place. Shaughnessy was there. Theyhad made all arrangements to share according to their interests. When, however, he had been there several hours, gone out three more, andreturned, his elation had departed. As much as he had objected to theplace, now that it was no longer to exist, he felt sorry. He wished thatthings were different. 

Shaughnessy was coolly businesslike. 

"Well, " he said at five o'clock, "we might as well count the change anddivide. "

They did so. The fixtures had already been sold and the sum divided. 

"Good-night, " said Hurstwood at the final moment, in a last effort to begenial. 

"So long, " said Shaughnessy, scarcely deigning a notice. 

Thus the Warren Street arrangement was permanently concluded. 

Carrie had prepared a good dinner at the flat, but after his ride up, Hurstwood was in a solemn and reflective mood. 

"Well?" said Carrie, inquisitively. 

"I'm out of that, " he answered, taking off his coat. 

As she looked at him, she wondered what his financial state was now. They ate and talked a little. 

"Will you have enough to buy in anywhere else?" asked Carrie. 

"No, " he said. "I'll have to get something else and save up. "

"It would be nice if you could get some place, " said Carrie, prompted byanxiety and hope. 

"I guess I will, " he said reflectively. 

For some days thereafter he put on his overcoat regularly in the morningand sallied forth. On these ventures he first consoled himself with thethought that with the seven hundred dollars he had he could still makesome advantageous arrangement. He thought about going to some brewery, which, as he knew, frequently controlled saloons which they leased, andget them to help him. Then he remembered that he would have to pay outseveral hundred any way for fixtures and that he would have nothing leftfor his monthly expenses. It was costing him nearly eighty dollars amonth to live. 

"No, " he said, in his sanest moments, "I can't do it. I'll get somethingelse and save up. "

This getting-something proposition complicated itself the moment hebegan to think of what it was he wanted to do. Manage a place? Whereshould he get such a position? The papers contained no requests formanagers. Such positions, he knew well enough, were either secured bylong years of service or were bought with a half or third interest. Intoa place important enough to need such a manager he had not money enoughto buy. 

Nevertheless, he started out. His clothes were very good and hisappearance still excellent, but it involved the trouble of deluding. People, looking at him, imagined instantly that a man of his age, stoutand well dressed, must be well off. He appeared a comfortable owner ofsomething, a man from whom the common run of mortals could well expectgratuities. Being now forty-three years of age, and comfortably built, walking was not easy. He had not been used to exercise for many years. His legs tired, his shoulders ached, and his feet pained him atthe close of the day, even when he took street cars in almost everydirection. The mere getting up and down, if long continued, producedthis result. 

The fact that people took him to be better off than he was, he wellunderstood. It was so painfully clear to him that it retarded hissearch. Not that he wished to be less well-appearing, but that he wasashamed to belie his appearance by incongruous appeals. So he hesitated, wondering what to do. 

He thought of the hotels, but instantly he remembered that he had had noexperience as a clerk, and, what was more important, no acquaintances orfriends in that line to whom he could go. He did know some hotel ownersin several cities, including New York, but they knew of his dealingswith Fitzgerald and Moy. He could not apply to them. He thought ofother lines suggested by large buildings or businesses which he knewof--wholesale groceries, hardware, insurance concerns, and the like--buthe had had no experience. 

How to go about getting anything was a bitter thought. Would he haveto go personally and ask; wait outside an office door, and, then, distinguished and affluent looking, announce that he was looking forsomething to do? He strained painfully at the thought. No, he could notdo that. 

He really strolled about, thinking, and then, the weather being cold, stepped into a hotel. He knew hotels well enough to know that any decentindividual was welcome to a chair in the lobby. This was in the BroadwayCentral, which was then one of the most important hotels in the city. Taking a chair here was a painful thing to him. To think he should cometo this! He had heard loungers about hotels called chairwarmers. Hehad called them that himself in his day. But here he was, despite thepossibility of meeting some one who knew him, shielding himself fromcold and the weariness of the streets in a hotel lobby. 

"I can't do this way, " he said to himself. "There's no use of mystarting out mornings without first thinking up some place to go. I'llthink of some places and then look them up. "

It occurred to him that the positions of bartenders were sometimes open, but he put this out of his mind. Bartender--he, the ex-manager!

It grew awfully dull sitting in the hotel lobby, and so at four he wenthome. He tried to put on a business air as he went in, but it was afeeble imitation. The rocking chair in the dining-room was comfortable. He sank into it gladly, with several papers he had bought, and began toread. 

As she was going through the room to begin preparing dinner, Carriesaid:

"The man was here for the rent to-day. "

"Oh, was he?" said Hurstwood. 

The least wrinkle crept into his brow as he remembered that this wasFebruary 2d, the time the man always called. He fished down in hispocket for his purse, getting the first taste of paying out when nothingis coming in. He looked at the fat, green roll as a sick man looks atthe one possible saving cure. Then he counted off twenty-eight dollars. 

"Here you are, " he said to Carrie, when she came through again. 

He buried himself in his papers and read. Oh, the rest of it--the relieffrom walking and thinking! What Lethean waters were these floods oftelegraphed intelligence! He forgot his troubles, in part. Here was ayoung, handsome woman, if you might believe the newspaper drawing, suinga rich, fat, candy-making husband in Brooklyn for divorce. Here wasanother item detailing the wrecking of a vessel in ice and snow offPrince's Bay on Staten Island. A long, bright column told of the doingsin the theatrical world--the plays produced, the actors appearing, themanagers making announcements. Fannie Davenport was just opening atthe Fifth Avenue. Daly was producing "King Lear. " He read of the earlydeparture for the season of a party composed of the Vanderbilts andtheir friends for Florida. An interesting shooting affray was on in themountains of Kentucky. So he read, read, read, rocking in the warm roomnear the radiator and waiting for dinner to be served. 

Chapter XXXV. THE PASSING OF EFFORT--THE VISAGE OF CARE

The next morning he looked over the papers and waded through a longlist of advertisements, making a few notes. Then he turned to themale-help-wanted column, but with disagreeable feelings. The day wasbefore him--a long day in which to discover something--and this washow he must begin to discover. He scanned the long column, which mostlyconcerned bakers, bushelmen, cooks, compositors, drivers, and the like, finding two things only which arrested his eye. One was a cashier wantedin a wholesale furniture house, and the other a salesman for a whiskeyhouse. He had never thought of the latter. At once he decided to lookthat up. 

The firm in question was Alsbery & Co. , whiskey brokers. 

He was admitted almost at once to the manager on his appearance. 

"Good-morning, sir, " said the latter, thinking at first that he wasencountering one of his out-of-town customers. 

"Good-morning, " said Hurstwood. "You advertised, I believe, for asalesman?"

"Oh, " said the man, showing plainly the enlightenment which had come tohim. "Yes. Yes, I did. "

"I thought I'd drop in, " said Hurstwood, with dignity. "I've had someexperience in that line myself. "

"Oh, have you?" said the man. "What experience have you had?"

"Well, I've managed several liquor houses in my time. Recently I owned athird-interest in a saloon at Warren and Hudson streets. "

"I see, " said the man. 

Hurstwood ceased, waiting for some suggestion. 

"We did want a salesman, " said the man. "I don't know as it's anythingyou'd care to take hold of, though. "

"I see, " said Hurstwood. "Well, I'm in no position to choose, just atpresent. If it were open, I should be glad to get it. "

The man did not take kindly at all to his "No position to choose. " Hewanted some one who wasn't thinking of a choice or something better. Especially not an old man. He wanted some one young, active, and glad towork actively for a moderate sum. Hurstwood did not please him at all. He had more of an air than his employers. 

"Well, " he said in answer, "we'd be glad to consider your application. We shan't decide for a few days yet. Suppose you send us yourreferences. "

"I will, " said Hurstwood. 

He nodded good-morning and came away. At the corner he looked at thefurniture company's address, and saw that it was in West Twenty-thirdStreet. Accordingly, he went up there. The place was not large enough, however. It looked moderate, the men in it idle and small salaried. Hewalked by, glancing in, and then decided not to go in there. 

"They want a girl, probably, at ten a week, " he said. 

At one o'clock he thought of eating, and went to a restaurant in MadisonSquare. There he pondered over places which he might look up. He wastired. It was blowing up grey again. Across the way, through MadisonSquare Park, stood the great hotels, looking down upon a busy scene. Hedecided to go over to the lobby of one and sit a while. It was warm inthere and bright. He had seen no one he knew at the Broadway Central. Inall likelihood he would encounter no one here. Finding a seat on oneof the red plush divans close to the great windows which look out onBroadway's busy rout, he sat musing. His state did not seem so badin here. Sitting still and looking out, he could take some slightconsolation in the few hundred dollars he had in his purse. He couldforget, in a measure, the weariness of the street and his tiresomesearches. Still, it was only escape from a severe to a less severestate. He was still gloomy and disheartened. There, minutes seemed to govery slowly. An hour was a long, long time in passing. It was filled forhim with observations and mental comments concerning the actualguests of the hotel, who passed in and out, and those more prosperouspedestrians whose good fortune showed in their clothes and spirits asthey passed along Broadway, outside. It was nearly the first timesince he had arrived in the city that his leisure afforded him ampleopportunity to contemplate this spectacle. Now, being, perforce, idlehimself, he wondered at the activity of others. How gay were the youthshe saw, how pretty the women. Such fine clothes they all wore. Theywere so intent upon getting somewhere. He saw coquettish glances castby magnificent girls. Ah, the money it required to train with such--howwell he knew! How long it had been since he had had the opportunity todo so!

The clock outside registered four. It was a little early, but he thoughthe would go back to the flat. 

This going back to the flat was coupled with the thought that Carriewould think he was sitting around too much if he came home early. Hehoped he wouldn't have to, but the day hung heavily on his hands. Overthere he was on his own ground. He could sit in his rocking-chair andread. This busy, distracting, suggestive scene was shut out. He couldread his papers. Accordingly, he went home. Carrie was reading, quitealone. It was rather dark in the flat, shut in as it was. 

"You'll hurt your eyes, " he said when he saw her. 

After taking off his coat, he felt it incumbent upon him to make somelittle report of his day. 

"I've been talking with a wholesale liquor company, " he said. "I may goon the road. "

"Wouldn't that be nice!" said Carrie. "It wouldn't be such a bad thing, "he answered. 

Always from the man at the corner now he bought two papers--the "EveningWorld" and "Evening Sun. " So now he merely picked his papers up, as hecame by, without stopping. 

He drew up his chair near the radiator and lighted the gas. Then it wasas the evening before. His difficulties vanished in the items he so wellloved to read. 

The next day was even worse than the one before, because now he couldnot think of where to go. Nothing he saw in the papers he studied--tillten o'clock--appealed to him. He felt that he ought to go out, and yethe sickened at the thought. Where to, where to?

"You mustn't forget to leave me my money for this week, " said Carrie, quietly. 

They had an arrangement by which he placed twelve dollars a week in herhands, out of which to pay current expenses. He heaved a little sigh asshe said this, and drew out his purse. Again he felt the dread of thething. Here he was taking off, taking off, and nothing coming in. 

"Lord!" he said, in his own thoughts, "this can't go on. "

To Carrie he said nothing whatsoever. She could feel that her requestdisturbed him. To pay her would soon become a distressing thing. 

"Yet, what have I got to do with it?" she thought. "Oh, why should I bemade to worry?"

Hurstwood went out and made for Broadway. He wanted to think up someplace. Before long, though, he reached the Grand Hotel at Thirty-firstStreet. He knew of its comfortable lobby. He was cold after his twentyblocks' walk. 

"I'll go in their barber shop and get a shave, " he thought. 

Thus he justified himself in sitting down in here after his tonsorialtreatment. 

Again, time hanging heavily on his hands, he went home early, and thiscontinued for several days, each day the need to hunt paining him, andeach day disgust, depression, shamefacedness driving him into lobbyidleness. 

At last three days came in which a storm prevailed, and he did not goout at all. The snow began to fall late one afternoon. It was a regularflurry of large, soft, white flakes. In the morning it was still comingdown with a high wind, and the papers announced a blizzard. From out thefront windows one could see a deep, soft bedding. 

"I guess I'll not try to go out to-day, " he said to Carrie at breakfast. "It's going to be awful bad, so the papers say. "

"The man hasn't brought my coal, either, " said Carrie, who ordered bythe bushel. 

"I'll go over and see about it, " said Hurstwood. This was the first timehe had ever suggested doing an errand, but, somehow, the wish to sitabout the house prompted it as a sort of compensation for the privilege. 

All day and all night it snowed, and the city began to suffer from ageneral blockade of traffic. Great attention was given to the details ofthe storm by the newspapers, which played up the distress of the poor inlarge type. 

Hurstwood sat and read by his radiator in the corner. He did not try tothink about his need of work. This storm being so terrific, and tying upall things, robbed him of the need. He made himself wholly comfortableand toasted his feet. 

Carrie observed his ease with some misgiving. For all the fury ofthe storm she doubted his comfort. He took his situation toophilosophically. 

Hurstwood, however, read on and on. He did not pay much attention toCarrie. She fulfilled her household duties and said little to disturbhim. 

The next day it was still snowing, and the next, bitter cold. Hurstwoodtook the alarm of the paper and sat still. Now he volunteered to do afew other little things. One was to go to the butcher, another tothe grocery. He really thought nothing of these little services inconnection with their true significance. He felt as if he were notwholly useless--indeed, in such a stress of weather, quite worth whileabout the house. 

On the fourth day, however, it cleared, and he read that the storm wasover. Now, however, he idled, thinking how sloppy the streets would be. 

It was noon before he finally abandoned his papers and got under way. Owing to the slightly warmer temperature the streets were bad. Hewent across Fourteenth Street on the car and got a transfer south onBroadway. One little advertisement he had, relating to a saloon down inPearl Street. When he reached the Broadway Central, however, he changedhis mind. 

"What's the use?" he thought, looking out upon the slop and snow. "Icouldn't buy into it. It's a thousand to one nothing comes of it. Iguess I'll get off, " and off he got. In the lobby he took a seat andwaited again, wondering what he could do. 

While he was idly pondering, satisfied to be inside, a well-dressedman passed up the lobby, stopped, looked sharply, as if not sure of hismemory, and then approached. Hurstwood recognised Cargill, the owner ofthe large stables in Chicago of the same name, whom he had last seen atAvery Hall, the night Carrie appeared there. The remembrance of how thisindividual brought up his wife to shake hands on that occasion was alsoon the instant clear. 

Hurstwood was greatly abashed. His eyes expressed the difficulty hefelt. 

"Why, it's Hurstwood!" said Cargill, remembering now, and sorry that hehad not recognised him quickly enough in the beginning to have avoidedthis meeting. 

"Yes, " said Hurstwood. "How are you?"

"Very well, " said Cargill, troubled for something to talk about. "Stopping here?"

"No, " said Hurstwood, "just keeping an appointment. " "I knew you hadleft Chicago. I was wondering what had become of you. "

"Oh, I'm here now, " answered Hurstwood, anxious to get away. 

"Doing well, I suppose?"

"Excellent. "

"Glad to hear it. "

They looked at one another, rather embarrassed. 

"Well, I have an engagement with a friend upstairs. I'll leave you. Solong. "

Hurstwood nodded his head. 

"Damn it all, " he murmured, turning toward the door. "I knew that wouldhappen. "

He walked several blocks up the street. His watch only registered 1. 30. He tried to think of some place to go or something to do. The day was sobad he wanted only to be inside. Finally his feet began to feel wet andcold, and he boarded a car. This took him to Fifty-ninth Street, whichwas as good as anywhere else. Landed here, he turned to walk back alongSeventh Avenue, but the slush was too much. The misery of lounging aboutwith nowhere to go became intolerable. He felt as if he were catchingcold. 

Stopping at a corner, he waited for a car south bound. This was no dayto be out; he would go home. 

Carrie was surprised to see him at a quarter of three. 

"It's a miserable day out, " was all he said. Then he took off his coatand changed his shoes. 

That night he felt a cold coming on and took quinine. He was feverishuntil morning, and sat about the next day while Carrie waited on him. He was a helpless creature in sickness, not very handsome in adull-coloured bath gown and his hair uncombed. He looked haggard aboutthe eyes and quite old. Carrie noticed this, and it did not appeal toher. She wanted to be good-natured and sympathetic, but something aboutthe man held her aloof. 

Toward evening he looked so badly in the weak light that she suggestedhe go to bed. 

"You'd better sleep alone, " she said, "you'll feel better. I'll openyour bed for you now. "

"All right, " he said. 

As she did all these things, she was in a most despondent state. 

"What a life! What a life!" was her one thought. 

Once during the day, when he sat near the radiator, hunched up andreading, she passed through, and seeing him, wrinkled her brows. In thefront room, where it was not so warm, she sat by the window and cried. This was the life cut out for her, was it? To live cooped up in a smallflat with some one who was out of work, idle, and indifferent to her. She was merely a servant to him now, nothing more. 

This crying made her eyes red, and when, in preparing his bed, shelighted the gas, and, having prepared it, called him in, he noticed thefact. 

"What's the matter with you?" he asked, looking into her face. His voicewas hoarse and his unkempt head only added to its grewsome quality. 

"Nothing, " said Carrie, weakly. 

"You've been crying, " he said. 

"I haven't, either, " she answered. 

It was not for love of him, that he knew. 

"You needn't cry, " he said, getting into bed. "Things will come out allright. "

In a day or two he was up again, but rough weather holding, he stayedin. The Italian newsdealer now delivered the morning papers, and thesehe read assiduously. A few times after that he ventured out, but meetinganother of his old-time friends, he began to feel uneasy sitting abouthotel corridors. 

Every day he came home early, and at last made no pretence of goinganywhere. Winter was no time to look for anything. 

Naturally, being about the house, he noticed the way Carrie did things. She was far from perfect in household methods and economy, and herlittle deviations on this score first caught his eye. Not, however, before her regular demand for her allowance became a grievous thing. Sitting around as he did, the weeks seemed to pass very quickly. EveryTuesday Carrie asked for her money. 

"Do you think we live as cheaply as we might?" he asked one Tuesdaymorning. 

"I do the best I can, " said Carrie. 

Nothing was added to this at the moment, but the next day he said:

"Do you ever go to the Gansevoort Market over here?"

"I didn't know there was such a market, " said Carrie. 

"They say you can get things lots cheaper there. "

Carrie was very indifferent to the suggestion. These were things whichshe did not like at all. 

"How much do you pay for a pound of meat?" he asked one day. 

"Oh, there are different prices, " said Carrie. "Sirloin steak istwenty-two cents. "

"That's steep, isn't it?" he answered. 

So he asked about other things, until finally, with the passing days, itseemed to become a mania with him. He learned the prices and rememberedthem. His errand-running capacity also improved. It began in a smallway, of course. Carrie, going to get her hat one morning, was stopped byhim. 

"Where are you going, Carrie?" he asked. 

"Over to the baker's, " she answered. 

"I'd just as leave go for you, " he said. 

She acquiesced, and he went. Each afternoon he would go to the cornerfor the papers. 

"Is there anything you want?" he would say. 

By degrees she began to use him. Doing this, however, she lost theweekly payment of twelve dollars. 

"You want to pay me to-day, " she said one Tuesday, about this time. 

"How much?" he asked. 

She understood well enough what it meant. 

"Well, about five dollars, " she answered. "I owe the coal man. "

The same day he said:

"I think this Italian up here on the corner sells coal at twenty-fivecents a bushel. I'll trade with him. "

Carrie heard this with indifference. 

"All right, " she said. 

Then it came to be:

"George, I must have some coal to-day, " or, "You must get some meat ofsome kind for dinner. "

He would find out what she needed and order. 

Accompanying this plan came skimpiness. 

"I only got a half-pound of steak, " he said, coming in one afternoonwith his papers. "We never seem to eat very much. "

These miserable details ate the heart out of Carrie. They blackened herdays and grieved her soul. Oh, how this man had changed! All day andall day, here he sat, reading his papers. The world seemed to have noattraction. Once in a while he would go out, in fine weather, it mightbe four or five hours, between eleven and four. She could do nothing butview him with gnawing contempt. 

It was apathy with Hurstwood, resulting from his inability to see hisway out. Each month drew from his small store. Now, he had only fivehundred dollars left, and this he hugged, half feeling as if he couldstave off absolute necessity for an indefinite period. Sitting aroundthe house, he decided to wear some old clothes he had. This came firstwith the bad days. Only once he apologised in the very beginning:

"It's so bad to-day, I'll just wear these around. " Eventually thesebecame the permanent thing. 

Also, he had been wont to pay fifteen cents for a shave, and a tip often cents. In his first distress, he cut down the tip to five, then tonothing. Later, he tried a ten-cent barber shop, and, finding that theshave was satisfactory, patronised regularly. Later still, he put offshaving to every other day, then to every third, and so on, until once aweek became the rule. On Saturday he was a sight to see. 

Of course, as his own self-respect vanished, it perished for him inCarrie. She could not understand what had gotten into the man. He hadsome money, he had a decent suit remaining, he was not bad looking whendressed up. She did not forget her own difficult struggle in Chicago, but she did not forget either that she had never ceased trying. He nevertried. He did not even consult the ads in the papers any more. 

Finally, a distinct impression escaped from her. 

"What makes you put so much butter on the steak?" he asked her oneevening, standing around in the kitchen. 

"To make it good, of course, " she answered. 

"Butter is awful dear these days, " he suggested. 

"You wouldn't mind it if you were working, " she answered. 

He shut up after this, and went in to his paper, but the retort rankledin his mind. It was the first cutting remark that had come from her. 

That same evening, Carrie, after reading, went off to the front roomto bed. This was unusual. When Hurstwood decided to go, he retired, asusual, without a light. It was then that he discovered Carrie's absence. 

"That's funny, " he said; "maybe she's sitting up. "

He gave the matter no more thought, but slept. In the morning she wasnot beside him. Strange to say, this passed without comment. 

Night approaching, and a slightly more conversational feelingprevailing, Carrie said:

"I think I'll sleep alone to-night. I have a headache. "

"All right, " said Hurstwood. 

The third night she went to her front bed without apologies. 

This was a grim blow to Hurstwood, but he never mentioned it. 

"All right, " he said to himself, with an irrepressible frown, "let hersleep alone. "

Chapter XXXVI. A GRIM RETROGRESSION--THE PHANTOM OF CHANCE

The Vances, who had been back in the city ever since Christmas, had notforgotten Carrie; but they, or rather Mrs. Vance, had never called onher, for the very simple reason that Carrie had never sent her address. True to her nature, she corresponded with Mrs. Vance as long as shestill lived in Seventy-eighth Street, but when she was compelled to moveinto Thirteenth, her fear that the latter would take it as an indicationof reduced circumstances caused her to study some way of avoiding thenecessity of giving her address. Not finding any convenient method, shesorrowfully resigned the privilege of writing to her friend entirely. The latter wondered at this strange silence, thought Carrie must haveleft the city, and in the end gave her up as lost. So she was thoroughlysurprised to encounter her in Fourteenth Street, where she had goneshopping. Carrie was there for the same purpose. 

"Why, Mrs. Wheeler, " said Mrs. Vance, looking Carrie over in a glance, "where have you been? Why haven't you been to see me? I've beenwondering all this time what had become of you. Really, I----"

"I'm so glad to see you, " said Carrie, pleased and yet nonplussed. Ofall times, this was the worst to encounter Mrs. Vance. "Why, I'm livingdown town here. I've been intending to come and see you. Where are youliving now?"

"In Fifty-eighth Street, " said Mrs. Vance, "just off SeventhAvenue--218. Why don't you come and see me?"

"I will, " said Carrie. "Really, I've been wanting to come. I know Iought to. It's a shame. But you know----"

"What's your number?" said Mrs. Vance. 

"Thirteenth Street, " said Carrie, reluctantly. "112 West. "

"Oh, " said Mrs. Vance, "that's right near here, isn't it?"

"Yes, " said Carrie. "You must come down and see me some time. "

"Well, you're a fine one, " said Mrs. Vance, laughing, the while notingthat Carrie's appearance had modified somewhat. "The address, too, " sheadded to herself. "They must be hard up. "

Still she liked Carrie well enough to take her in tow. 

"Come with me in here a minute, " she exclaimed, turning into a store. 

When Carrie returned home, there was Hurstwood, reading as usual. Heseemed to take his condition with the utmost nonchalance. His beard wasat least four days old. 

"Oh, " thought Carrie, "if she were to come here and see him?"

She shook her head in absolute misery. It looked as if her situation wasbecoming unbearable. 

Driven to desperation, she asked at dinner:

"Did you ever hear any more from that wholesale house?"

"No, " he said. "They don't want an inexperienced man. "

Carrie dropped the subject, feeling unable to say more. 

"I met Mrs. Vance this afternoon, " she said, after a time. 

"Did, eh?" he answered. 

"They're back in New York now, " Carrie went on. "She did look so nice. "

"Well, she can afford it as long as he puts up for it, " returnedHurstwood. "He's got a soft job. "

Hurstwood was looking into the paper. He could not see the look ofinfinite weariness and discontent Carrie gave him. 

"She said she thought she'd call here some day. "

"She's been long getting round to it, hasn't she?" said Hurstwood, witha kind of sarcasm. 

The woman didn't appeal to him from her spending side. 

"Oh, I don't know, " said Carrie, angered by the man's attitude. "PerhapsI didn't want her to come. "

"She's too gay, " said Hurstwood, significantly. "No one can keep up withher pace unless they've got a lot of money. "

"Mr. Vance doesn't seem to find it very hard. "

"He may not now, " answered Hurstwood, doggedly, well understanding theinference; "but his life isn't done yet. You can't tell what'll happen. He may get down like anybody else. "

There was something quite knavish in the man's attitude. His eye seemedto be cocked with a twinkle upon the fortunate, expecting their defeat. His own state seemed a thing apart--not considered. 

This thing was the remains of his old-time cocksureness andindependence. Sitting in his flat, and reading of the doings of otherpeople, sometimes this independent, undefeated mood came upon him. Forgetting the weariness of the streets and the degradation of search, he would sometimes prick up his ears. It was as if he said:

"I can do something. I'm not down yet. There's a lot of things coming tome if I want to go after them. "

It was in this mood that he would occasionally dress up, go for a shave, and, putting on his gloves, sally forth quite actively. Not with anydefinite aim. It was more a barometric condition. He felt just right forbeing outside and doing something. 

On such occasions, his money went also. He knew of several poker roomsdown town. A few acquaintances he had in downtown resorts and aboutthe City Hall. It was a change to see them and exchange a few friendlycommonplaces. 

He had once been accustomed to hold a pretty fair hand at poker. Many afriendly game had netted him a hundred dollars or more at the time whenthat sum was merely sauce to the dish of the game--not the all in all. Now, he thought of playing. 

"I might win a couple of hundred. I'm not out of practice. "

It is but fair to say that this thought had occurred to him severaltimes before he acted upon it. The poker room which he first invaded wasover a saloon in West Street, near one of the ferries. He had beenthere before. Several games were going. These he watched for a time andnoticed that the pots were quite large for the ante involved. 

"Deal me a hand, " he said at the beginning of a new shuffle. He pulledup a chair and studied his cards. Those playing made that quiet study ofhim which is so unapparent, and yet invariably so searching. 

Poor fortune was with him at first. He received a mixed collectionwithout progression or pairs. The pot was opened. 

"I pass, " he said. 

On the strength of this, he was content to lose his ante. The dealsdid fairly by him in the long run, causing him to come away with a fewdollars to the good. 

The next afternoon he was back again, seeking amusement and profit. Thistime he followed up three of a kind to his doom. There was a better handacross the table, held by a pugnacious Irish youth, who was a politicalhanger-on of the Tammany district in which they were located. Hurstwoodwas surprised at the persistence of this individual, whose bets camewith a sang-froid which, if a bluff, was excellent art. Hurstwood beganto doubt, but kept, or thought to keep, at least, the cool demeanourwith which, in olden times, he deceived those psychic students of thegaming table, who seem to read thoughts and moods, rather than exteriorevidences, however subtle. He could not down the cowardly thought thatthis man had something better and would stay to the end, drawing hislast dollar into the pot, should he choose to go so far. Still, he hopedto win much--his hand was excellent. Why not raise it five more?

"I raise you three, " said the youth. 

"Make it five, " said Hurstwood, pushing out his chips. 

"Come again, " said the youth, pushing out a small pile of reds. 

"Let me have some more chips, " said Hurstwood to the keeper in charge, taking out a bill. 

A cynical grin lit up the face of his youthful opponent. When the chipswere laid out, Hurstwood met the raise. 

"Five again, " said the youth. 

Hurstwood's brow was wet. He was deep in now--very deep for him. Sixtydollars of his good money was up. He was ordinarily no coward, but thethought of losing so much weakened him. Finally he gave way. He wouldnot trust to this fine hand any longer. 

"I call, " he said. 

"A full house!" said the youth, spreading out his cards. 

Hurstwood's hand dropped. 

"I thought I had you, " he said, weakly. 

The youth raked in his chips, and Hurstwood came away, not without firststopping to count his remaining cash on the stair. 

"Three hundred and forty dollars, " he said. 

With this loss and ordinary expenses, so much had already gone. 

Back in the flat, he decided he would play no more. 

Remembering Mrs. Vance's promise to call, Carrie made one other mildprotest. It was concerning Hurstwood's appearance. This very day, cominghome, he changed his clothes to the old togs he sat around in. 

"What makes you always put on those old clothes?" asked Carrie. 

"What's the use wearing my good ones around here?" he asked. 

"Well, I should think you'd feel better. " Then she added: "Some onemight call. "

"Who?" he said. 

"Well, Mrs. Vance, " said Carrie. 

"She needn't see me, " he answered, sullenly. 

This lack of pride and interest made Carrie almost hate him. 

"Oh, " she thought, "there he sits. 'She needn't see me. ' I should thinkhe would be ashamed of himself. "

The real bitterness of this thing was added when Mrs. Vance did call. It was on one of her shopping rounds. Making her way up the commonplacehall, she knocked at Carrie's door. To her subsequent and agonisingdistress, Carrie was out. Hurstwood opened the door, half-thinking thatthe knock was Carrie's. For once, he was taken honestly aback. The lostvoice of youth and pride spoke in him. 

"Why, " he said, actually stammering, "how do you do?"

"How do you do?" said Mrs. Vance, who could scarcely believe her eyes. His great confusion she instantly perceived. He did not know whether toinvite her in or not. 

"Is your wife at home?" she inquired. 

"No, " he said, "Carrie's out; but won't you step in? She'll be backshortly. "

"No-o, " said Mrs. Vance, realising the change of it all. "I'm reallyvery much in a hurry. I thought I'd just run up and look in, but Icouldn't stay. Just tell your wife she must come and see me. "

"I will, " said Hurstwood, standing back, and feeling intense relief ather going. He was so ashamed that he folded his hands weakly, as he satin the chair afterwards, and thought. 

Carrie, coming in from another direction, thought she saw Mrs. Vancegoing away. She strained her eyes, but could not make sure. 

"Was anybody here just now?" she asked of Hurstwood. 

"Yes, " he said guiltily; "Mrs. Vance. "

"Did she see you?" she asked, expressing her full despair. This cutHurstwood like a whip, and made him sullen. 

"If she had eyes, she did. I opened the door. "

"Oh, " said Carrie, closing one hand tightly out of sheer nervousness. "What did she have to say?"

"Nothing, " he answered. "She couldn't stay. "

"And you looking like that!" said Carrie, throwing aside a long reserve. 

"What of it?" he said, angering. "I didn't know she was coming, did I?"

"You knew she might, " said Carrie. "I told you she said she was coming. I've asked you a dozen times to wear your other clothes. Oh, I thinkthis is just terrible. "

"Oh, let up, " he answered. "What difference does it make? You couldn'tassociate with her, anyway. They've got too much money. 

"Who said I wanted to?" said Carrie, fiercely. 

"Well, you act like it, rowing around over my looks. You'd think I'dcommitted----"

Carrie interrupted:

"It's true, " she said. "I couldn't if I wanted to, but whose fault isit? You're very free to sit and talk about who I could associate with. Why don't you get out and look for work?"

This was a thunderbolt in camp. 

"What's it to you?" he said, rising, almost fiercely. "I pay the rent, don't I? I furnish the----"

"Yes, you pay the rent, " said Carrie. "You talk as if there was nothingelse in the world but a flat to sit around in. You haven't done a thingfor three months except sit around and interfere here. I'd like to knowwhat you married me for?"

"I didn't marry you, " he said, in a snarling tone. 

"I'd like to know what you did, then, in Montreal?" she answered. 

"Well, I didn't marry you, " he answered. "You can get that out of yourhead. You talk as though you didn't know. "

Carrie looked at him a moment, her eyes distending. She had believed itwas all legal and binding enough. 

"What did you lie to me for, then?" she asked, fiercely. "What did youforce me to run away with you for?"

Her voice became almost a sob. 

"Force!" he said, with curled lip. "A lot of forcing I did. "

"Oh!" said Carrie, breaking under the strain, and turning. "Oh, oh!" andshe hurried into the front room. 

Hurstwood was now hot and waked up. It was a great shaking up for him, both mental and moral. He wiped his brow as he looked around, and thenwent for his clothes and dressed. Not a sound came from Carrie; sheceased sobbing when she heard him dressing. She thought, at first, withthe faintest alarm, of being left without money--not of losing him, though he might be going away permanently. She heard him open the top ofthe wardrobe and take out his hat. Then the dining-room door closed, andshe knew he had gone. 

After a few moments of silence, she stood up, dry-eyed, and looked outthe window. Hurstwood was just strolling up the street, from the flat, toward Sixth Avenue. 

The latter made progress along Thirteenth and across Fourteenth Streetto Union Square. 

"Look for work!" he said to himself. "Look for work! She tells me to getout and look for work. "

He tried to shield himself from his own mental accusation, which toldhim that she was right. 

"What a cursed thing that Mrs. Vance's call was, anyhow, " he thought. "Stood right there, and looked me over. I know what she was thinking. "

He remembered the few times he had seen her in Seventy-eight Street. Shewas always a swell-looker, and he had tried to put on the air of beingworthy of such as she, in front of her. Now, to think she had caught himlooking this way. He wrinkled his forehead in his distress. 

"The devil!" he said a dozen times in an hour. 

It was a quarter after four when he left the house. Carrie was in tears. There would be no dinner that night. 

"What the deuce, " he said, swaggering mentally to hide his own shamefrom 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 makehimself comfortable there. 

He ascended into the fine parlour of the Morton House, then one of thebest New York hotels, and, finding a cushioned seat, read. It did nottrouble him much that his decreasing sum of money did not allow of suchextravagance. Like the morphine fiend, he was becoming addicted to hisease. Anything to relieve his mental distress, to satisfy his cravingfor comfort. He must do it. No thoughts for the morrow--he could notstand to think of it any more than he could of any other calamity. Likethe certainty of death, he tried to shut the certainty of soon beingwithout a dollar completely out of his mind, and he came very near doingit. 

Well-dressed guests moving to and fro over the thick carpets carriedhim back to the old days. A young lady, a guest of the house, playing apiano in an alcove pleased him. He sat there reading. 

His dinner cost him $1. 50. By eight o'clock he was through, and then, seeing guests leaving and the crowd of pleasure-seekers thickeningoutside wondered where he should go. Not home. Carrie would be up. No, he would not go back there this evening. He would stay out and knockaround as a man who was independent--not broke--well might. He boughta cigar, and went outside on the corner where other individuals werelounging--brokers, racing people, thespians--his own flesh and blood. As he stood there, he thought of the old evenings in Chicago, and howhe used to dispose of them. Many's the game he had had. This took him topoker. 

"I didn't do that thing right the other day, " he thought, referringto his loss of sixty dollars. "I shouldn't have weakened. I could havebluffed that fellow down. I wasn't in form, that's what ailed me. "

Then he studied the possibilities of the game as it had been played, andbegan to figure how he might have won, in several instances, by bluffinga little harder. 

"I'm old enough to play poker and do something with it. I'll try my handto-night. "

Visions of a big stake floated before him. Supposing he did win a coupleof hundred, wouldn't he be in it? Lots of sports he knew made theirliving at this game, and a good living, too. 

"They always had as much as I had, " he thought. 

So off he went to a poker room in the neighbourhood, feeling much as hehad in the old days. In this period of self-forgetfulness, aroused firstby the shock of argument and perfected by a dinner in the hotel, withcocktails and cigars, he was as nearly like the old Hurstwood as hewould ever be again. It was not the old Hurstwood--only a man arguingwith a divided conscience and lured by a phantom. 

This poker room was much like the other one, only it was a back room ina better drinking resort. Hurstwood watched a while, and then, seeingan interesting game, joined in. As before, it went easy for a while, hewinning a few times and cheering up, losing a few pots and growing moreinterested and determined on that account. At last the fascinatinggame took a strong hold on him. He enjoyed its risks and ventured, ona trifling hand, to bluff the company and secure a fair stake. To hisself-satisfaction intense and strong, he did it. 

In the height of this feeling he began to think his luck was with him. No one else had done so well. Now came another moderate hand, and againhe tried to open the jack-pot on it. There were others there who werealmost reading his heart, so close was their observation. 

"I have three of a kind, " said one of the players to himself. "I'll juststay with that fellow to the finish. "

The result was that bidding began. 

"I raise you ten. "

"Good. "

"Ten more. "

"Good. "

"Ten again. "

"Right you are. "

It got to where Hurstwood had seventy-five dollars up. The other manreally became serious. Perhaps this individual (Hurstwood) really didhave a stiff hand. 

"I call, " he said. 

Hurstwood showed his hand. He was done. The bitter fact that he had lostseventy-five dollars made him desperate. 

"Let's have another pot, " he said, grimly. 

"All right, " said the man. 

Some of the other players quit, but observant loungers took theirplaces. Time passed, and it came to twelve o'clock. Hurstwood held on, neither winning nor losing much. Then he grew weary, and on a last handlost twenty more. He was sick at heart. 

At a quarter after one in the morning he came out of the place. Thechill, bare streets seemed a mockery of his state. He walked slowlywest, little thinking of his row with Carrie. He ascended the stairs andwent into his room as if there had been no trouble. It was his loss thatoccupied his mind. Sitting down on the bedside he counted his money. There was now but a hundred and ninety dollars and some change. He putit up and began to undress. 

"I wonder what's getting into me, anyhow?" he said. 

In the morning Carrie scarcely spoke and he felt as if he must go outagain. He had treated her badly, but he could not afford to make up. Nowdesperation seized him, and for a day or two, going out thus, he livedlike a gentleman--or what he conceived to be a gentleman--which tookmoney. For his escapades he was soon poorer in mind and body, to saynothing of his purse, which had lost thirty by the process. Then he camedown to cold, bitter sense again. 

"The rent man comes to-day, " said Carrie, greeting him thusindifferently three mornings later. 

"He does?"

"Yes; this is the second, " answered Carrie. 

Hurstwood frowned. Then in despair he got out his purse. 

"It seems an awful lot to pay for rent, " he said. 

He was nearing his last hundred dollars. 

Chapter XXXVII. THE SPIRIT AWAKENS--NEW SEARCH FOR THE GATE

It would be useless to explain how in due time the last fifty dollarswas in sight. The seven hundred, by his process of handling, had onlycarried them into June. Before the final hundred mark was reached hebegan to indicate that a calamity was approaching. 

"I don't know, " he said one day, taking a trivial expenditure for meatas a text, "it seems to take an awful lot for us to live. "

"It doesn't seem to me, " said Carrie, "that we spend very much. "

"My money is nearly gone, " he said, "and I hardly know where it's goneto. "

"All that seven hundred dollars?" asked Carrie. 

"All but a hundred. "

He looked so disconsolate that it scared her. She began to see that sheherself had been drifting. She had felt it all the time. 

"Well, George, " she exclaimed, "why don't you get out and look forsomething? You could find something. "

"I have looked, " he said. "You can t make people give you a place. "

She gazed weakly at him and said: "Well, what do you think you will do?A hundred dollars won't last long. "

"I don't know, " he said. "I can't do any more than look. "

Carrie became frightened over this announcement. She thought desperatelyupon the subject. Frequently she had considered the stage as a doorthrough which she might enter that gilded state which she had so muchcraved. Now, as in Chicago, it came as a last resource in distress. Something must be done if he did not get work soon. Perhaps she wouldhave to go out and battle again alone. 

She began to wonder how one would go about getting a place. Herexperience in Chicago proved that she had not tried the right way. Theremust be people who would listen to and try you--men who would give youan opportunity. 

They were talking at the breakfast table, a morning or two later, whenshe brought up the dramatic subject by saying that she saw that SarahBernhardt was coming to this country. Hurstwood had seen it, too. 

"How do people get on the stage, George?" she finally asked, innocently. 

"I don't know, " he said. "There must be dramatic agents. "

Carrie was sipping coffee, and did not look up. 

"Regular people who get you a place?"

"Yes, I think so, " he answered. 

Suddenly the air with which she asked attracted his attention. 

"You're not still thinking about being an actress, are you?" he asked. 

"No, " she answered, "I was just wondering. "

Without being clear, there was something in the thought which heobjected to. He did not believe any more, after three years ofobservation, that Carrie would ever do anything great in that line. She seemed too simple, too yielding. His idea of the art was that itinvolved something more pompous. If she tried to get on the stage shewould fall into the hands of some cheap manager and become like the restof them. He had a good idea of what he meant by THEM. Carrie was pretty. She would get along all right, but where would he be?

"I'd get that idea out of my head, if I were you. It's a lot moredifficult than you think. "

Carrie felt this to contain, in some way, an aspersion upon her ability. 

"You said I did real well in Chicago, " she rejoined. 

"You did, " he answered, seeing that he was arousing opposition, "butChicago isn't New York, by a big jump. "

Carrie did not answer this at all. It hurt her. 

"The stage, " he went on, "is all right if you can be one of the bigguns, but there's nothing to the rest of it. It takes a long while toget up. "

"Oh, I don't know, " said Carrie, slightly aroused. 

In a flash, he thought he foresaw the result of this thing. Now, whenthe worst of his situation was approaching, she would get on the stagein some cheap way and forsake him. Strangely, he had not conceived wellof her mental ability. That was because he did not understand the natureof emotional greatness. He had never learned that a person might beemotionally--instead of intellectually--great. Avery Hall was too faraway for him to look back and sharply remember. He had lived with thiswoman too long. 

"Well, I do, " he answered. "If I were you I wouldn't think of it. It'snot much of a profession for a woman. "

"It's better than going hungry, " said Carrie. "If you don't want me todo that, why don't you get work yourself?"

There was no answer ready for this. He had got used to the suggestion. 

"Oh, let up, " he answered. 

The result of this was that she secretly resolved to try. It didn'tmatter about him. She was not going to be dragged into poverty andsomething worse to suit him. She could act. She could get somethingand then work up. What would he say then? She pictured herself alreadyappearing in some fine performance on Broadway; of going every eveningto her dressing-room and making up. Then she would come out at eleveno'clock and see the carriages ranged about, waiting for the people. Itdid not matter whether she was the star or not. If she were only oncein, getting a decent salary, wearing the kind of clothes she liked, having the money to do with, going here and there as she pleased, howdelightful it would all be. Her mind ran over this picture all the daylong. Hurstwood's dreary state made its beauty become more and morevivid. 

Curiously this idea soon took hold of Hurstwood. His vanishing sumsuggested that he would need sustenance. Why could not Carrie assist hima little until he could get something?

He came in one day with something of this idea in his mind. 

"I met John B. Drake to-day, " he said. "He's going to open a hotel herein the fall. He says that he can make a place for me then. "

"Who is he?" asked Carrie. 

"He's the man that runs the Grand Pacific in Chicago. "

"Oh, " said Carrie. 

"I'd get about fourteen hundred a year out of that. "

"That would be good, wouldn't it?" she said, sympathetically. 

"If I can only get over this summer, " he added, "I think I'll be allright. I'm hearing from some of my friends again. "

Carrie swallowed this story in all its pristine beauty. She sincerelywished he could get through the summer. He looked so hopeless. 

"How much money have you left?"

"Only fifty dollars. "

"Oh, mercy, " she exclaimed, "what will we do? It's only twenty daysuntil the rent will be due again. "

Hurstwood rested his head on his hands and looked blankly at the floor. 

"Maybe you could get something in the stage line?" he blandly suggested. 

"Maybe I could, " said Carrie, glad that some one approved of the idea. 

"I'll lay my hand to whatever I can get, " he said, now that he saw herbrighten up. "I can get something. "

She cleaned up the things one morning after he had gone, dressed asneatly as her wardrobe permitted, and set out for Broadway. She didnot know that thoroughfare very well. To her it was a wonderfulconglomeration of everything great and mighty. The theatres werethere--these agencies must be somewhere about. 

She decided to stop in at the Madison Square Theatre and ask how to findthe theatrical agents. This seemed the sensible way. Accordingly, whenshe reached that theatre she applied to the clerk at the box office. 

"Eh?" he said, looking out. "Dramatic agents? I don't know. You'll findthem in the 'Clipper, ' though. They all advertise in that. "

"Is that a paper?" said Carrie. 

"Yes, " said the clerk, marvelling at such ignorance of a common fact. "You can get it at the news-stands, " he added politely, seeing howpretty the inquirer was. 

Carrie proceeded to get the "Clipper, " and tried to find the agents bylooking over it as she stood beside the stand. This could not be done soeasily. Thirteenth Street was a number of blocks off, but she went back, carrying the precious paper and regretting the waste of time. 

Hurstwood was already there, sitting in his place. 

"Where were you?" he asked. 

"I've been trying to find some dramatic agents. "

He felt a little diffident about asking concerning her success. Thepaper she began to scan attracted his attention. 

"What have you got there?" he asked. 

"The 'Clipper. ' The man said I'd find their addresses in here. "

"Have you been all the way over to Broadway to find that out? I couldhave told you. "

"Why didn't you?" she asked, without looking up. 

"You never asked me, " he returned. 

She went hunting aimlessly through the crowded columns. Her mind wasdistracted by this man's indifference. The difficulty of the situationshe was facing was only added to by all he did. Self-commiserationbrewed in her heart. Tears trembled along her eyelids but did not fall. Hurstwood noticed something. 

"Let me look. "

To recover herself she went into the front room while he searched. Presently she returned. He had a pencil, and was writing upon anenvelope. 

"Here're three, " he said. 

Carrie took it and found that one was Mrs. Bermudez, another MarcusJenks, a third Percy Weil. She paused only a moment, and then movedtoward the door. 

"I might as well go right away, " she said, without looking back. 

Hurstwood saw her depart with some faint stirrings of shame, which werethe expression of a manhood rapidly becoming stultified. He sat a while, and then it became too much. He got up and put on his hat. 

"I guess I'll go out, " he said to himself, and went, strolling nowherein particular, but feeling somehow that he must go. 

Carrie's first call was upon Mrs. Bermudez, whose address was quite thenearest. It was an old-fashioned residence turned into offices. Mrs. Bermudez's offices consisted of what formerly had been a back chamberand a hall bedroom, marked "Private. "

As Carrie entered she noticed several persons lounging about--men, whosaid nothing and did nothing. 

While she was waiting to be noticed, the door of the hall bedroom openedand from it issued two very mannish-looking women, very tightly dressed, and wearing white collars and cuffs. After them came a portly lady ofabout forty-five, light-haired, sharp-eyed, and evidently good-natured. At least she was smiling. 

"Now, don't forget about that, " said one of the mannish women. 

"I won't, " said the portly woman. "Let's see, " she added, "where are youthe first week in February?" "Pittsburg, " said the woman. 

"I'll write you there. "

"All right, " said the other, and the two passed out. 

Instantly the portly lady's face became exceedingly sober and shrewd. She turned about and fixed on Carrie a very searching eye. 

"Well, " she said, "young woman, what can I do for you?"

"Are you Mrs. Bermudez?"

"Yes. "

"Well, " said Carrie, hesitating how to begin, "do you get places forpersons upon the stage?"

"Yes. "

"Could you get me one?"

"Have you ever had any experience?"

"A very little, " said Carrie. 

"Whom did you play with?"

"Oh, with no one, " said Carrie. "It was just a show gotten----"

"Oh, I see, " said the woman, interrupting her. "No, I don't know ofanything now. "

Carrie's countenance fell. 

"You want to get some New York experience, " concluded the affable Mrs. Bermudez. "We'll take your name, though. "

Carrie stood looking while the lady retired to her office. 

"What is your address?" inquired a young lady behind the counter, takingup the curtailed conversation. 

"Mrs. George Wheeler, " said Carrie, moving over to where she waswriting. The woman wrote her address in full and then allowed her todepart at her leisure. 

She encountered a very similar experience in the office of Mr. Jenks, only he varied it by saying at the close: "If you could play at somelocal house, or had a programme with your name on it, I might dosomething. "

In the third place the individual asked:

"What sort of work do you want to do?"

"What do you mean?" said Carrie. 

"Well, do you want to get in a comedy or on the vaudeville or in thechorus?"

"Oh, I'd like to get a part in a play, " said Carrie. 

"Well, " said the man, "it'll cost you something to do that. " "How much?"said Carrie, who, ridiculous as it may seem, had not thought of thisbefore. 

"Well, that's for you to say, " he answered shrewdly. 

Carrie looked at him curiously. She hardly knew how to continue theinquiry. 

"Could you get me a part if I paid?"

"If we didn't you'd get your money back. "

"Oh, " she said. 

The agent saw he was dealing with an inexperienced soul, and continuedaccordingly. 

"You'd want to deposit fifty dollars, anyway. No agent would troubleabout you for less than that. "

Carrie saw a light. 

"Thank you, " she said. "I'll think about it. "

She started to go, and then bethought herself. 

"How soon would I get a place?" she asked. 

"Well, that's hard to say, " said the man. "You might get one in a week, or it might be a month. You'd get the first thing that we thought youcould do. "

"I see, " said Carrie, and then, half-smiling to be agreeable, she walkedout. 

The agent studied a moment, and then said to himself:

"It's funny how anxious these women are to get on the stage. "

Carrie found ample food for reflection in the fifty-dollar proposition. "Maybe they'd take my money and not give me anything, " she thought. Shehad some jewelry--a diamond ring and pin and several other pieces. Shecould get fifty dollars for those if she went to a pawnbroker. 

Hurstwood was home before her. He had not thought she would be so longseeking. 

"Well?" he said, not venturing to ask what news. 

"I didn't find out anything to-day, " said Carrie, taking off her gloves. "They all want money to get you a place. "

"How much?" asked Hurstwood. 

"Fifty dollars. "

"They don't want anything, do they?"

"Oh, they're like everybody else. You can't tell whether they'd ever getyou anything after you did pay them. "

"Well, I wouldn't put up fifty on that basis, " said Hurstwood, as if hewere deciding, money in hand. 

"I don't know, " said Carrie. "I think I'll try some of the managers. "

Hurstwood heard this, dead to the horror of it. He rocked a little toand fro, and chewed at his finger. It seemed all very natural in suchextreme states. He would do better later on. 

Chapter XXXVIII. IN ELF LAND DISPORTING--THE GRIM WORLD WITHOUT

When Carrie renewed her search, as she did the next day, going tothe Casino, she found that in the opera chorus, as in other fields, employment is difficult to secure. Girls who can stand in a line andlook pretty are as numerous as labourers who can swing a pick. She foundthere was no discrimination between one and the other of applicants, save as regards a conventional standard of prettiness and form. Theirown opinion or knowledge of their ability went for nothing. 

"Where shall I find Mr. Gray?" she asked of a sulky doorman at the stageentrance of the Casino. 

"You can't see him now; he's busy. "

"Do you know when I can see him?"

"Got an appointment with him?"

"No. "

"Well, you'll have to call at his office. "

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Carrie. "Where is his office?"

He gave her the number. 

She knew there was no need of calling there now. He would not be in. Nothing remained but to employ the intermediate hours in search. 

The dismal story of ventures in other places is quickly told. Mr. Dalysaw no one save by appointment. Carrie waited an hour in a dingyoffice, quite in spite of obstacles, to learn this fact of the placid, indifferent Mr. Dorney. 

"You will have to write and ask him to see you. "

So she went away. 

At the Empire Theatre she found a hive of peculiarly listless andindifferent individuals. Everything ornately upholstered, everythingcarefully finished, everything remarkably reserved. 

At the Lyceum she entered one of those secluded, under-stairway closets, berugged and bepaneled, which causes one to feel the greatness of allpositions of authority. Here was reserve itself done into a box-officeclerk, a doorman, and an assistant, glorying in their fine positions. 

"Ah, be very humble now--very humble indeed. Tell us what it isyou require. Tell it quickly, nervously, and without a vestige ofself-respect. If no trouble to us in any way, we may see what we cando. "

This was the atmosphere of the Lyceum--the attitude, for that matter, of every managerial office in the city. These little proprietors ofbusinesses are lords indeed on their own ground. 

Carrie came away wearily, somewhat more abashed for her pains. 

Hurstwood heard the details of the weary and unavailing search thatevening. 

"I didn't get to see any one, " said Carrie. "I just walked, and walked, and waited around. "

Hurstwood only looked at her. 

"I suppose you have to have some friends before you can get in, " sheadded, disconsolately. 

Hurstwood saw the difficulty of this thing, and yet it did not seemso terrible. Carrie was tired and dispirited, but now she could rest. Viewing the world from his rocking-chair, its bitterness did not seem toapproach so rapidly. To-morrow was another day. 

To-morrow came, and the next, and the next. 

Carrie saw the manager at the Casino once. 

"Come around, " he said, "the first of next week. I may make some changesthen. "

He was a large and corpulent individual, surfeited with good clothes andgood eating, who judged women as another would horseflesh. Carrie waspretty and graceful. She might be put in even if she did not have anyexperience. One of the proprietors had suggested that the chorus was alittle weak on looks. 

The first of next week was some days off yet. The first of the month wasdrawing near. Carrie began to worry as she had never worried before. 

"Do you really look for anything when you go out?" she asked Hurstwoodone morning as a climax to some painful thoughts of her own. 

"Of course I do, " he said pettishly, troubling only a little over thedisgrace of the insinuation. 

"I'd take anything, " she said, "for the present. It will soon be thefirst of the month again. "

She looked the picture of despair. 

Hurstwood quit reading his paper and changed his clothes. 

"He would look for something, " he thought. "He would go and see if somebrewery couldn't get him in somewhere. Yes, he would take a position asbartender, if he could get it. "

It was the same sort of pilgrimage he had made before. One or two slightrebuffs, and the bravado disappeared. 

"No use, " he thought. "I might as well go on back home. "

Now that his money was so low, he began to observe his clothes and feelthat even his best ones were beginning to look commonplace. This was abitter thought. 

Carrie came in after he did. 

"I went to see some of the variety managers, " she said, aimlessly. "Youhave to have an act. They don't want anybody that hasn't. "

"I saw some of the brewery people to-day, " said Hurstwood. "One man toldme he'd try to make a place for me in two or three weeks. "

In the face of so much distress on Carrie's part, he had to make someshowing, and it was thus he did so. It was lassitude's apology toenergy. 

Monday Carrie went again to the Casino. 

"Did I tell you to come around to day?" said the manager, looking herover as she stood before him. 

"You said the first of the week, " said Carrie, greatly abashed. 

"Ever had any experience?" he asked again, almost severely. 

Carrie owned to ignorance. 

He looked her over again as he stirred among some papers. He wassecretly pleased with this pretty, disturbed-looking young woman. "Comearound to the theatre to-morrow morning. "

Carrie's heart bounded to her throat. 

"I will, " she said with difficulty. She could see he wanted her, andturned to go. 

"Would he really put her to work? Oh, blessed fortune, could it be?"

Already the hard rumble of the city through the open windows becamepleasant. 

A sharp voice answered her mental interrogation, driving away allimmediate fears on that score. 

"Be sure you're there promptly, " the manager said roughly. "You'll bedropped if you're not. "

Carrie hastened away. She did not quarrel now with Hurstwood's idleness. She had a place--she had a place! This sang in her ears. 

In her delight she was almost anxious to tell Hurstwood. But, as shewalked homeward, and her survey of the facts of the case became larger, she began to think of the anomaly of her finding work in several weeksand his lounging in idleness for a number of months. 

"Why don't he get something?" she openly said to herself. "If I can hesurely ought to. It wasn't very hard for me. "

She forgot her youth and her beauty. The handicap of age she did not, inher enthusiasm, perceive. 

Thus, ever, the voice of success. Still, she could not keep her secret. She tried to be calm and indifferent, but it was a palpable sham. 

"Well?" he said, seeing her relieved face. 

"I have a place. "

"You have?" he said, breathing a better breath. 

"Yes. "

"What sort of a place is it?" he asked, feeling in his veins as if nowhe might get something good also. 

"In the chorus, " she answered. 

"Is it the Casino show you told me about?"

"Yes, " she answered. "I begin rehearsing to-morrow. "

There was more explanation volunteered by Carrie, because she was happy. At last Hurstwood said:

"Do you know how much you'll get?"

"No, I didn't want to ask, " said Carrie. "I guess they pay twelve orfourteen dollars a week. "

"About that, I guess, " said Hurstwood. 

There was a good dinner in the flat that evening, owing to the merelifting of the terrible strain. Hurstwood went out for a shave, andreturned with a fair-sized sirloin steak. 

"Now, to-morrow, " he thought, "I'll look around myself, " and withrenewed hope he lifted his eyes from the ground. 

On the morrow Carrie reported promptly and was given a place in theline. She saw a large, empty, shadowy play-house, still redolent of theperfumes and blazonry of the night, and notable for its rich, orientalappearance. The wonder of it awed and delighted her. Blessed be itswondrous reality. How hard she would try to be worthy of it. It wasabove the common mass, above idleness, above want, above insignificance. People came to it in finery and carriages to see. It was ever a centreof light and mirth. And here she was of it. Oh, if she could onlyremain, how happy would be her days!

"What is your name?" said the manager, who was conducting the drill. 

"Madenda, " she replied, instantly mindful of the name Drouet hadselected in Chicago. "Carrie Madenda. "

"Well, now, Miss Madenda, " he said, very affably, as Carrie thought, "you go over there. "

Then he called to a young woman who was already of the company:

"Miss Clark, you pair with Miss Madenda. "

This young lady stepped forward, so that Carrie saw where to go, and therehearsal began. 

Carrie soon found that while this drilling had some slight resemblanceto the rehearsals as conducted at Avery Hall, the attitude of themanager was much more pronounced. She had marvelled at the insistenceand superior airs of Mr. Millice, but the individual conducting herehad the same insistence, coupled with almost brutal roughness. As thedrilling proceeded, he seemed to wax exceedingly wroth over trifles, andto increase his lung power in proportion. It was very evident that hehad a great contempt for any assumption of dignity or innocence on thepart of these young women. 

"Clark, " he would call--meaning, of course, Miss Clark--"why don't youcatch step there?"

"By fours, right! Right, I said, right! For heaven's sake, get on toyourself! Right!" and in saying this he would lift the last sounds intoa vehement roar. 

"Maitland! Maitland!" he called once. 

A nervous, comely-dressed little girl stepped out. Carrie trembled forher out of the fulness of her own sympathies and fear. 

"Yes, sir, " said Miss Maitland. 

"Is there anything the matter with your ears?"

"No, sir. "

"Do you know what 'column left' means?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Well, what are you stumbling around the right for? Want to break up theline?"

"I was just"

"Never mind what you were just. Keep your ears open. "

Carrie pitied, and trembled for her turn. 

Yet another suffered the pain of personal rebuke. 

"Hold on a minute, " cried the manager, throwing up his hands, as if indespair. His demeanour was fierce. 

"Elvers, " he shouted, "what have you got in your mouth?"

"Nothing, " said Miss Elvers, while some smiled and stood nervously by. 

"Well, are you talking?"

"No, sir. "

"Well, keep your mouth still then. Now, all together again. "

At last Carrie's turn came. It was because of her extreme anxiety to doall that was required that brought on the trouble. 

She heard some one called. 

"Mason, " said the voice. "Miss Mason. "

She looked around to see who it could be. A girl behind shoved her alittle, but she did not understand. 

"You, you!" said the manager. "Can't you hear?"

"Oh, " said Carrie, collapsing, and blushing fiercely. 

"Isn't your name Mason?" asked the manager. 

"No, sir, " said Carrie, "it's Madenda. "

"Well, what's the matter with your feet? Can't you dance?"

"Yes, sir, " said Carrie, who had long since learned this art. 

"Why don't you do it then? Don't go shuffling along as if you were dead. I've got to have people with life in them. "

Carrie's cheek burned with a crimson heat. Her lips trembled a little. 

"Yes, sir, " she said. 

It was this constant urging, coupled with irascibility and energy, forthree long hours. Carrie came away worn enough in body, but too excitedin mind to notice it. She meant to go home and practise her evolutionsas prescribed. She would not err in any way, if she could help it. 

When she reached the flat Hurstwood was not there. For a wonder he wasout looking for work, as she supposed. She took only a mouthful to eatand then practised on, sustained by visions of freedom from financialdistress--"The sound of glory ringing in her ears. "

When Hurstwood returned he was not so elated as when he went away, andnow she was obliged to drop practice and get dinner. Here was an earlyirritation. She would have her work and this. Was she going to act andkeep house?

"I'll not do it, " she said, "after I get started. He can take his mealsout. "

Each day thereafter brought its cares. She found it was not such awonderful thing to be in the chorus, and she also learned that hersalary would be twelve dollars a week. After a few days she hadher first sight of those high and mighties--the leading ladies andgentlemen. She saw that they were privileged and deferred to. She wasnothing--absolutely nothing at all. 

At home was Hurstwood, daily giving her cause for thought. He seemed toget nothing to do, and yet he made bold to inquire how she was gettingalong. The regularity with which he did this smacked of some one whowas waiting to live upon her labour. Now that she had a visible means ofsupport, this irritated her. He seemed to be depending upon her littletwelve dollars. 

"How are you getting along?" he would blandly inquire. 

"Oh, all right, " she would reply. 

"Find it easy?"

"It will be all right when I get used to it. "

His paper would then engross his thoughts. 

"I got some lard, " he would add, as an afterthought. "I thought maybeyou might want to make some biscuit. "

The calm suggestion of the man astonished her a little, especially inthe light of recent developments. Her dawning independence gave her morecourage to observe, and she felt as if she wanted to say things. Stillshe could not talk to him as she had to Drouet. There was something inthe man's manner of which she had always stood in awe. He seemed to havesome invisible strength in reserve. 

One day, after her first week's rehearsal, what she expected came openlyto the surface. 

"We'll have to be rather saving, " he said, laying down some meat he hadpurchased. "You won't get any money for a week or so yet. "

"No, " said Carrie, who was stirring a pan at the stove. 

"I've only got the rent and thirteen dollars more, " he added. 

"That's it, " she said to herself. "I'm to use my money now. "

Instantly she remembered that she had hoped to buy a few things forherself. She needed clothes. Her hat was not nice. 

"What will twelve dollars do towards keeping up this flat?" she thought. "I can't do it. Why doesn't he get something to do?"

The important night of the first real performance came. She did notsuggest to Hurstwood that he come and see. He did not think of going. Itwould only be money wasted. She had such a small part. 

The advertisements were already in the papers; the posters upon thebill-boards. The leading lady and many members were cited. Carrie wasnothing. 

As in Chicago, she was seized with stage fright as the very firstentrance of the ballet approached, but later she recovered. The apparentand painful insignificance of the part took fear away from her. She feltthat she was so obscure it did not matter. Fortunately, she did nothave to wear tights. A group of twelve were assigned pretty golden-huedskirts which came only to a line about an inch above the knee. Carriehappened to be one of the twelve. 

In standing about the stage, marching, and occasionally lifting up hervoice in the general chorus, she had a chance to observe the audienceand to see the inauguration of a great hit. There was plenty ofapplause, but she could not help noting how poorly some of the women ofalleged ability did. 

"I could do better than that, " Carrie ventured to herself, in severalinstances. To do her justice, she was right. 

After it was over she dressed quickly, and as the manager hadscolded some others and passed her, she imagined she must have provedsatisfactory. She wanted to get out quickly, because she knew but few, and the stars were gossiping. Outside were carriages and some correctyouths in attractive clothing, waiting. Carrie saw that she was scannedclosely. The flutter of an eyelash would have brought her a companion. That she did not give. 

One experienced youth volunteered, anyhow. 

"Not going home alone, are you?" he said. 

Carrie merely hastened her steps and took the Sixth Avenue car. Her headwas so full of the wonder of it that she had time for nothing else. 

"Did you hear any more from the brewery?" she asked at the end of theweek, hoping by the question to stir him on to action. 

"No, " he answered, "they're not quite ready yet. I think something willcome of that, though. "

She said nothing more then, objecting to giving up her own money, andyet feeling that such would have to be the case. Hurstwood felt thecrisis, and artfully decided to appeal to Carrie. He had long sincerealised how good-natured she was, how much she would stand. There wassome little shame in him at the thought of doing so, but he justifiedhimself with the thought that he really would get something. Rent daygave him his opportunity. 

"Well, " he said, as he counted it out, "that's about the last of mymoney. I'll have to get something pretty soon. "

Carrie looked at him askance, half-suspicious of an appeal. 

"If I could only hold out a little longer I think I could get something. Drake is sure to open a hotel here in September. "

"Is he?" said Carrie, thinking of the short month that still remaineduntil that time. 

"Would you mind helping me out until then?" he said appealingly. "Ithink I'll be all right after that time. "

"No, " said Carrie, feeling sadly handicapped by fate. 

"We can get along if we economise. I'll pay you back all right. "

"Oh, I'll help you, " said Carrie, feeling quite hardhearted at thusforcing him to humbly appeal, and yet her desire for the benefit of herearnings wrung a faint protest from her. 

"Why don't you take anything, George, temporarily?" she said. "Whatdifference does it make? Maybe, after a while, you'll get somethingbetter. "

"I will take anything, " he said, relieved, and wincing under reproof. "I'd just as leave dig on the streets. Nobody knows me here. "

"Oh, you needn't do that, " said Carrie, hurt by the pity of it. "Butthere must be other things. "

"I'll get something!" he said, assuming determination. 

Then he went back to his paper. 

Chapter XXXIX. OF LIGHTS AND OF SHADOWS--THE PARTING OF WORLDS

What Hurstwood got as the result of this determination was moreself-assurance that each particular day was not the day. At the sametime, Carrie passed through thirty days of mental distress. 

Her need of clothes--to say nothing of her desire for ornaments--grewrapidly as the fact developed that for all her work she was not to havethem. The sympathy she felt for Hurstwood, at the time he asked her totide him over, vanished with these newer urgings of decency. He was notalways renewing his request, but this love of good appearance was. Itinsisted, and Carrie wished to satisfy it, wished more and more thatHurstwood was not in the way. 

Hurstwood reasoned, when he neared the last ten dollars, that he hadbetter keep a little pocket change and not become wholly dependent forcar-fare, shaves, and the like; so when this sum was still in his handhe announced himself as penniless. 

"I'm clear out, " he said to Carrie one afternoon. "I paid for some coalthis morning, and that took all but ten or fifteen cents. "

"I've got some money there in my purse. "

Hurstwood went to get it, starting for a can of tomatoes. Carriescarcely noticed that this was the beginning of the new order. He tookout fifteen cents and bought the can with it. Thereafter it was dribsand drabs of this sort, until one morning Carrie suddenly rememberedthat she would not be back until close to dinner time. 

"We're all out of flour, " she said; "you'd better get some thisafternoon. We haven't any meat, either. How would it do if we had liverand bacon?"

"Suits me, " said Hurstwood. 

"Better get a half or three-quarters of a pound of that. "

"Half 'll be enough, " volunteered Hurstwood. 

She opened her purse and laid down a half dollar. He pretended not tonotice it. 

Hurstwood bought the flour--which all grocers sold in 3 1/2-poundpackages--for thirteen cents and paid fifteen cents for a half-poundof liver and bacon. He left the packages, together with the balance oftwenty-two cents, upon the kitchen table, where Carrie found it. It didnot escape her that the change was accurate. There was something sad inrealising that, after all, all that he wanted of her was somethingto eat. She felt as if hard thoughts were unjust. Maybe he would getsomething yet. He had no vices. 

That very evening, however, on going into the theatre, one of the chorusgirls passed her all newly arrayed in a pretty mottled tweed suit, whichtook Carrie's eye. The young woman wore a fine bunch of violets andseemed in high spirits. She smiled at Carrie good-naturedly as shepassed, showing pretty, even teeth, and Carrie smiled back. 

"She can afford to dress well, " thought Carrie, "and so could I, if Icould only keep my money. I haven't a decent tie of any kind to wear. "

She put out her foot and looked at her shoe reflectively. "I'll get apair of shoes Saturday, anyhow; I don't care what happens. "

One of the sweetest and most sympathetic little chorus girls in thecompany made friends with her because in Carrie she found nothing tofrighten her away. She was a gay little Manon, unwitting of society'sfierce conception of morality, but, nevertheless, good to her neighbourand charitable. Little license was allowed the chorus in the matter ofconversation, but, nevertheless, some was indulged in. 

"It's warm to-night, isn't it?" said this girl, arrayed in pinkfleshings and an imitation golden helmet. She also carried a shiningshield. 

"Yes; it is, " said Carrie, pleased that some one should talk to her. 

"I'm almost roasting, " said the girl. 

Carrie looked into her pretty face, with its large blue eyes, and sawlittle beads of moisture. 

"There's more marching in this opera than ever I did before, " added thegirl. 

"Have you been in others?" asked Carrie, surprised at her experience. 

"Lots of them, " said the girl; "haven't you?"

"This is my first experience. "

"Oh, is it? I thought I saw you the time they ran 'The Queen's Mate'here. "

"No, " said Carrie, shaking her head; "not me. "

This conversation was interrupted by the blare of the orchestra and thesputtering of the calcium lights in the wings as the line was calledto form for a new entrance. No further opportunity for conversationoccurred, but the next evening, when they were getting ready for thestage, this girl appeared anew at her side. 

"They say this show is going on the road next month. "

"Is it?" said Carrie. 

"Yes; do you think you'll go?"

"I don't know; I guess so, if they'll take me. "

"Oh, they'll take you. I wouldn't go. They won't give you any more, andit will cost you everything you make to live. I never leave New York. There are too many shows going on here. "

"Can you always get in another show?"

"I always have. There's one going on up at the Broadway this month. I'mgoing to try and get in that if this one really goes. "

Carrie heard this with aroused intelligence. Evidently it wasn't so verydifficult to get on. Maybe she also could get a place if this show wentaway. "Do they all pay about the same?" she asked. 

"Yes. Sometimes you get a little more. This show doesn't pay very much. "

"I get twelve, " said Carrie. 

"Do you?" said the girl. "They pay me fifteen, and you do more work thanI do. I wouldn't stand it if I were you. They're just giving you lessbecause they think you don't know. You ought to be making fifteen. "

"Well, I'm not, " said Carrie. 

"Well, you'll get more at the next place if you want it, " went on thegirl, who admired Carrie very much. "You do fine, and the manager knowsit. "

To say the truth, Carrie did unconsciously move about with an airpleasing and somewhat distinctive. It was due wholly to her naturalmanner and total lack of self-consciousness. 

"Do you suppose I could get more up at the Broadway?"

"Of course you can, " answered the girl. "You come with me when I go. I'll do the talking. "

Carrie heard this, flushing with thankfulness. She liked this littlegaslight soldier. She seemed so experienced and self-reliant in hertinsel helmet and military accoutrements. 

"My future must be assured if I can always get work this way, " thoughtCarrie. 

Still, in the morning, when her household duties would infringe upon herand Hurstwood sat there, a perfect load to contemplate, her fate seemeddismal and unrelieved. It did not take so very much to feed them underHurstwood's close-measured buying, and there would possibly be enoughfor rent, but it left nothing else. Carrie bought the shoes and someother things, which complicated the rent problem very seriously. Suddenly, a week from the fatal day, Carrie realised that they weregoing to run short. 

"I don't believe, " she exclaimed, looking into her purse at breakfast, "that I'll have enough to pay the rent. "

"How much have you?" inquired Hurstwood. 

"Well, I've got twenty-two dollars, but there's everything to be paidfor this week yet, and if I use all I get Saturday to pay this, therewon't be any left for next week. Do you think your hotel man will openhis hotel this month?"

"I think so, " returned Hurstwood. "He said he would. "

After a while, Hurstwood said:

"Don't worry about it. Maybe the grocer will wait. He can do that. We'vetraded there long enough to make him trust us for a week or two. "

"Do you think he will?" she asked. 

"I think so. " On this account, Hurstwood, this very day, looked grocerOeslogge clearly in the eye as he ordered a pound of coffee, and said:

"Do you mind carrying my account until the end of every week?"

"No, no, Mr. Wheeler, " said Mr. Oeslogge. "Dat iss all right. "

Hurstwood, still tactful in distress, added nothing to this. It seemedan easy thing. He looked out of the door, and then gathered up hiscoffee when ready and came away. The game of a desperate man had begun. 

Rent was paid, and now came the grocer. Hurstwood managed by paying outof his own ten and collecting from Carrie at the end of the week. Thenhe delayed a day next time settling with the grocer, and so soon had histen back, with Oeslogge getting his pay on this Thursday or Friday forlast Saturday's bill. 

This entanglement made Carrie anxious for a change of some sort. Hurstwood did not seem to realise that she had a right to anything. Heschemed to make what she earned cover all expenses, but seemed not totrouble over adding anything himself. 

"He talks about worrying, " thought Carrie. "If he worried enough hecouldn't sit there and wait for me. He'd get something to do. No mancould go seven months without finding something if he tried. "

The sight of him always around in his untidy clothes and gloomyappearance drove Carrie to seek relief in other places. Twice a weekthere were matinees, and then Hurstwood ate a cold snack, which heprepared himself. Two other days there were rehearsals beginning at tenin the morning and lasting usually until one. Now, to this Carrie addeda few visits to one or two chorus girls, including the blue-eyed soldierof the golden helmet. She did it because it was pleasant and a relieffrom dulness of the home over which her husband brooded. 

The blue-eyed soldier's name was Osborne--Lola Osborne. Her room wasin Nineteenth Street near Fourth Avenue, a block now given up wholly tooffice buildings. Here she had a comfortable back room, looking over acollection of back yards in which grew a number of shade trees pleasantto see. 

"Isn't your home in New York?" she asked of Lola one day. 

"Yes; but I can't get along with my people. They always want me to dowhat they want. Do you live here?"

"Yes, " said Carrie. 

"With your family?"

Carrie was ashamed to say that she was married. She had talked so muchabout getting more salary and confessed to so much anxiety about herfuture, that now, when the direct question of fact was waiting, shecould not tell this girl. 

"With some relatives, " she answered. 

Miss Osborne took it for granted that, like herself, Carrie's time washer own. She invariably asked her to stay, proposing little outingsand other things of that sort until Carrie began neglecting her dinnerhours. Hurstwood noticed it, but felt in no position to quarrel withher. Several times she came so late as scarcely to have an hour in whichto patch up a meal and start for the theatre. 

"Do you rehearse in the afternoons?" Hurstwood once asked, concealingalmost completely the cynical protest and regret which prompted it. 

"No; I was looking around for another place, " said Carrie. 

As a matter of fact she was, but only in such a way as furnished theleast straw of an excuse. Miss Osborne and she had gone to the officeof the manager who was to produce the new opera at the Broadway andreturned straight to the former's room, where they had been since threeo'clock. 

Carrie felt this question to be an infringement on her liberty. She didnot take into account how much liberty she was securing. Only the lateststep, the newest freedom, must not be questioned. 

Hurstwood saw it all clearly enough. He was shrewd after his kind, andyet there was enough decency in the man to stop him from making anyeffectual protest. In his almost inexplicable apathy he was contentto droop supinely while Carrie drifted out of his life, just as he waswilling supinely to see opportunity pass beyond his control. He couldnot help clinging and protesting in a mild, irritating, and ineffectualway, however--a way that simply widened the breach by slow degrees. 

A further enlargement of this chasm between them came when the manager, looking between the wings upon the brightly lighted stage where thechorus was going through some of its glittering evolutions, said to themaster of the ballet:

"Who is that fourth girl there on the right--the one coming round at theend now?"

"Oh, " said the ballet-master, "that's Miss Madenda. "

"She's good looking. Why don't you let her head that line?"

"I will, " said the man. 

"Just do that. She'll look better there than the woman you've got. "

"All right. I will do that, " said the master. 

The next evening Carrie was called out, much as if for an error. 

"You lead your company to night, " said the master. 

"Yes, sir, " said Carrie. 

"Put snap into it, " he added. "We must have snap. "

"Yes, sir, " replied Carrie. 

Astonished at this change, she thought that the heretofore leader mustbe ill; but when she saw her in the line, with a distinct expression ofsomething unfavourable in her eye, she began to think that perhaps itwas merit. 

She had a chic way of tossing her head to one side, and holding her armsas if for action--not listlessly. In front of the line this showed upeven more effectually. 

"That girl knows how to carry herself, " said the manager, anotherevening. He began to think that he should like to talk with her. Ifhe hadn't made it a rule to have nothing to do with the members of thechorus, he would have approached her most unbendingly. 

"Put that girl at the head of the white column, " he suggested to the manin charge of the ballet. 

This white column consisted of some twenty girls, all in snow-whiteflannel trimmed with silver and blue. Its leader was most stunninglyarrayed in the same colours, elaborated, however, with epaulets anda belt of silver, with a short sword dangling at one side. Carrie wasfitted for this costume, and a few days later appeared, proud of her newlaurels. She was especially gratified to find that her salary was noweighteen instead of twelve. 

Hurstwood heard nothing about this. 

"I'll not give him the rest of my money, " said Carrie. "I do enough. Iam going to get me something to wear. "

As a matter of fact, during this second month she had been buying forherself as recklessly as she dared, regardless of the consequences. There were impending more complications rent day, and more extension ofthe credit system in the neighbourhood. Now, however, she proposed to dobetter by herself. 

Her first move was to buy a shirt waist, and in studying these she foundhow little her money would buy--how much, if she could only use all. She forgot that if she were alone she would have to pay for a room andboard, and imagined that every cent of her eighteen could be spent forclothes and things that she liked. 

At last she picked upon something, which not only used up all hersurplus above twelve, but invaded that sum. She knew she was going toofar, but her feminine love of finery prevailed. The next day Hurstwoodsaid:

"We owe the grocer five dollars and forty cents this week. "

"Do we?" said Carrie, frowning a little. 

She looked in her purse to leave it. 

"I've only got eight dollars and twenty cents altogether. "

"We owe the milkman sixty cents, " added Hurstwood. 

"Yes, and there's the coal man, " said Carrie. 

Hurstwood said nothing. He had seen the new things she was buying; theway she was neglecting household duties; the readiness with which shewas slipping out afternoons and staying. He felt that something wasgoing to happen. All at once she spoke:

"I don't know, " she said; "I can't do it all. I don't earn enough. "

This was a direct challenge. Hurstwood had to take it up. He tried to becalm. 

"I don't want you to do it all, " he said. "I only want a little helpuntil I can get something to do. "

"Oh, yes, " answered Carrie. "That's always the way. It takes more than Ican earn to pay for things. I don't see what I'm going to do. 

"Well, I've tried to get something, " he exclaimed. What do you want meto do?"

"You couldn't have tried so very hard, " said Carrie. "I got something. "

"Well, I did, " he said, angered almost to harsh words. "You needn'tthrow up your success to me. All I asked was a little help until I couldget something. I'm not down yet. I'll come up all right. "

He tried to speak steadily, but his voice trembled a little. 

Carrie's anger melted on the instant. She felt ashamed. 

"Well, " she said, "here's the money, " and emptied it out on the table. "I haven't got quite enough to pay it all. If they can wait untilSaturday, though, I'll have some more. "

"You keep it, " said Hurstwood sadly. "I only want enough to pay thegrocer. "

She put it back, and proceeded to get dinner early and in good time. Herlittle bravado made her feel as if she ought to make amends. 

In a little while their old thoughts returned to both. 

"She's making more than she says, " thought Hurstwood. "She says she'smaking twelve, but that wouldn't buy all those things. I don't care. Lether keep her money. I'll get something again one of these days. Then shecan go to the deuce. "

He only said this in his anger, but it prefigured a possible course ofaction and attitude well enough. 

"I don't care, " thought Carrie. "He ought to be told to get out and dosomething. It isn't right that I should support him. "

In these days Carrie was introduced to several youths, friends of MissOsborne, who were of the kind most aptly described as gay and festive. They called once to get Miss Osborne for an afternoon drive. Carrie waswith her at the time. 

"Come and go along, " said Lola. 

"No, I can't, " said Carrie. 

"Oh, yes, come and go. What have you got to do?"

"I have to be home by five, " said Carrie. 

"What for?"

"Oh, dinner. "

"They'll take us to dinner, " said Lola. 

"Oh, no, " said Carrie. "I won't go. I can't. "

"Oh, do come. They're awful nice boys. We'll get you back in time. We'reonly going for a drive in Central Park. " Carrie thought a while, and atlast yielded. 

"Now, I must be back by half-past four, " she said. 

The information went in one ear of Lola and out the other. 

After Drouet and Hurstwood, there was the least touch of cynicism in herattitude toward young men--especially of the gay and frivolous sort. Shefelt a little older than they. Some of their pretty compliments seemedsilly. Still, she was young in heart and body and youth appealed to her. 

"Oh, we'll be right back, Miss Madenda, " said one of the chaps, bowing. "You wouldn't think we'd keep you over time, now, would you?"

"Well, I don't know, " said Carrie, smiling. 

They were off for a drive--she, looking about and noticing fineclothing, the young men voicing those silly pleasantries and weak quipswhich pass for humour in coy circles. Carrie saw the great park paradeof carriages, beginning at the Fifty-ninth Street entrance and windingpast the Museum of Art to the exit at One Hundred and Tenth Street andSeventh Avenue. Her eye was once more taken by the show of wealth--theelaborate costumes, elegant harnesses, spirited horses, and, above all, the beauty. Once more the plague of poverty galled her, but now sheforgot in a measure her own troubles so far as to forget Hurstwood. Hewaited until four, five, and even six. It was getting dark when he gotup out of his chair. 

"I guess she isn't coming home, " he said, grimly. 

"That's the way, " he thought. "She's getting a start now. I'm out ofit. "

Carrie had really discovered her neglect, but only at a quarter afterfive, and the open carriage was now far up Seventh Avenue, near theHarlem River. 

"What time is it?" she inquired. "I must be getting back. "

"A quarter after five, " said her companion, consulting an elegant, open-faced watch. 

"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Carrie. Then she settled back with a sigh. "There's no use crying over spilt milk, " she said. "It's too late. "

"Of course it is, " said the youth, who saw visions of a fine dinner now, and such invigorating talk as would result in a reunion after the show. He was greatly taken with Carrie. "We'll drive down to Delmonico's nowand have something there, won't we, Orrin?"

"To be sure, " replied Orrin, gaily. 

Carrie thought of Hurstwood. Never before had she neglected dinnerwithout an excuse. 

They drove back, and at 6. 15 sat down to dine. It was the Sherryincident over again, the remembrance of which came painfully back toCarrie. She remembered Mrs. Vance, who had never called again afterHurstwood's reception, and Ames. 

At this figure her mind halted. It was a strong, clean vision. He likedbetter books than she read, better people than she associated with. Hisideals burned in her heart. 

"It's fine to be a good actress, " came distinctly back. 

What sort of an actress was she?

"What are you thinking about, Miss Madenda?" inquired her merrycompanion. "Come, now, let's see if I can guess. "

"Oh, no, " said Carrie. "Don't try. "

She shook it off and ate. She forgot, in part, and was merry. When itcame to the after-theatre proposition, however, she shook her head. 

"No, " she said, "I can't. I have a previous engagement. "

"Oh, now, Miss Madenda, " pleaded the youth. 

"No, " said Carrie, "I can't. You've been so kind, but you'll have toexcuse me. "

The youth looked exceedingly crestfallen. 

"Cheer up, old man, " whispered his companion. "We'll go around, anyhow. She may change her mind. "

Chapter XL. A PUBLIC DISSENSION--A FINAL APPEAL

There was no after-theatre lark, however, so far as Carrie wasconcerned. She made her way homeward, thinking about her absence. Hurstwood was asleep, but roused up to look as she passed through to herown bed. 

"Is that you?" he said. 

"Yes, " she answered. 

The next morning at breakfast she felt like apologising. 

"I couldn't get home last evening, " she said. 

"Ah, Carrie, " he answered, "what's the use saying that? I don't care. You needn't tell me that, though. "

"I couldn't, " said Carrie, her colour rising. Then, seeing that helooked as if he said "I know, " she exclaimed: "Oh, all right. I don'tcare. "

From now on, her indifference to the flat was even greater. Thereseemed no common ground on which they could talk to one another. She letherself be asked for expenses. It became so with him that he hated to doit. He preferred standing off the butcher and baker. He ran up a grocerybill of sixteen dollars with Oeslogge, laying in a supply of staplearticles, so that they would not have to buy any of those things forsome time to come. Then he changed his grocery. It was the same with thebutcher and several others. Carrie never heard anything of this directlyfrom him. He asked for such as he could expect, drifting farther andfarther into a situation which could have but one ending. 

In this fashion, September went by. 

"Isn't Mr. Drake going to open his hotel?" Carrie asked several times. 

"Yes. He won't do it before October, though, now. "

Carrie became disgusted. "Such a man, " she said to herself frequently. More and more she visited. She put most of her spare money in clothes, which, after all, was not an astonishing amount. At last the opera shewas with announced its departure within four weeks. "Last two weeks ofthe Great Comic Opera success ---- The --------, " etc. , was upon allbillboards and in the newspapers, before she acted. 

"I'm not going out on the road, " said Miss Osborne. 

Carrie went with her to apply to another manager. 

"Ever had any experience?" was one of his questions. 

"I'm with the company at the Casino now. "

"Oh, you are?" he said. 

The end of this was another engagement at twenty per week. 

Carrie was delighted. She began to feel that she had a place in theworld. People recognised ability. 

So changed was her state that the home atmosphere became intolerable. It was all poverty and trouble there, or seemed to be, because it wasa load to bear. It became a place to keep away from. Still she sleptthere, and did a fair amount of work, keeping it in order. It wasa sitting place for Hurstwood. He sat and rocked, rocked and read, enveloped in the gloom of his own fate. October went by, and November. It was the dead of winter almost before he knew it, and there he sat. 

Carrie was doing better, that he knew. Her clothes were improved now, even fine. He saw her coming and going, sometimes picturing to himselfher rise. Little eating had thinned him somewhat. He had no appetite. His clothes, too, were a poor man's clothes. Talk about gettingsomething had become even too threadbare and ridiculous for him. So hefolded his hands and waited--for what, he could not anticipate. 

At last, however, troubles became too thick. The hounding of creditors, the indifference of Carrie, the silence of the flat, and presence ofwinter, all joined to produce a climax. It was effected by the arrivalof Oeslogge, personally, when Carrie was there. 

"I call about my bill, " said Mr. Oeslogge. 

Carrie was only faintly surprised. 

"How much is it?" she asked. 

"Sixteen dollars, " he replied. 

"Oh, that much?" said Carrie. "Is this right?" she asked, turning toHurstwood. 

"Yes, " he said. 

"Well, I never heard anything about it. "

She looked as if she thought he had been contracting some needlessexpense. 

"Well, we had it all right, " he answered. Then he went to the door. "Ican't pay you anything on that to-day, " he said, mildly. 

"Well, when can you?" said the grocer. 

"Not before Saturday, anyhow, " said Hurstwood. 

"Huh!" returned the grocer. "This is fine. I must have that. I need themoney. "

Carrie was standing farther back in the room, hearing it all. She wasgreatly distressed. It was so bad and commonplace. Hurstwood was annoyedalso. 

"Well, " he said, "there's no use talking about it now. If you'll come inSaturday, I'll pay you something on it. "

The grocery man went away. 

"How are we going to pay it?" asked Carrie, astonished by the bill. "Ican't do it. "

"Well, you don't have to, " he said. "He can't get what he can't get. He'll have to wait. "

"I don't see how we ran up such a bill as that, " said Carrie. 

"Well, we ate it, " said Hurstwood. 

"It's funny, " she replied, still doubting. 

"What's the use of your standing there and talking like that, now?"he asked. "Do you think I've had it alone? You talk as if I'd takensomething. "

"Well, it's too much, anyhow, " said Carrie. "I oughtn't to be made topay for it. I've got more than I can pay for now. "

"All right, " replied Hurstwood, sitting down in silence. He was sick ofthe grind of this thing. 

Carrie went out and there he sat, determining to do something. 

There had been appearing in the papers about this time rumours andnotices of an approaching strike on the trolley lines in Brooklyn. Therewas general dissatisfaction as to the hours of labour required and thewages paid. As usual--and for some inexplicable reason--the men chosethe winter for the forcing of the hand of their employers and thesettlement of their difficulties. 

Hurstwood had been reading of this thing, and wondering concerning thehuge tie-up which would follow. A day or two before this trouble withCarrie, it came. On a cold afternoon, when everything was grey and itthreatened to snow, the papers announced that the men had been calledout on all the lines. Being so utterly idle, and his mind filled withthe numerous predictions which had been made concerning the scarcityof labour this winter and the panicky state of the financial market, Hurstwood read this with interest. He noted the claims of the strikingmotormen and conductors, who said that they had been wont to receive twodollars a day in times past, but that for a year or more "trippers" hadbeen introduced, which cut down their chance of livelihood one-half, and increased their hours of servitude from ten to twelve, and evenfourteen. These "trippers" were men put on during the busy and rushhours, to take a car out for one trip. The compensation paid for such atrip was only twenty-five cents. When the rush or busy hours were over, they were laid off. Worst of all, no man might know when he was going toget a car. He must come to the barns in the morning and wait around infair and foul weather until such time as he was needed. Two trips werean average reward for so much waiting--a little over three hours' workfor fifty cents. The work of waiting was not counted. 

The men complained that this system was extending, and that the timewas not far off when but a few out of 7, 000 employees would haveregular two-dollar-a-day work at all. They demanded that the systembe abolished, and that ten hours be considered a day's work, barringunavoidable delays, with $2. 25 pay. They demanded immediate acceptanceof these terms, which the various trolley companies refused. 

Hurstwood at first sympathised with the demands of these men--indeed, itis a question whether he did not always sympathise with them to theend, belie him as his actions might. Reading nearly all the news, he wasattracted first by the scare-heads with which the trouble was notedin the "World. " He read it fully--the names of the seven companiesinvolved, the number of men. 

"They're foolish to strike in this sort of weather, " he thought tohimself. "Let 'em win if they can, though. "

The next day there was even a larger notice of it. "Brooklynites Walk, "said the "World. " "Knights of Labour Tie up the Trolley Lines Across theBridge. " "About Seven Thousand Men Out. "

Hurstwood read this, formulating to himself his own idea of what wouldbe the outcome. He was a great believer in the strength of corporations. 

"They can't win, " he said, concerning the men. "They haven't any money. The police will protect the companies. They've got to. The public has tohave its cars. "

He didn't sympathise with the corporations, but strength was with them. So was property and public utility. 

"Those fellows can't win, " he thought. 

Among other things, he noticed a circular issued by one of thecompanies, which read:

 ATLANTIC AVENUE RAILROAD

 SPECIAL NOTICE

 The motormen and conductors and other employees of this company having abruptly left its service, an opportunity is now given to all loyal men who have struck against their will to be reinstated, providing they will make their applications by twelve o'clock noon on Wednesday, January 16th. Such men will be given employment (with guaranteed protection) in the order in which such applications are received, and runs and positions assigned them accordingly. Otherwise, they will be considered discharged, and every vacancy will be filled by a new man as soon as his services can be secured. (Signed) Benjamin Norton, President

He also noted among the want ads. One which read:

WANTED. --50 skilled motormen, accustomed to Westinghouse system, to runU. S. Mail cars only, in the City of Brooklyn; protection guaranteed. 

He noted particularly in each the "protection guaranteed. " It signifiedto him the unassailable power of the companies. 

"They've got the militia on their side, " he thought. "There isn'tanything those men can do. "

While this was still in his mind, the incident with Oeslogge and Carrieoccurred. There had been a good deal to irritate him, but this seemedmuch the worst. Never before had she accused him of stealing--or verynear that. She doubted the naturalness of so large a bill. And he hadworked so hard to make expenses seem light. He had been "doing" butcherand baker in order not to call on her. He had eaten very little--almostnothing. 

"Damn it all!" he said. "I can get something. I'm not down yet. "

He thought that he really must do something now. It was too cheap to sitaround after such an insinuation as this. Why, after a little, he wouldbe standing anything. 

He got up and looked out the window into the chilly street. It camegradually into his mind, as he stood there, to go to Brooklyn. 

"Why not?" his mind said. "Any one can get work over there. You'll gettwo a day. "

"How about accidents?" said a voice. "You might get hurt. "

"Oh, there won't be much of that, " he answered. "They've called out thepolice. Any one who wants to run a car will be protected all right. "

"You don't know how to run a car, " rejoined the voice. 

"I won't apply as a motorman, " he answered. "I can ring up fares allright. "

"They'll want motormen, mostly. "

"They'll take anybody; that I know. "

For several hours he argued pro and con with this mental counsellor, feeling no need to act at once in a matter so sure of profit. 

In the morning he put on his best clothes, which were poor enough, and began stirring about, putting some bread and meat into a page of anewspaper. Carrie watched him, interested in this new move. 

"Where are you going?" she asked. 

"Over to Brooklyn, " he answered. Then, seeing her still inquisitive, headded: "I think I can get on over there. "

"On the trolley lines?" said Carrie, astonished. 

"Yes, " he rejoined. 

"Aren't you afraid?" she asked. 

"What of?" he answered. "The police are protecting them. "

"The paper said four men were hurt yesterday. "

"Yes, " he returned; "but you can't go by what the papers say. They'llrun the cars all right. "

He looked rather determined now, in a desolate sort of way, and Carriefelt very sorry. Something of the old Hurstwood was here--the leastshadow of what was once shrewd and pleasant strength. Outside, it wascloudy and blowing a few flakes of snow. 

"What a day to go over there, " thought Carrie. 

Now he left before she did, which was a remarkable thing, and trampedeastward to Fourteenth Street and Sixth Avenue, where he took the car. He had read that scores of applicants were applying at the office of theBrooklyn City Railroad building and were being received. He made hisway there by horse-car and ferry--a dark, silent man--to the offices inquestion. It was a long way, for no cars were running, and the day wascold; but he trudged along grimly. Once in Brooklyn, he could clearlysee and feel that a strike was on. People showed it in their manner. Along the routes of certain tracks not a car was running. About certaincorners and nearby saloons small groups of men were lounging. Severalspring wagons passed him, equipped with plain wooden chairs, andlabelled "Flatbush" or "Prospect Park. Fare, Ten Cents. " He noticed coldand even gloomy faces. Labour was having its little war. 

When he came near the office in question, he saw a few men standingabout, and some policemen. On the far corners were other men--whom hetook to be strikers--watching. All the houses were small and wooden, thestreets poorly paved. After New York, Brooklyn looked actually poor andhard-up. 

He made his way into the heart of the small group, eyed by policemen andthe men already there. One of the officers addressed him. 

"What are you looking for?"

"I want to see if I can get a place. "

"The offices are up those steps, " said the bluecoat. His face was a veryneutral thing to contemplate. In his heart of hearts, he sympathisedwith the strikers and hated this "scab. " In his heart of hearts, also, he felt the dignity and use of the police force, which commanded order. Of its true social significance, he never once dreamed. His was not themind for that. The two feelings blended in him--neutralised one anotherand him. He would have fought for this man as determinedly as forhimself, and yet only so far as commanded. Strip him of his uniform, andhe would have soon picked his side. 

Hurstwood ascended a dusty flight of steps and entered a small, dust-coloured office, in which were a railing, a long desk, and severalclerks. 

"Well, sir?" said a middle-aged man, looking up at him from the longdesk. 

"Do you want to hire any men?" inquired Hurstwood. 

"What are you--a motorman?"

"No; I'm not anything, " said Hurstwood. 

He was not at all abashed by his position. He knew these people neededmen. If one didn't take him, another would. This man could take him orleave him, just as he chose. 

"Well, we prefer experienced men, of course, " said the man. He paused, while Hurstwood smiled indifferently. Then he added: "Still, I guess youcan learn. What is your name?"

"Wheeler, " said Hurstwood. 

The man wrote an order on a small card. "Take that to our barns, " hesaid, "and give it to the foreman. He'll show you what to do. "

Hurstwood went down and out. He walked straight away in the directionindicated, while the policemen looked after. 

"There's another wants to try it, " said Officer Kiely to Officer Macey. 

"I have my mind he'll get his fill, " returned the latter, quietly. Theyhad been in strikes before. 

Chapter XLI. THE STRIKE

The barn at which Hurstwood applied was exceedingly short-handed, andwas being operated practically by three men as directors. There were alot of green hands around--queer, hungry-looking men, who looked as ifwant had driven them to desperate means. They tried to be lively andwilling, but there was an air of hang-dog diffidence about the place. 

Hurstwood went back through the barns and out into a large, enclosedlot, where were a series of tracks and loops. A half-dozen cars werethere, manned by instructors, each with a pupil at the lever. Morepupils were waiting at one of the rear doors of the barn. 

In silence Hurstwood viewed this scene, and waited. His companions tookhis eye for a while, though they did not interest him much more than thecars. They were an uncomfortable-looking gang, however. One or twowere very thin and lean. Several were quite stout. Several others wererawboned and sallow, as if they had been beaten upon by all sorts ofrough weather. 

"Did you see by the paper they are going to call out the militia?"Hurstwood heard one of them remark. 

"Oh, they'll do that, " returned the other. "They always do. "

"Think we're liable to have much trouble?" said another, whom Hurstwooddid not see. 

"Not very. "

"That Scotchman that went out on the last car, " put in a voice, "told methat they hit him in the ear with a cinder. "

A small, nervous laugh accompanied this. 

"One of those fellows on the Fifth Avenue line must have had a hell ofa time, according to the papers, " drawled another. "They broke his carwindows and pulled him off into the street 'fore the police could stop'em. "

"Yes; but there are more police around to-day, " was added by another. 

Hurstwood hearkened without much mental comment. These talkers seemedscared to him. Their gabbling was feverish--things said to quiet theirown minds. He looked out into the yard and waited. 

Two of the men got around quite near him, but behind his back. They wererather social, and he listened to what they said. 

"Are you a railroad man?" said one. 

"Me? No. I've always worked in a paper factory. "

"I had a job in Newark until last October, " returned the other, withreciprocal feeling. 

There were some words which passed too low to hear. Then theconversation became strong again. 

"I don't blame these fellers for striking, " said one. "They've got theright of it, all right, but I had to get something to do. "

"Same here, " said the other. "If I had any job in Newark I wouldn't beover here takin' chances like these. "

"It's hell these days, ain't it?" said the man. "A poor man ain'tnowhere. You could starve, by God, right in the streets, and there ain'tmost no one would help you. "

"Right you are, " said the other. "The job I had I lost 'cause they shutdown. They run all summer and lay up a big stock, and then shut down. "

Hurstwood paid some little attention to this. Somehow, he felt a littlesuperior to these two--a little better off. To him these were ignorantand commonplace, poor sheep in a driver's hand. 

"Poor devils, " he thought, speaking out of the thoughts and feelings ofa bygone period of success. "Next, " said one of the instructors. 

"You're next, " said a neighbour, touching him. 

He went out and climbed on the platform. The instructor took it forgranted that no preliminaries were needed. 

"You see this handle, " he said, reaching up to an electric cut-off, which was fastened to the roof. "This throws the current off or on. Ifyou want to reverse the car you turn it over here. If you want to sendit forward, you put it over here. If you want to cut off the power, youkeep it in the middle. "

Hurstwood smiled at the simple information. 

"Now, this handle here regulates your speed. To here, " he said, pointingwith his finger, "gives you about four miles an hour. This is eight. When it's full on, you make about fourteen miles an hour. "

Hurstwood watched him calmly. He had seen motormen work before. He knewjust about how they did it, and was sure he could do as well, with avery little practice. 

The instructor explained a few more details, and then said:

"Now, we'll back her up. "

Hurstwood stood placidly by, while the car rolled back into the yard. 

"One thing you want to be careful about, and that is to start easy. Giveone degree time to act before you start another. The one fault of mostmen is that they always want to throw her wide open. That's bad. It'sdangerous, too. Wears out the motor. You don't want to do that. "

"I see, " said Hurstwood. 

He waited and waited, while the man talked on. 

"Now you take it, " he said, finally. 

The ex-manager laid hand to the lever and pushed it gently, as hethought. It worked much easier than he imagined, however, with theresult that the car jerked quickly forward, throwing him back againstthe door. He straightened up sheepishly, while the instructor stoppedthe car with the brake. 

"You want to be careful about that, " was all he said. 

Hurstwood found, however, that handling a brake and regulating speedwere not so instantly mastered as he had imagined. Once or twice hewould have ploughed through the rear fence if it had not been for thehand and word of his companion. The latter was rather patient with him, but he never smiled. 

"You've got to get the knack of working both arms at once, " he said. "Ittakes a little practice. "

One o'clock came while he was still on the car practising, and he beganto feel hungry. The day set in snowing, and he was cold. He grew wearyof running to and fro on the short track. 

They ran the car to the end and both got off. Hurstwood went into thebarn and sought a car step, pulling out his paper-wrapped lunch fromhis pocket. There was no water and the bread was dry, but he enjoyedit. There was no ceremony about dining. He swallowed and lookedabout, contemplating the dull, homely labour of the thing. It wasdisagreeable--miserably disagreeable--in all its phases. Not becauseit was bitter, but because it was hard. It would be hard to any one, hethought. 

After eating, he stood about as before, waiting until his turn came. 

The intention was to give him an afternoon of practice, but the greaterpart of the time was spent in waiting about. 

At last evening came, and with it hunger and a debate with himself as tohow he should spend the night. It was half-past five. He must soon eat. If he tried to go home, it would take him two hours and a half of coldwalking and riding. Besides he had orders to report at seven the nextmorning, and going home would necessitate his rising at an unholy anddisagreeable hour. He had only something like a dollar and fifteen centsof Carrie's money, with which he had intended to pay the two weeks' coalbill before the present idea struck him. 

"They must have some place around here, " he thought. "Where does thatfellow from Newark stay?"

Finally he decided to ask. There was a young fellow standing near oneof the doors in the cold, waiting a last turn. He was a mere boy inyears--twenty-one about--but with a body lank and long, because ofprivation. A little good living would have made this youth plump andswaggering. 

"How do they arrange this, if a man hasn't any money?" inquiredHurstwood, discreetly. 

The fellow turned a keen, watchful face on the inquirer. 

"You mean eat?" he replied. 

"Yes, and sleep. I can't go back to New York to-night. "

"The foreman 'll fix that if you ask him, I guess. He did me. "

"That so?"

"Yes. I just told him I didn't have anything. Gee, I couldn't go home. Ilive way over in Hoboken. "

Hurstwood only cleared his throat by way of acknowledgment. 

"They've got a place upstairs here, I understand. I don't know what sortof a thing it is. Purty tough, I guess. He gave me a meal ticket thisnoon. I know that wasn't much. "

Hurstwood smiled grimly, and the boy laughed. 

"It ain't no fun, is it?" he inquired, wishing vainly for a cheeryreply. 

"Not much, " answered Hurstwood. 

"I'd tackle him now, " volunteered the youth. "He may go 'way. "

Hurstwood did so. 

"Isn't there some place I can stay around here to-night?" he inquired. "If I have to go back to New York, I'm afraid I won't. "

"There're some cots upstairs, " interrupted the man, "if you want one ofthem. "

"That'll do, " he assented. 

He meant to ask for a meal ticket, but the seemingly proper moment nevercame, and he decided to pay himself that night. 

"I'll ask him in the morning. "

He ate in a cheap restaurant in the vicinity, and, being cold andlonely, went straight off to seek the loft in question. The company wasnot attempting to run cars after nightfall. It was so advised by thepolice. 

The room seemed to have been a lounging place for night workers. Therewere some nine cots in the place, two or three wooden chairs, a soapbox, and a small, round-bellied stove, in which a fire was blazing. Early as he was, another man was there before him. The latter wassitting beside the stove warming his hands. 

Hurstwood approached and held out his own toward the fire. He was sickof the bareness and privation of all things connected with his venture, but was steeling himself to hold out. He fancied he could for a while. 

"Cold, isn't it?" said the early guest. 

"Rather. "

A long silence. 

"Not much of a place to sleep in, is it?" said the man. 

"Better than nothing, " replied Hurstwood. 

Another silence. 

"I believe I'll turn in, " said the man. 

Rising, he went to one of the cots and stretched himself, removing onlyhis shoes, and pulling the one blanket and dirty old comforter over himin a sort of bundle. The sight disgusted Hurstwood, but he did not dwellon it, choosing to gaze into the stove and think of something else. Presently he decided to retire, and picked a cot, also removing hisshoes. 

While he was doing so, the youth who had advised him to come hereentered, and, seeing Hurstwood, tried to be genial. 

"Better'n nothin', " he observed, looking around. 

Hurstwood did not take this to himself. He thought it to be anexpression of individual satisfaction, and so did not answer. Theyouth imagined he was out of sorts, and set to whistling softly. Seeinganother man asleep, he quit that and lapsed into silence. 

Hurstwood made the best of a bad lot by keeping on his clothes andpushing away the dirty covering from his head, but at last he dozedin sheer weariness. The covering became more and more comfortable, itscharacter was forgotten, and he pulled it about his neck and slept. In the morning he was aroused out of a pleasant dream by several menstirring about in the cold, cheerless room. He had been back in Chicagoin fancy, in his own comfortable home. Jessica had been arranging to gosomewhere, and he had been talking with her about it. This was so clearin his mind, that he was startled now by the contrast of this room. He raised his head, and the cold, bitter reality jarred him intowakefulness. 

"Guess I'd better get up, " he said. 

There was no water on this floor. He put on his shoes in the coldand stood up, shaking himself in his stiffness. His clothes feltdisagreeable, his hair bad. 

"Hell!" he muttered, as he put on his hat. 

Downstairs things were stirring again. 

He found a hydrant, with a trough which had once been used for horses, but there was no towel here, and his handkerchief was soiled fromyesterday. He contented himself with wetting his eyes with the ice-coldwater. Then he sought the foreman, who was already on the ground. 

"Had your breakfast yet?" inquired that worthy. 

"No, " said Hurstwood. 

"Better get it, then; your car won't be ready for a little while. "

Hurstwood hesitated. 

"Could you let me have a meal ticket?" he asked with an effort. 

"Here you are, " said the man, handing him one. 

He breakfasted as poorly as the night before on some fried steak and badcoffee. Then he went back. 

"Here, " said the foreman, motioning him, when he came in. "You take thiscar out in a few minutes. "

Hurstwood climbed up on the platform in the gloomy barn and waited fora signal. He was nervous, and yet the thing was a relief. Anything wasbetter than the barn. 

On this the fourth day of the strike, the situation had taken a turn forthe worse. The strikers, following the counsel of their leaders andthe newspapers, had struggled peaceably enough. There had been no greatviolence done. Cars had been stopped, it is true, and the men arguedwith. Some crews had been won over and led away, some windows broken, some jeering and yelling done; but in no more than five or six instanceshad men been seriously injured. These by crowds whose acts the leadersdisclaimed. 

Idleness, however, and the sight of the company, backed by the police, triumphing, angered the men. They saw that each day more cars were goingon, each day more declarations were being made by the company officialsthat the effective opposition of the strikers was broken. This putdesperate thoughts in the minds of the men. Peaceful methods meant, theysaw, that the companies would soon run all their cars and those whohad complained would be forgotten. There was nothing so helpful to thecompanies as peaceful methods. All at once they blazed forth, and fora week there was storm and stress. Cars were assailed, men attacked, policemen struggled with, tracks torn up, and shots fired, until atlast street fights and mob movements became frequent, and the city wasinvested with militia. 

Hurstwood knew nothing of the change of temper. 

"Run your car out, " called the foreman, waving a vigorous hand at him. Agreen conductor jumped up behind and rang the bell twice as a signal tostart. Hurstwood turned the lever and ran the car out through the doorinto the street in front of the barn. Here two brawny policemen got upbeside him on the platform--one on either hand. 

At the sound of a gong near the barn door, two bells were given by theconductor and Hurstwood opened his lever. 

The two policemen looked about them calmly. 

"'Tis cold, all right, this morning, " said the one on the left, whopossessed a rich brogue. 

"I had enough of it yesterday, " said the other. "I wouldn't want asteady job of this. "

"Nor I. "

Neither paid the slightest attention to Hurstwood, who stood facingthe cold wind, which was chilling him completely, and thinking of hisorders. 

"Keep a steady gait, " the foreman had said. "Don't stop for any one whodoesn't look like a real passenger. Whatever you do, don't stop for acrowd. "

The two officers kept silent for a few moments. 

"The last man must have gone through all right, " said the officer on theleft. "I don't see his car anywhere. "

"Who's on there?" asked the second officer, referring, of course, to itscomplement of policemen. 

"Schaeffer and Ryan. "

There was another silence, in which the car ran smoothly along. Therewere not so many houses along this part of the way. Hurstwood did notsee many people either. The situation was not wholly disagreeable tohim. If he were not so cold, he thought he would do well enough. 

He was brought out of this feeling by the sudden appearance of a curveahead, which he had not expected. He shut off the current and did anenergetic turn at the brake, but not in time to avoid an unnaturallyquick turn. It shook him up and made him feel like making someapologetic remarks, but he refrained. 

"You want to look out for them things, " said the officer on the left, condescendingly. 

"That's right, " agreed Hurstwood, shamefacedly. 

"There's lots of them on this line, " said the officer on the right. Around the corner a more populated way appeared. One or two pedestrianswere in view ahead. A boy coming out of a gate with a tin milk bucketgave Hurstwood his first objectionable greeting. 

"Scab!" he yelled. "Scab!"

Hurstwood heard it, but tried to make no comment, even to himself. Heknew he would get that, and much more of the same sort, probably. 

At a corner farther up a man stood by the track and signalled the car tostop. 

"Never mind him, " said one of the officers. "He's up to some game. "

Hurstwood obeyed. At the corner he saw the wisdom of it. No sooner didthe man perceive the intention to ignore him, than he shook his fist. 

"Ah, you bloody coward!" he yelled. 

Some half dozen men, standing on the corner, flung taunts and jeersafter the speeding car. 

Hurstwood winced the least bit. The real thing was slightly worse thanthe thoughts of it had been. 

Now came in sight, three or four blocks farther on, a heap of somethingon the track. 

"They've been at work, here, all right, " said one of the policemen. 

"We'll have an argument, maybe, " said the other. 

Hurstwood ran the car close and stopped. He had not done so wholly, however, before a crowd gathered about. It was composed of ex-motormenand conductors in part, with a sprinkling of friends and sympathisers. 

"Come off the car, pardner, " said one of the men in a voice meant tobe conciliatory. "You don't want to take the bread out of another man'smouth, do you?"

Hurstwood held to his brake and lever, pale and very uncertain what todo. 

"Stand back, " yelled one of the officers, leaning over the platformrailing. "Clear out of this, now. Give the man a chance to do his work. "

"Listen, pardner, " said the leader, ignoring the policeman andaddressing Hurstwood. "We're all working men, like yourself. If you werea regular motorman, and had been treated as we've been, you wouldn'twant any one to come in and take your place, would you? You wouldn'twant any one to do you out of your chance to get your rights, wouldyou?"

"Shut her off! shut her off!" urged the other of the policemen, roughly. "Get out of this, now, " and he jumped the railing and landed before thecrowd and began shoving. Instantly the other officer was down besidehim. 

"Stand back, now, " they yelled. "Get out of this. What the hell do youmean? Out, now. "

It was like a small swarm of bees. 

"Don't shove me, " said one of the strikers, determinedly. "I'm not doinganything. "

"Get out of this!" cried the officer, swinging his club. "I'll give ye abat on the sconce. Back, now. "

"What the hell!" cried another of the strikers, pushing the other way, adding at the same time some lusty oaths. 

Crack came an officer's club on his forehead. He blinked his eyesblindly a few times, wabbled on his legs, threw up his hands, andstaggered back. In return, a swift fist landed on the officer's neck. 

Infuriated by this, the latter plunged left and right, laying aboutmadly with his club. He was ably assisted by his brother of the blue, who poured ponderous oaths upon the troubled waters. No severe damagewas done, owing to the agility of the strikers in keeping out of reach. They stood about the sidewalk now and jeered. 

"Where is the conductor?" yelled one of the officers, getting his eye onthat individual, who had come nervously forward to stand by Hurstwood. The latter had stood gazing upon the scene with more astonishment thanfear. 

"Why don't you come down here and get these stones off the track?"inquired the officer. "What you standing there for? Do you want to stayhere all day? Get down. "

Hurstwood breathed heavily in excitement and jumped down with thenervous conductor as if he had been called. 

"Hurry up, now, " said the other policeman. 

Cold as it was, these officers were hot and mad. Hurstwood worked withthe conductor, lifting stone after stone and warming himself by thework. 

"Ah, you scab, you!" yelled the crowd. "You coward! Steal a man's job, will you? Rob the poor, will you, you thief? We'll get you yet, now. Wait. "

Not all of this was delivered by one man. It came from here and there, incorporated with much more of the same sort and curses. 

"Work, you blackguards, " yelled a voice. "Do the dirty work. You're thesuckers that keep the poor people down!"

"May God starve ye yet, " yelled an old Irish woman, who now threw open anearby window and stuck out her head. 

"Yes, and you, " she added, catching the eye of one of the policemen. "You bloody, murtherin' thafe! Crack my son over the head, will you, youhardhearted, murtherin' divil? Ah, ye----"

But the officer turned a deaf ear. 

"Go to the devil, you old hag, " he half muttered as he stared round uponthe scattered company. 

Now the stones were off, and Hurstwood took his place again amid acontinued chorus of epithets. Both officers got up beside him and theconductor rang the bell, when, bang! bang! through window and doorcame rocks and stones. One narrowly grazed Hurstwood's head. Anothershattered the window behind. 

"Throw open your lever, " yelled one of the officers, grabbing at thehandle himself. 

Hurstwood complied and the car shot away, followed by a rattle of stonesand a rain of curses. 

"That --- --- --- ---- hit me in the neck, " said one of the officers. "Igave him a good crack for it, though. "

"I think I must have left spots on some of them, " said the other. 

"I know that big guy that called us a --- --- --- ----" said the first. "I'll get him yet for that. "

"I thought we were in for it sure, once there, " said the second. 

Hurstwood, warmed and excited, gazed steadily ahead. It was anastonishing experience for him. He had read of these things, but thereality seemed something altogether new. He was no coward in spirit. The fact that he had suffered this much now rather operated to arouse astolid determination to stick it out. He did not recur in thought to NewYork or the flat. This one trip seemed a consuming thing. 

They now ran into the business heart of Brooklyn uninterrupted. Peoplegazed at the broken windows of the car and at Hurstwood in his plainclothes. Voices called "scab" now and then, as well as other epithets, but no crowd attacked the car. At the downtown end of the line, one ofthe officers went to call up his station and report the trouble. 

"There's a gang out there, " he said, "laying for us yet. Better sendsome one over there and clean them out. "

The car ran back more quietly--hooted, watched, flung at, but notattacked. Hurstwood breathed freely when he saw the barns. 

"Well, " he observed to himself, "I came out of that all right. "

The car was turned in and he was allowed to loaf a while, but later hewas again called. This time a new team of officers was aboard. Slightlymore confident, he sped the car along the commonplace streets and feltsomewhat less fearful. On one side, however, he suffered intensely. Theday was raw, with a sprinkling of snow and a gusty wind, made all themore intolerable by the speed of the car. His clothing was not intendedfor this sort of work. He shivered, stamped his feet, and beat his armsas he had seen other motormen do in the past, but said nothing. Thenovelty and danger of the situation modified in a way his disgust anddistress at being compelled to be here, but not enough to prevent himfrom feeling grim and sour. This was a dog's life, he thought. It was atough thing to have to come to. 

The one thought that strengthened him was the insult offered by Carrie. He was not down so low as to take all that, he thought. He could dosomething--this, even--for a while. It would get better. He would save alittle. 

A boy threw a clod of mud while he was thus reflecting and hit him uponthe arm. It hurt sharply and angered him more than he had been any timesince morning. 

"The little cur!" he muttered. 

"Hurt you?" asked one of the policemen. 

"No, " he answered. 

At one of the corners, where the car slowed up because of a turn, anex-motorman, standing on the sidewalk, called to him:

"Won't you come out, pardner, and be a man? Remember we're fighting fordecent day's wages, that's all. We've got families to support. " The manseemed most peaceably inclined. 

Hurstwood pretended not to see him. He kept his eyes straight on beforeand opened the lever wide. The voice had something appealing in it. 

All morning this went on and long into the afternoon. He made threesuch trips. The dinner he had was no stay for such work and the cold wastelling on him. At each end of the line he stopped to thaw out, buthe could have groaned at the anguish of it. One of the barnmen, out ofpity, loaned him a heavy cap and a pair of sheepskin gloves, and foronce he was extremely thankful. 

On the second trip of the afternoon he ran into a crowd about halfway along the line, that had blocked the car's progress with an oldtelegraph pole. 

"Get that thing off the track, " shouted the two policemen. 

"Yah, yah, yah!" yelled the crowd. "Get it off yourself. "

The two policemen got down and Hurstwood started to follow. 

"You stay there, " one called. "Some one will run away with your car. "

Amid the babel of voices, Hurstwood heard one close beside him. 

"Come down, pardner, and be a man. Don't fight the poor. Leave that tothe corporations. "

He saw the same fellow who had called to him from the corner. Now, asbefore, he pretended not to hear him. 

"Come down, " the man repeated gently. "You don't want to fight poor men. Don't fight at all. " It was a most philosophic and jesuitical motorman. 

A third policeman joined the other two from somewhere and some one ranto telephone for more officers. Hurstwood gazed about, determined butfearful. 

A man grabbed him by the coat. 

"Come off of that, " he exclaimed, jerking at him and trying to pull himover the railing. 

"Let go, " said Hurstwood, savagely. 

"I'll show you--you scab!" cried a young Irishman, jumping up on the carand aiming a blow at Hurstwood. The latter ducked and caught it on theshoulder instead of the jaw. 

"Away from here, " shouted an officer, hastening to the rescue, andadding, of course, the usual oaths. 

Hurstwood recovered himself, pale and trembling. It was becoming seriouswith him now. People were looking up and jeering at him. One girl wasmaking faces. 

He began to waver in his resolution, when a patrol wagon rolled up andmore officers dismounted. Now the track was quickly cleared and therelease effected. 

"Let her go now, quick, " said the officer, and again he was off. 

The end came with a real mob, which met the car on its return tripa mile or two from the barns. It was an exceedingly poor-lookingneighbourhood. He wanted to run fast through it, but again the trackwas blocked. He saw men carrying something out to it when he was yet ahalf-dozen blocks away. 

"There they are again!" exclaimed one policeman. 

"I'll give them something this time, " said the second officer, whosepatience was becoming worn. Hurstwood suffered a qualm of body as thecar rolled up. As before, the crowd began hooting, but now, ratherthan come near, they threw things. One or two windows were smashed andHurstwood dodged a stone. 

Both policemen ran out toward the crowd, but the latter replied byrunning toward the car. A woman--a mere girl in appearance--was amongthese, bearing a rough stick. She was exceedingly wrathful and struckat Hurstwood, who dodged. Thereupon, her companions, duly encouraged, jumped on the car and pulled Hurstwood over. He had hardly time to speakor shout before he fell. 

"Let go of me, " he said, falling on his side. 

"Ah, you sucker, " he heard some one say. Kicks and blows rained on him. He seemed to be suffocating. Then two men seemed to be dragging him offand he wrestled for freedom. 

"Let up, " said a voice, "you're all right. Stand up. "

He was let loose and recovered himself. Now he recognised two officers. He felt as if he would faint from exhaustion. Something was wet on hischin. He put up his hand and felt, then looked. It was red. 

"They cut me, " he said, foolishly, fishing for his handkerchief. 

"Now, now, " said one of the officers. "It's only a scratch. "

His senses became cleared now and he looked around. He was standing in alittle store, where they left him for the moment. Outside, he could see, as he stood wiping his chin, the car and the excited crowd. A patrolwagon was there, and another. 

He walked over and looked out. It was an ambulance, backing in. 

He saw some energetic charging by the police and arrests being made. 

"Come on, now, if you want to take your car, " said an officer, openingthe door and looking in. He walked out, feeling rather uncertain ofhimself. He was very cold and frightened. 

"Where's the conductor?" he asked. 

"Oh, he's not here now, " said the policeman. 

Hurstwood went toward the car and stepped nervously on. As he did sothere was a pistol shot. Something stung his shoulder. 

"Who fired that?" he heard an officer exclaim. "By God! who did that?"Both left him, running toward a certain building. He paused a moment andthen got down. 

"George!" exclaimed Hurstwood, weakly, "this is too much for me. "

He walked nervously to the corner and hurried down a side street. 

"Whew!" he said, drawing in his breath. 

A half block away, a small girl gazed at him. 

"You'd better sneak, " she called. 

He walked homeward in a blinding snowstorm, reaching the ferry bydusk. The cabins were filled with comfortable souls, who studied himcuriously. His head was still in such a whirl that he felt confused. Allthe wonder of the twinkling lights of the river in a white storm passedfor nothing. He trudged doggedly on until he reached the flat. There heentered and found the room warm. Carrie was gone. A couple of eveningpapers were lying on the table where she left them. He lit the gas andsat down. Then he got up and stripped to examine his shoulder. It wasa mere scratch. He washed his hands and face, still in a brown study, apparently, and combed his hair. Then he looked for something to eat, and finally, his hunger gone, sat down in his comfortable rocking-chair. It was a wonderful relief. 

He put his hand to his chin, forgetting, for the moment, the papers. 

"Well, " he said, after a time, his nature recovering itself, "that's apretty tough game over there. "

Then he turned and saw the papers. With half a sigh he picked up the"World. "

"Strike Spreading in Brooklyn, " he read. "Rioting Breaks Out in allParts of the City. "

He adjusted his paper very comfortably and continued. It was the onething he read with absorbing interest. 

Chapter XLII. A TOUCH OF SPRING--THE EMPTY SHELL

Those who look upon Hurstwood's Brooklyn venture as an error of judgmentwill none the less realise the negative influence on him of the factthat he had tried and failed. Carrie got a wrong idea of it. He saidso little that she imagined he had encountered nothing worse thanthe ordinary roughness--quitting so soon in the face of this seemedtrifling. He did not want to work. 

She was now one of a group of oriental beauties who, in the second actof the comic opera, were paraded by the vizier before the new potentateas the treasures of his harem. There was no word assigned to any ofthem, but on the evening when Hurstwood was housing himself in theloft of the street-car barn, the leading comedian and star, feelingexceedingly facetious, said in a profound voice, which created a rippleof laughter:

"Well, who are you?"

It merely happened to be Carrie who was courtesying before him. It mightas well have been any of the others, so far as he was concerned. Heexpected no answer and a dull one would have been reproved. But Carrie, whose experience and belief in herself gave her daring, courtesiedsweetly again and answered:

"I am yours truly. "

It was a trivial thing to say, and yet something in the way she did itcaught the audience, which laughed heartily at the mock-fierce potentatetowering before the young woman. The comedian also liked it, hearing thelaughter. 

"I thought your name was Smith, " he returned, endeavouring to get thelast laugh. 

Carrie almost trembled for her daring after she had said this. Allmembers of the company had been warned that to interpolate lines or"business" meant a fine or worse. She did not know what to think. 

As she was standing in her proper position in the wings, awaitinganother entry, the great comedian made his exit past her and paused inrecognition. 

"You can just leave that in hereafter, " he remarked, seeing howintelligent she appeared. "Don't add any more, though. "

"Thank you, " said Carrie, humbly. When he went on she found herselftrembling violently. 

"Well, you're in luck, " remarked another member of the chorus. "Thereisn't another one of us has got a line. "

There was no gainsaying the value of this. Everybody in the companyrealised that she had got a start. Carrie hugged herself when nextevening the lines got the same applause. She went home rejoicing, knowing that soon something must come of it. It was Hurstwood who, byhis presence, caused her merry thoughts to flee and replaced them withsharp longings for an end of distress. 

The next day she asked him about his venture. 

"They're not trying to run any cars except with police. They don't wantanybody just now--not before next week. "

Next week came, but Carrie saw no change. Hurstwood seemed moreapathetic than ever. He saw her off mornings to rehearsals and the likewith the utmost calm. He read and read. Several times he found himselfstaring at an item, but thinking of something else. The first of theselapses that he sharply noticed concerned a hilarious party he had onceattended at a driving club, of which he had been a member. He sat, gazing downward, and gradually thought he heard the old voices and theclink of glasses. 

"You're a dandy, Hurstwood, " his friend Walker said. He was standingagain well dressed, smiling, good-natured, the recipient of encores fora good story. 

All at once he looked up. The room was so still it seemed ghostlike. He heard the clock ticking audibly and half suspected that he had beendozing. The paper was so straight in his hands, however, and the itemshe had been reading so directly before him, that he rid himself of thedoze idea. Still, it seemed peculiar. When it occurred a second time, however, it did not seem quite so strange. 

Butcher and grocery man, baker and coal man--not the group with whom hewas then dealing, but those who had trusted him to the limit--called. Hemet them all blandly, becoming deft in excuse. At last he became bold, pretended to be out, or waved them off. 

"They can't get blood out of a turnip, " he said, "if I had it I'd paythem. "

Carrie's little soldier friend, Miss Osborne, seeing her succeeding, hadbecome a sort of satellite. Little Osborne could never of herself amountto anything. She seemed to realise it in a sort of pussy-like way andinstinctively concluded to cling with her soft little claws to Carrie. 

"Oh, you'll get up, " she kept telling Carrie with admiration. "You're sogood. "

Timid as Carrie was, she was strong in capability. The reliance ofothers made her feel as if she must, and when she must she dared. Experience of the world and of necessity was in her favour. No longerthe lightest word of a man made her head dizzy. She had learned that mencould change and fail. Flattery in its most palpable form had lost itsforce with her. It required superiority--kindly superiority--to moveher--the superiority of a genius like Ames. 

"I don't like the actors in our company, " she told Lola one day. "They're all so struck on themselves. "

"Don't you think Mr. Barclay's pretty nice?" inquired Lola, who hadreceived a condescending smile or two from that quarter. 

"Oh, he's nice enough, " answered Carrie; "but he isn't sincere. Heassumes such an air. "

Lola felt for her first hold upon Carrie in the following manner:

"Are you paying room-rent where you are?"

"Certainly, " answered Carrie. "Why?"

"I know where I could get the loveliest room and bath, cheap. It's toobig for me, but it would be just right for two, and the rent is only sixdollars a week for both. "

"Where?" said Carrie. 

"In Seventeenth Street. "

"Well, I don't know as I'd care to change, " said Carrie, who was alreadyturning over the three-dollar rate in her mind. She was thinking if shehad only herself to support this would leave her seventeen for herself. 

Nothing came of this until after the Brooklyn adventure of Hurstwood'sand her success with the speaking part. Then she began to feel as if shemust be free. She thought of leaving Hurstwood and thus making him actfor himself, but he had developed such peculiar traits she feared hemight resist any effort to throw him off. He might hunt her out atthe show and hound her in that way. She did not wholly believe that hewould, but he might. This, she knew, would be an embarrassing thing ifhe made himself conspicuous in any way. It troubled her greatly. 

Things were precipitated by the offer of a better part. One of theactresses playing the part of a modest sweetheart gave notice of leavingand Carrie was selected. 

"How much are you going to get?" asked Miss Osborne, on hearing the goodnews. 

"I didn't ask him, " said Carrie. 

"Well, find out. Goodness, you'll never get anything if you don't ask. Tell them you must have forty dollars, anyhow. "

"Oh, no, " said Carrie. 

"Certainly!" exclaimed Lola. "Ask 'em, anyway. "

Carrie succumbed to this prompting, waiting, however, until the managergave her notice of what clothing she must have to fit the part. 

"How much do I get?" she inquired. 

"Thirty-five dollars, " he replied. 

Carrie was too much astonished and delighted to think of mentioningforty. She was nearly beside herself, and almost hugged Lola, who clungto her at the news. 

"It isn't as much as you ought to get, " said the latter, "especiallywhen you've got to buy clothes. "

Carrie remembered this with a start. Where to get the money? She hadnone laid up for such an emergency. Rent day was drawing near. 

"I'll not do it, " she said, remembering her necessity. "I don't use theflat. I'm not going to give up my money this time. I'll move. "

Fitting into this came another appeal from Miss Osborne, more urgentthan ever. 

"Come live with me, won't you?" she pleaded. "We can have the loveliestroom. It won't cost you hardly anything that way. "

"I'd like to, " said Carrie, frankly. 

"Oh, do, " said Lola. "We'll have such a good time. "

Carrie thought a while. 

"I believe I will, " she said, and then added: "I'll have to see first, though. " With the idea thus grounded, rent day approaching, and clothescalling for instant purchase, she soon found excuse in Hurstwood'slassitude. He said less and drooped more than ever. 

As rent day approached, an idea grew in him. It was fostered by thedemands of creditors and the impossibility of holding up many more. Twenty-eight dollars was too much for rent. "It's hard on her, " hethought. "We could get a cheaper place. "

Stirred with this idea, he spoke at the breakfast table. 

"Don't you think we pay too much rent here?" he asked. 

"Indeed I do, " said Carrie, not catching his drift. 

"I should think we could get a smaller place, " he suggested. "We don'tneed four rooms. "

Her countenance, had he been scrutinising her, would have exhibited thedisturbance she felt at this evidence of his determination to stay byher. He saw nothing remarkable in asking her to come down lower. 

"Oh, I don't know, " she answered, growing wary. 

"There must be places around here where we could get a couple of rooms, which would do just as well. "

Her heart revolted. "Never!" she thought. Who would furnish the money tomove? To think of being in two rooms with him! She resolved to spend hermoney for clothes quickly, before something terrible happened. That veryday she did it. Having done so, there was but one other thing to do. 

"Lola, " she said, visiting her friend, "I think I'll come. "

"Oh, jolly!" cried the latter. 

"Can we get it right away?" she asked, meaning the room. 

"Certainly, " cried Lola. 

They went to look at it. Carrie had saved ten dollars from herexpenditures--enough for this and her board beside. Her enlarged salarywould not begin for ten days yet--would not reach her for seventeen. Shepaid half of the six dollars with her friend. 

"Now, I've just enough to get on to the end of the week, " she confided. 

"Oh, I've got some, " said Lola. "I've got twenty-five dollars, if youneed it. "

"No, " said Carrie. "I guess I'll get along. "

They decided to move Friday, which was two days away. Now that thething was settled, Carrie's heart misgave her. She felt very much like acriminal in the matter. Each day looking at Hurstwood, she had realisedthat, along with the disagreeableness of his attitude, there wassomething pathetic. 

She looked at him the same evening she had made up her mind to go, andnow he seemed not so shiftless and worthless, but run down and beatenupon by chance. His eyes were not keen, his face marked, his handsflabby. She thought his hair had a touch of grey. All unconscious of hisdoom, he rocked and read his paper, while she glanced at him. 

Knowing that the end was so near, she became rather solicitous. 

"Will you go over and get some canned peaches?" she asked Hurstwood, laying down a two-dollar bill. 

"Certainly, " he said, looking in wonder at the money. 

"See if you can get some nice asparagus, " she added. "I'll cook it fordinner. "

Hurstwood rose and took the money, slipping on his overcoat and gettinghis hat. Carrie noticed that both of these articles of apparel were oldand poor looking in appearance. It was plain enough before, but now itcame home with peculiar force. Perhaps he couldn't help it, after all. He had done well in Chicago. She remembered his fine appearance the dayshe had met her in the park. Then he was so sprightly, so clean. Had itbeen all his fault?

He came back and laid the change down with the food. 

"You'd better keep it, " she observed. "We'll need other things. "

"No, " he said, with a sort of pride; "you keep it. "

"Oh, go on and keep it, " she replied, rather unnerved. "There'll beother things. "

He wondered at this, not knowing the pathetic figure he had become inher eyes. She restrained herself with difficulty from showing a quaverin her voice. 

To say truly, this would have been Carrie's attitude in any case. Shehad looked back at times upon her parting from Drouet and had regrettedthat she had served him so badly. She hoped she would never meet himagain, but she was ashamed of her conduct. Not that she had any choicein the final separation. She had gone willingly to seek him, withsympathy in her heart, when Hurstwood had reported him ill. There wassomething cruel somewhere, and not being able to track it mentallyto its logical lair, she concluded with feeling that he would neverunderstand what Hurstwood had done and would see hard-hearted decisionin her deed; hence her shame. Not that she cared for him. She did notwant to make any one who had been good to her feel badly. 

She did not realise what she was doing by allowing these feelings topossess her. Hurstwood, noticing the kindness, conceived better of her. "Carrie's good-natured, anyhow, " he thought. 

Going to Miss Osborne's that afternoon, she found that little ladypacking and singing. 

"Why don't you come over with me today?" she asked. 

"Oh, I can't, " said Carrie. "I'll be there Friday. Would you mindlending me the twenty-five dollars you spoke of?"

"Why, no, " said Lola, going for her purse. 

"I want to get some other things, " said Carrie. 

"Oh, that's all right, " answered the little girl, good-naturedly, gladto be of service. It had been days since Hurstwood had done more thango to the grocery or to the news-stand. Now the weariness of indoors wasupon him--had been for two days--but chill, grey weather had held himback. Friday broke fair and warm. It was one of those lovely harbingersof spring, given as a sign in dreary winter that earth is not forsakenof warmth and beauty. The blue heaven, holding its one golden orb, poured down a crystal wash of warm light. It was plain, from the voiceof the sparrows, that all was halcyon outside. Carrie raised the frontwindows, and felt the south wind blowing. 

"It's lovely out to-day, " she remarked. 

"Is it?" said Hurstwood. 

After breakfast, he immediately got his other clothes. 

"Will you be back for lunch?" asked Carrie nervously. 

"No, " he said. 

He went out into the streets and tramped north, along Seventh Avenue, idly fixing upon the Harlem River as an objective point. He had seensome ships up there, the time he had called upon the brewers. Hewondered how the territory thereabouts was growing. 

Passing Fifty-ninth Street, he took the west side of Central Park, which he followed to Seventy-eighth Street. Then he remembered theneighbourhood and turned over to look at the mass of buildings erected. It was very much improved. The great open spaces were filling up. Comingback, he kept to the Park until 110th Street, and then turned intoSeventh Avenue again, reaching the pretty river by one o'clock. 

There it ran winding before his gaze, shining brightly in the clearlight, between the undulating banks on the right and the tall, tree-covered heights on the left. The spring-like atmosphere woke him toa sense of its loveliness, and for a few moments he stood looking at it, folding his hands behind his back. Then he turned and followed it towardthe east side, idly seeking the ships he had seen. It was four o'clockbefore the waning day, with its suggestion of a cooler evening, causedhim to return. He was hungry and would enjoy eating in the warm room. 

When he reached the flat by half-past five, it was still dark. He knewthat Carrie was not there, not only because there was no light showingthrough the transom, but because the evening papers were stuck betweenthe outside knob and the door. He opened with his key and went in. Everything was still dark. Lighting the gas, he sat down, preparing towait a little while. Even if Carrie did come now, dinner would be late. He read until six, then got up to fix something for himself. 

As he did so, he noticed that the room seemed a little queer. Whatwas it? He looked around, as if he missed something, and then saw anenvelope near where he had been sitting. It spoke for itself, almostwithout further action on his part. 

Reaching over, he took it, a sort of chill settling upon him even whilehe reached. The crackle of the envelope in his hands was loud. Greenpaper money lay soft within the note. 

"Dear George, " he read, crunching the money in one hand, "I'm goingaway. I'm not coming back any more. It's no use trying to keep up theflat; I can't do it. I wouldn't mind helping you, if I could, but Ican't support us both, and pay the rent. I need what little I make topay for my clothes. I'm leaving twenty dollars. It's all I have justnow. You can do whatever you like with the furniture. I won't wantit. --CARRIE. "

He dropped the note and looked quietly round. Now he knew what hemissed. It was the little ornamental clock, which was hers. It had gonefrom the mantelpiece. He went into the front room, his bedroom, theparlour, lighting the gas as he went. From the chiffonier had gonethe knick-knacks of silver and plate. From the table-top, the lacecoverings. He opened the wardrobe--no clothes of hers. He opened thedrawers--nothing of hers. Her trunk was gone from its accustomed place. Back in his own room hung his old clothes, just as he had left them. Nothing else was gone. 

He stepped into the parlour and stood for a few moments looking vacantlyat the floor. The silence grew oppressive. The little flat seemedwonderfully deserted. He wholly forgot that he was hungry, that it wasonly dinner-time. It seemed later in the night. 

Suddenly, he found that the money was still in his hands. There weretwenty dollars in all, as she had said. Now he walked back, leaving thelights ablaze, and feeling as if the flat were empty. 

"I'll get out of this, " he said to himself. 

Then the sheer loneliness of his situation rushed upon him in full. 

"Left me!" he muttered, and repeated, "left me!"

The place that had been so comfortable, where he had spent so many daysof warmth, was now a memory. Something colder and chillier confrontedhim. He sank down in his chair, resting his chin in his hand--meresensation, without thought, holding him. 

Then something like a bereaved affection and self-pity swept over him. 

"She needn't have gone away, " he said. "I'd have got something. "

He sat a long while without rocking, and added quite clearly, out loud:

"I tried, didn't I?"

At midnight he was still rocking, staring at the floor. 

Chapter XLIII. THE WORLD TURNS FLATTERER--AN EYE IN THE DARK

Installed in her comfortable room, Carrie wondered how Hurstwood hadtaken her departure. She arranged a few things hastily and then left forthe theatre, half expecting to encounter him at the door. Not findinghim, her dread lifted, and she felt more kindly toward him. She quiteforgot him until about to come out, after the show, when the chance ofhis being there frightened her. As day after day passed and she heardnothing at all, the thought of being bothered by him passed. In a littlewhile she was, except for occasional thoughts, wholly free of the gloomwith which her life had been weighed in the flat. 

It is curious to note how quickly a profession absorbs one. Carriebecame wise in theatrical lore, hearing the gossip of little Lola. Shelearned what the theatrical papers were, which ones published itemsabout actresses and the like. She began to read the newspaper notices, not only of the opera in which she had so small a part, but of others. Gradually the desire for notice took hold of her. She longed to berenowned like others, and read with avidity all the complimentary orcritical comments made concerning others high in her profession. Theshowy world in which her interest lay completely absorbed her. 

It was about this time that the newspapers and magazines were beginningto pay that illustrative attention to the beauties of the stage whichhas since become fervid. The newspapers, and particularly the Sundaynewspapers, indulged in large decorative theatrical pages, in which thefaces and forms of well-known theatrical celebrities appeared, enclosedwith artistic scrolls. The magazines also or at least one or two of thenewer ones--published occasional portraits of pretty stars, and now andagain photos of scenes from various plays. Carrie watched these withgrowing interest. When would a scene from her opera appear? When wouldsome paper think her photo worth while?

The Sunday before taking her new part she scanned the theatrical pagesfor some little notice. It would have accorded with her expectations ifnothing had been said, but there in the squibs, tailing off severalmore substantial items, was a wee notice. Carrie read it with a tinglingbody:

"The part of Katisha, the country maid, in 'The Wives of Abdul' at theBroadway, heretofore played by Inez Carew, will be hereafter filled byCarrie Madenda, one of the cleverest members of the chorus. "

Carrie hugged herself with delight. Oh, wasn't it just fine! At last!The first, the long-hoped for, the delightful notice! And they calledher clever. She could hardly restrain herself from laughing loudly. HadLola seen it?

"They've got a notice here of the part I'm going to play to-morrownight, " said Carrie to her friend. 

"Oh, jolly! Have they?" cried Lola, running to her. "That's all right, "she said, looking. "You'll get more now, if you do well. I had mypicture in the 'World' once. "

"Did you?" asked Carrie. 

"Did I? Well, I should say, " returned the little girl. "They had a framearound it. "

Carrie laughed. 

"They've never published my picture. "

"But they will, " said Lola. "You'll see. You do better than most thatget theirs in now. "

Carrie felt deeply grateful for this. She almost loved Lola for thesympathy and praise she extended. It was so helpful to her--so almostnecessary. 

Fulfilling her part capably brought another notice in the papers thatshe was doing her work acceptably. This pleased her immensely. She beganto think the world was taking note of her. 

The first week she got her thirty-five dollars, it seemed an enormoussum. Paying only three dollars for room rent seemed ridiculous. Aftergiving Lola her twenty-five, she still had seven dollars left. With fourleft over from previous earnings, she had eleven. Five of this went topay the regular installment on the clothes she had to buy. The next weekshe was even in greater feather. Now, only three dollars need be paidfor room rent and five on her clothes. The rest she had for food and herown whims. 

"You'd better save a little for summer, " cautioned Lola. "We'll probablyclose in May. "

"I intend to, " said Carrie. 

The regular entrance of thirty-five dollars a week to one who hasendured scant allowances for several years is a demoralising thing. Carrie found her purse bursting with good green bills of comfortabledenominations. Having no one dependent upon her, she began to buy prettyclothes and pleasing trinkets, to eat well, and to ornament her room. Friends were not long in gathering about. She met a few young men whobelonged to Lola's staff. The members of the opera company made heracquaintance without the formality of introduction. One of thesediscovered a fancy for her. On several occasions he strolled home withher. 

"Let's stop in and have a rarebit, " he suggested one midnight. 

"Very well, " said Carrie. 

In the rosy restaurant, filled with the merry lovers of late hours, she found herself criticising this man. He was too stilted, tooself-opinionated. He did not talk of anything that lifted her above thecommon run of clothes and material success. When it was all over, hesmiled most graciously. 

"Got to go straight home, have you?" he said. 

"Yes, " she answered, with an air of quiet understanding. 

"She's not so inexperienced as she looks, " he thought, and thereafterhis respect and ardour were increased. 

She could not help sharing in Lola's love for a good time. There weredays when they went carriage riding, nights when after the show theydined, afternoons when they strolled along Broadway, tastefully dressed. She was getting in the metropolitan whirl of pleasure. 

At last her picture appeared in one of the weeklies. She had not knownof it, and it took her breath. "Miss Carrie Madenda, " it was labelled. "One of the favourites of 'The Wives of Abdul' company. " At Lola'sadvice she had had some pictures taken by Sarony. They had got onethere. She thought of going down and buying a few copies of the paper, but remembered that there was no one she knew well enough to send themto. Only Lola, apparently, in all the world was interested. 

The metropolis is a cold place socially, and Carrie soon found that alittle money brought her nothing. The world of wealth and distinctionwas quite as far away as ever. She could feel that there was no warm, sympathetic friendship back of the easy merriment with which manyapproached her. All seemed to be seeking their own amusement, regardlessof the possible sad consequence to others. So much for the lessons ofHurstwood and Drouet. 

In April she learned that the opera would probably last until the middleor the end of May, according to the size of the audiences. Next seasonit would go on the road. She wondered if she would be with it. As usual, Miss Osborne, owing to her moderate salary, was for securing a homeengagement. 

"They're putting on a summer play at the Casino, " she announced, afterfiguratively putting her ear to the ground. "Let's try and get in that. "

"I'm willing, " said Carrie. 

They tried in time and were apprised of the proper date to apply again. That was May 16th. Meanwhile their own show closed May 5th. 

"Those that want to go with the show next season, " said the manager, "will have to sign this week. "

"Don't you sign, " advised Lola. "I wouldn't go. "

"I know, " said Carrie, "but maybe I can't get anything else. "

"Well, I won't, " said the little girl, who had a resource in heradmirers. "I went once and I didn't have anything at the end of theseason. "

Carrie thought this over. She had never been on the road. 

"We can get along, " added Lola. "I always have. "

Carrie did not sign. 

The manager who was putting on the summer skit at the Casino had neverheard of Carrie, but the several notices she had received, her publishedpicture, and the programme bearing her name had some little weight withhim. He gave her a silent part at thirty dollars a week. 

"Didn't I tell you?" said Lola. "It doesn't do you any good to go awayfrom New York. They forget all about you if you do. "

Now, because Carrie was pretty, the gentlemen who made up the advanceillustrations of shows about to appear for the Sunday papers selectedCarrie's photo along with others to illustrate the announcement. Becauseshe was very pretty, they gave it excellent space and drew scrolls aboutit. Carrie was delighted. Still, the management did not seem to haveseen anything of it. At least, no more attention was paid to her thanbefore. At the same time there seemed very little in her part. Itconsisted of standing around in all sorts of scenes, a silent littleQuakeress. The author of the skit had fancied that a great deal could bemade of such a part, given to the right actress, but now, since it hadbeen doled out to Carrie, he would as leave have had it cut out. 

"Don't kick, old man, " remarked the manager. "If it don't go the firstweek we will cut it out. "

Carrie had no warning of this halcyon intention. She practised herpart ruefully, feeling that she was effectually shelved. At the dressrehearsal she was disconsolate. 

"That isn't so bad, " said the author, the manager noting the curiouseffect which Carrie's blues had upon the part. "Tell her to frown alittle more when Sparks dances. "

Carrie did not know it, but there was the least show of wrinkles betweenher eyes and her mouth was puckered quaintly. 

"Frown a little more, Miss Madenda, " said the stage manager. 

Carrie instantly brightened up, thinking he had meant it as a rebuke. 

"No; frown, " he said. "Frown as you did before. "

Carrie looked at him in astonishment. 

"I mean it, " he said. "Frown hard when Mr. Sparks dances. I want to seehow it looks. "

It was easy enough to do. Carrie scowled. The effect was something soquaint and droll it caught even the manager. 

"That is good, " he said. "If she'll do that all through, I think it willtake. "

Going over to Carrie, he said:

"Suppose you try frowning all through. Do it hard. Look mad. It'll makethe part really funny. "

On the opening night it looked to Carrie as if there were nothing to herpart, after all. The happy, sweltering audience did not seem to see herin the first act. She frowned and frowned, but to no effect. Eyes wereriveted upon the more elaborate efforts of the stars. 

In the second act, the crowd, wearied by a dull conversation, roved withits eyes about the stage and sighted her. There she was, grey-suited, sweet-faced, demure, but scowling. At first the general idea was thatshe was temporarily irritated, that the look was genuine and not fun atall. As she went on frowning, looking now at one principal and now atthe other, the audience began to smile. The portly gentlemen in thefront rows began to feel that she was a delicious little morsel. It wasthe kind of frown they would have loved to force away with kisses. Allthe gentlemen yearned toward her. She was capital. 

At last, the chief comedian, singing in the centre of the stage, noticeda giggle where it was not expected. Then another and another. When theplace came for loud applause it was only moderate. What could be thetrouble? He realised that something was up. 

All at once, after an exit, he caught sight of Carrie. She was frowningalone on the stage and the audience was giggling and laughing. 

"By George, I won't stand that!" thought the thespian. "I'm not going tohave my work cut up by some one else. Either she quits that when I do myturn or I quit. "

"Why, that's all right, " said the manager, when the kick came. "That'swhat she's supposed to do. You needn't pay any attention to that. "

"But she ruins my work. "

"No, she don't, " returned the former, soothingly. "It's only a littlefun on the side. "

"It is, eh?" exclaimed the big comedian. "She killed my hand all right. I'm not going to stand that. "

"Well, wait until after the show. Wait until to-morrow. We'll see whatwe can do. "

The next act, however, settled what was to be done. Carrie was the chieffeature of the play. The audience, the more it studied her, the moreit indicated its delight. Every other feature paled beside the quaint, teasing, delightful atmosphere which Carrie contributed while on thestage. Manager and company realised she had made a hit. 

The critics of the daily papers completed her triumph. There werelong notices in praise of the quality of the burlesque, touched withrecurrent references to Carrie. The contagious mirth of the thing wasrepeatedly emphasised. 

"Miss Madenda presents one of the most delightful bits of character workever seen on the Casino stage, " observed the stage critic of the "Sun. ""It is a bit of quiet, unassuming drollery which warms like good wine. Evidently the part was not intended to take precedence, as Miss Madendais not often on the stage, but the audience, with the characteristicperversity of such bodies, selected for itself. The little Quakeress wasmarked for a favourite the moment she appeared, and thereafter easilyheld attention and applause. The vagaries of fortune are indeedcurious. "

The critic of the "Evening World, " seeking as usual to establish a catchphrase which should "go" with the town, wound up by advising: "If youwish to be merry, see Carrie frown. "

The result was miraculous so far as Carrie's fortune was concerned. Even during the morning she received a congratulatory message from themanager. 

"You seem to have taken the town by storm, " he wrote. "This isdelightful. I am as glad for your sake as for my own. "

The author also sent word. 

That evening when she entered the theatre the manager had a mostpleasant greeting for her. 

"Mr. Stevens, " he said, referring to the author, "is preparing a littlesong, which he would like you to sing next week. "

"Oh, I can't sing, " returned Carrie. 

"It isn't anything difficult. 'It's something that is very simple, ' hesays, 'and would suit you exactly. '"

"Of course, I wouldn't mind trying, " said Carrie, archly. 

"Would you mind coming to the box-office a few moments before youdress?" observed the manager, in addition. "There's a little matter Iwant to speak to you about. "

"Certainly, " replied Carrie. 

In that latter place the manager produced a paper. 

"Now, of course, " he said, "we want to be fair with you in the matter ofsalary. Your contract here only calls for thirty dollars a week forthe next three months. How would it do to make it, say, one hundred andfifty a week and extend it for twelve months?"

"Oh, very well, " said Carrie, scarcely believing her ears. 

"Supposing, then, you just sign this. "

Carrie looked and beheld a new contract made out like the other one, with the exception of the new figures of salary and time. With a handtrembling from excitement she affixed her name. 

"One hundred and fifty a week!" she murmured, when she was again alone. She found, after all--as what millionaire has not?--that there was norealising, in consciousness, the meaning of large sums. It was only ashimmering, glittering phrase in which lay a world of possibilities. 

Down in a third-rate Bleecker Street hotel, the brooding Hurstwood readthe dramatic item covering Carrie's success, without at first realisingwho was meant. Then suddenly it came to him and he read the whole thingover again. 

"That's her, all right, I guess, " he said. 

Then he looked about upon a dingy, moth-eaten hotel lobby. 

"I guess she's struck it, " he thought, a picture of the old shiny, plush-covered world coming back, with its lights, its ornaments, itscarriages, and flowers. Ah, she was in the walled city now! Its splendidgates had opened, admitting her from a cold, dreary outside. She seemeda creature afar off--like every other celebrity he had known. 

"Well, let her have it, " he said. "I won't bother her. "

It was the grim resolution of a bent, bedraggled, but unbroken pride. 

Chapter XLIV. AND THIS IS NOT ELF LAND--WHAT GOLD WILL NOT BUY

When Carrie got back on the stage, she found that over night herdressing-room had been changed. 

"You are to use this room, Miss Madenda, " said one of the stage lackeys. 

No longer any need of climbing several flights of steps to a smallcoop shared with another. Instead, a comparatively large and commodiouschamber with conveniences not enjoyed by the small fry overhead. Shebreathed deeply and with delight. Her sensations were more physical thanmental. In fact, she was scarcely thinking at all. Heart and body werehaving their say. 

Gradually the deference and congratulation gave her a mentalappreciation of her state. She was no longer ordered, but requested, andthat politely. The other members of the cast looked at her enviously asshe came out arrayed in her simple habit, which she wore all throughthe play. All those who had supposedly been her equals and superiorsnow smiled the smile of sociability, as much as to say: "How friendly wehave always been. " Only the star comedian whose part had been so deeplyinjured stalked by himself. Figuratively, he could not kiss the handthat smote him. 

Doing her simple part, Carrie gradually realised the meaning of theapplause which was for her, and it was sweet. She felt mildly guilty ofsomething--perhaps unworthiness. When her associates addressed her inthe wings she only smiled weakly. The pride and daring of place were notfor her. It never once crossed her mind to be reserved or haughty--tobe other than she had been. After the performances she rode to her roomwith Lola, in a carriage provided. 

Then came a week in which the first fruits of success were offered toher lips--bowl after bowl. It did not matter that her splendid salaryhad not begun. The world seemed satisfied with the promise. She beganto get letters and cards. A Mr. Withers--whom she did not know fromAdam--having learned by some hook or crook where she resided, bowedhimself politely in. 

"You will excuse me for intruding, " he said; "but have you been thinkingof changing your apartments?"

"I hadn't thought of it, " returned Carrie. 

"Well, I am connected with the Wellington--the new hotel on Broadway. You have probably seen notices of it in the papers. "

Carrie recognised the name as standing for one of the newest and mostimposing hostelries. She had heard it spoken of as having a splendidrestaurant. 

"Just so, " went on Mr. Withers, accepting her acknowledgment offamiliarity. "We have some very elegant rooms at present which we wouldlike to have you look at, if you have not made up your mind where youintend to reside for the summer. Our apartments are perfect in everydetail--hot and cold water, private baths, special hall service forevery floor, elevators, and all that. You know what our restaurant is. "

Carrie looked at him quietly. She was wondering whether he took her tobe a millionaire. 

"What are your rates?" she inquired. 

"Well, now, that is what I came to talk with you privately about. Ourregular rates are anywhere from three to fifty dollars a day. "

"Mercy!" interrupted Carrie. "I couldn't pay any such rate as that. "

"I know how you feel about it, " exclaimed Mr. Withers, halting. "Butjust let me explain. I said those are our regular rates. Like everyother hotel we make special ones however. Possibly you have not thoughtabout it, but your name is worth something to us. " "Oh!" ejaculatedCarrie, seeing at a glance. 

"Of course. Every hotel depends upon the repute of its patrons. Awell-known actress like yourself, " and he bowed politely, while Carrieflushed, "draws attention to the hotel, and--although you may notbelieve it--patrons. "

"Oh, yes, " returned Carrie, vacantly, trying to arrange this curiousproposition in her mind. 

"Now, " continued Mr. Withers, swaying his derby hat softly and beatingone of his polished shoes upon the floor, "I want to arrange, ifpossible, to have you come and stop at the Wellington. You need nottrouble about terms. In fact, we need hardly discuss them. Anythingwill do for the summer--a mere figure--anything that you think you couldafford to pay. "

Carrie was about to interrupt, but he gave her no chance. 

"You can come to-day or to-morrow--the earlier the better--and we willgive you your choice of nice, light, outside rooms--the very best wehave. "

"You're very kind, " said Carrie, touched by the agent's extremeaffability. "I should like to come very much. I would want to pay whatis right, however. I shouldn't want to----"

"You need not trouble about that at all, " interrupted Mr. Withers. "We can arrange that to your entire satisfaction at any time. If threedollars a day is satisfactory to you, it will be so to us. All you haveto do is to pay that sum to the clerk at the end of the week or month, just as you wish, and he will give you a receipt for what the roomswould cost if charged for at our regular rates. "

The speaker paused. 

"Suppose you come and look at the rooms, " he added. 

"I'd be glad to, " said Carrie, "but I have a rehearsal this morning. "

"I did not mean at once, " he returned. "Any time will do. Would thisafternoon be inconvenient?"

"Not at all, " said Carrie. 

Suddenly she remembered Lola, who was out at the time. 

"I have a room-mate, " she added, "who will have to go wherever I do. Iforgot about that. "

"Oh, very well, " said Mr. Withers, blandly. "It is for you to say whomyou want with you. As I say, all that can be arranged to suit yourself. "

He bowed and backed toward the door. 

"At four, then, we may expect you?"

"Yes, " said Carrie. 

"I will be there to show you, " and so Mr. Withers withdrew. 

After rehearsal Carrie informed Lola. "Did they really?" exclaimed thelatter, thinking of the Wellington as a group of managers. "Isn't thatfine? Oh, jolly! It's so swell. That's where we dined that night we wentwith those two Cushing boys. Don't you know?"

"I remember, " said Carrie. 

"Oh, it's as fine as it can be. "

"We'd better be going up there, " observed Carrie later in the afternoon. 

The rooms which Mr. Withers displayed to Carrie and Lola were three andbath--a suite on the parlour floor. They were done in chocolate and darkred, with rugs and hangings to match. Three windows looked down intobusy Broadway on the east, three into a side street which crossed there. There were two lovely bedrooms, set with brass and white enamel beds, white ribbon-trimmed chairs and chiffoniers to match. In the third room, or parlour, was a piano, a heavy piano lamp, with a shade of gorgeouspattern, a library table, several huge easy rockers, some dado bookshelves, and a gilt curio case, filled with oddities. Pictures were uponthe walls, soft Turkish pillows upon the divan footstools of brown plushupon the floor. Such accommodations would ordinarily cost a hundreddollars a week. 

"Oh, lovely!" exclaimed Lola, walking about. 

"It is comfortable, " said Carrie, who was lifting a lace curtain andlooking down into crowded Broadway. 

The bath was a handsome affair, done in white enamel, with a large, blue-bordered stone tub and nickel trimmings. It was bright andcommodious, with a bevelled mirror set in the wall at one end andincandescent lights arranged in three places. 

"Do you find these satisfactory?" observed Mr. Withers. 

"Oh, very, " answered Carrie. 

"Well, then, any time you find it convenient to move in, they are ready. The boy will bring you the keys at the door. "

Carrie noted the elegantly carpeted and decorated hall, the marbledlobby, and showy waiting-room. It was such a place as she had oftendreamed of occupying. 

"I guess we'd better move right away, don't you think so?" she observedto Lola, thinking of the commonplace chamber in Seventeenth Street. 

"Oh, by all means, " said the latter. 

The next day her trunks left for the new abode. 

Dressing, after the matinee on Wednesday, a knock came at herdressing-room door. 

Carrie looked at the card handed by the boy and suffered a shock ofsurprise. 

"Tell her I'll be right out, " she said softly. Then, looking at thecard, added: "Mrs. Vance. "

"Why, you little sinner, " the latter exclaimed, as she saw Carrie comingtoward her across the now vacant stage. "How in the world did thishappen?"

Carrie laughed merrily. There was no trace of embarrassment in herfriend's manner. You would have thought that the long separation hadcome about accidentally. 

"I don't know, " returned Carrie, warming, in spite of her first troubledfeelings, toward this handsome, good-natured young matron. 

"Well, you know, I saw your picture in the Sunday paper, but your namethrew me off. I thought it must be you or somebody that looked just likeyou, and I said: 'Well, now, I will go right down there and see. ' I wasnever more surprised in my life. How are you, anyway?"

"Oh, very well, " returned Carrie. "How have you been?"

"Fine. But aren't you a success! Dear, oh! All the papers talking aboutyou. I should think you would be just too proud to breathe. I was almostafraid to come back here this afternoon. "

"Oh, nonsense, " said Carrie, blushing. "You know I'd be glad to seeyou. "

"Well, anyhow, here you are. Can't you come up and take dinner with menow? Where are you stopping?"

"At the Wellington, " said Carrie, who permitted herself a touch of pridein the acknowledgment. 

"Oh, are you?" exclaimed the other, upon whom the name was not withoutits proper effect. 

Tactfully, Mrs. Vance avoided the subject of Hurstwood, of whom shecould not help thinking. No doubt Carrie had left him. That much shesurmised. 

"Oh, I don't think I can, " said Carrie, "to-night. I have so littletime. I must be back here by 7. 30. Won't you come and dine with me?"

"I'd be delighted, but I can't to-night, " said Mrs. Vance studyingCarrie's fine appearance. The latter's good fortune made her seemmore than ever worthy and delightful in the others eyes. "I promisedfaithfully to be home at six. " Glancing at the small gold watch pinnedto her bosom, she added: "I must be going, too. Tell me when you'recoming up, if at all. "

"Why, any time you like, " said Carrie. 

"Well, to-morrow then. I'm living at the Chelsea now. "

"Moved again?" exclaimed Carrie, laughing. 

"Yes. You know I can't stay six months in one place. I just have tomove. Remember now--half-past five. "

"I won't forget, " said Carrie, casting a glance at her as she went away. Then it came to her that she was as good as this woman now--perhapsbetter. Something in the other's solicitude and interest made her feelas if she were the one to condescend. 

Now, as on each preceding day, letters were handed her by the doorman atthe Casino. This was a feature which had rapidly developed since Monday. What they contained she well knew. MASH NOTES were old affairs in theirmildest form. She remembered having received her first one far backin Columbia City. Since then, as a chorus girl, she had receivedothers--gentlemen who prayed for an engagement. They were common sportbetween her and Lola, who received some also. They both frequently madelight of them. 

Now, however, they came thick and fast. Gentlemen with fortunes didnot hesitate to note, as an addition to their own amiable collection ofvirtues, that they had their horses and carriages. Thus one:

"I have a million in my own right. I could give you every luxury. Thereisn't anything you could ask for that you couldn't have. I say this, notbecause I want to speak of my money, but because I love you and wish togratify your every desire. It is love that prompts me to write. Will younot give me one half-hour in which to plead my cause?"

Such of these letters as came while Carrie was still in the SeventeenthStreet place were read with more interest--though never delight--thanthose which arrived after she was installed in her luxurious quarters atthe Wellington. Even there her vanity--or that self-appreciation which, in its more rabid form, is called vanity--was not sufficiently cloyed tomake these things wearisome. Adulation, being new in any form, pleasedher. Only she was sufficiently wise to distinguish between her oldcondition and her new one. She had not had fame or money before. Nowthey had come. She had not had adulation and affectionate propositionsbefore. Now they had come. Wherefore? She smiled to think that menshould suddenly find her so much more attractive. In the least way itincited her to coolness and indifference. 

"Do look here, " she remarked to Lola. "See what this man says: 'Ifyou will only deign to grant me one half-hour, '" she repeated, with animitation of languor. "The idea. Aren't men silly?"

"He must have lots of money, the way he talks, " observed Lola. "That'swhat they all say, " said Carrie, innocently. 

"Why don't you see him, " suggested Lola, "and hear what he has to say?"

"Indeed I won't, " said Carrie. "I know what he'd say. I don't want tomeet anybody that way. "

Lola looked at her with big, merry eyes. 

"He couldn't hurt you, " she returned. "You might have some fun withhim. "

Carrie shook her head. 

"You're awfully queer, " returned the little, blue-eyed soldier. 

Thus crowded fortune. For this whole week, though her large salary hadnot yet arrived, it was as if the world understood and trusted her. Without money--or the requisite sum, at least--she enjoyed the luxurieswhich money could buy. For her the doors of fine places seemed to openquite without the asking. These palatial chambers, how marvellously theycame to her. The elegant apartments of Mrs. Vance in the Chelsea--thesewere hers. Men sent flowers, love notes, offers of fortune. And stillher dreams ran riot. The one hundred and fifty! the one hundred andfifty! What a door to an Aladdin's cave it seemed to be. Each day, herhead almost turned by developments, her fancies of what her fortune mustbe, with ample money, grew and multiplied. She conceived of delightswhich were not--saw lights of joy that never were on land or sea. Then, at last, after a world of anticipation, came her first installment ofone hundred and fifty dollars. 

It was paid to her in greenbacks--three twenties, six tens, and sixfives. Thus collected it made a very convenient roll. It was accompaniedby a smile and a salutation from the cashier who paid it. 

"Ah, yes, " said the latter, when she applied; "Miss Madenda--one hundredand fifty dollars. Quite a success the show seems to have made. "

"Yes, indeed, " returned Carrie. 

Right after came one of the insignificant members of the company, andshe heard the changed tone of address. 

"How much?" said the same cashier, sharply. One, such as she had onlyrecently been, was waiting for her modest salary. It took her back tothe few weeks in which she had collected--or rather had received--almostwith the air of a domestic, four-fifty per week from a lordly foreman ina shoe factory--a man who, in distributing the envelopes, had the mannerof a prince doling out favours to a servile group of petitioners. Sheknew that out in Chicago this very day the same factory chamber was fullof poor homely-clad girls working in long lines at clattering machines;that at noon they would eat a miserable lunch in a half-hour; thatSaturday they would gather, as they had when she was one of them, andaccept the small pay for work a hundred times harder than she was nowdoing. Oh, it was so easy now! The world was so rosy and bright. Shefelt so thrilled that she must needs walk back to the hotel to think, wondering what she should do. 

It does not take money long to make plain its impotence, providing thedesires are in the realm of affection. With her one hundred and fifty inhand, Carrie could think of nothing particularly to do. In itself, as atangible, apparent thing which she could touch and look upon, it was adiverting thing for a few days, but this soon passed. Her hotel billdid not require its use. Her clothes had for some time been whollysatisfactory. Another day or two and she would receive another hundredand fifty. It began to appear as if this were not so startlinglynecessary to maintain her present state. If she wanted to do anythingbetter or move higher she must have more--a great deal more. 

Now a critic called to get up one of those tinsel interviews which shinewith clever observations, show up the wit of critics, display the follyof celebrities, and divert the public. He liked Carrie, and said so, publicly--adding, however, that she was merely pretty, good-natured, andlucky. This cut like a knife. The "Herald, " getting up an entertainmentfor the benefit of its free ice fund, did her the honour to beg her toappear along with celebrities for nothing. She was visited by a youngauthor, who had a play which he thought she could produce. Alas, shecould not judge. It hurt her to think it. Then she found she must puther money in the bank for safety, and so moving, finally reached theplace where it struck her that the door to life's perfect enjoyment wasnot open. 

Gradually she began to think it was because it was summer. Nothing wasgoing on much save such entertainments as the one in which she was thestar. Fifth Avenue was boarded up where the rich had deserted theirmansions. Madison Avenue was little better. Broadway was full of loafingthespians in search of next season's engagements. The whole city wasquiet and her nights were taken up with her work. Hence the feeling thatthere was little to do. 

"I don't know, " she said to Lola one day, sitting at one of the windowswhich looked down into Broadway, "I get lonely; don't you?"

"No, " said Lola, "not very often. You won't go anywhere. That's what'sthe matter with you. "

"Where can I go?"

"Why, there're lots of places, " returned Lola, who was thinking of herown lightsome tourneys with the gay youths. "You won't go with anybody. "

"I don't want to go with these people who write to me. I know what kindthey are. "

"You oughtn't to be lonely, " said Lola, thinking of Carrie's success. "There're lots would give their ears to be in your shoes. "

Carrie looked out again at the passing crowd. 

"I don't know, " she said. 

Unconsciously her idle hands were beginning to weary. 

Chapter XLV. CURIOUS SHIFTS OF THE POOR

The gloomy Hurstwood, sitting in his cheap hotel, where he had takenrefuge with seventy dollars--the price of his furniture--between him andnothing, saw a hot summer out and a cool fall in, reading. He was notwholly indifferent to the fact that his money was slipping away. Asfifty cents after fifty cents were paid out for a day's lodging hebecame uneasy, and finally took a cheaper room--thirty-five cents aday--to make his money last longer. Frequently he saw notices of Carrie. Her picture was in the "World" once or twice, and an old "Herald" hefound in a chair informed him that she had recently appeared with someothers at a benefit for something or other. He read these things withmingled feelings. Each one seemed to put her farther and farther awayinto a realm which became more imposing as it receded from him. On thebillboards, too, he saw a pretty poster, showing her as the Quaker Maid, demure and dainty. More than once he stopped and looked at these, gazingat the pretty face in a sullen sort of way. His clothes were shabby, andhe presented a marked contrast to all that she now seemed to be. 

Somehow, so long as he knew she was at the Casino, though he had neverany intention of going near her, there was a subconscious comfort forhim--he was not quite alone. The show seemed such a fixture that, after a month or two, he began to take it for granted that it was stillrunning. In September it went on the road and he did not notice it. Whenall but twenty dollars of his money was gone, he moved to a fifteen-centlodging-house in the Bowery, where there was a bare lounging-room filledwith tables and benches as well as some chairs. Here his preference wasto close his eyes and dream of other days, a habit which grew upon him. It was not sleep at first, but a mental hearkening back to scenes andincidents in his Chicago life. As the present became darker, the pastgrew brighter, and all that concerned it stood in relief. 

He was unconscious of just how much this habit had hold of him until oneday he found his lips repeating an old answer he had made to one of hisfriends. They were in Fitzgerald and Moy's. It was as if he stood in thedoor of his elegant little office, comfortably dressed, talking toSagar Morrison about the value of South Chicago real estate in which thelatter was about to invest. 

"How would you like to come in on that with me?" he heard Morrison say. 

"Not me, " he answered, just as he had years before. "I have my handsfull now. "

The movement of his lips aroused him. He wondered whether he had reallyspoken. The next time he noticed anything of the sort he really didtalk. 

"Why don't you jump, you bloody fool?" he was saying. "Jump!"

It was a funny English story he was telling to a company of actors. Evenas his voice recalled him, he was smiling. A crusty old codger, sittingnear by, seemed disturbed; at least, he stared in a most pointed way. Hurstwood straightened up. The humour of the memory fled in an instantand he felt ashamed. For relief, he left his chair and strolled out intothe streets. 

One day, looking down the ad. Columns of the "Evening World, " he sawwhere a new play was at the Casino. Instantly, he came to a mental halt. Carrie had gone! He remembered seeing a poster of her only yesterday, but no doubt it was one left uncovered by the new signs. Curiously, thisfact shook him up. He had almost to admit that somehow he was dependingupon her being in the city. Now she was gone. He wondered how thisimportant fact had skipped him. Goodness knows when she would be backnow. Impelled by a nervous fear, he rose and went into the dingy hall, where he counted his remaining money, unseen. There were but ten dollarsin all. 

He wondered how all these other lodging-house people around himgot along. They didn't seem to do anything. Perhaps theybegged--unquestionably they did. Many was the dime he had given tosuch as they in his day. He had seen other men asking for money on thestreets. Maybe he could get some that way. There was horror in thisthought. 

Sitting in the lodging-house room, he came to his last fifty cents. Hehad saved and counted until his health was affected. His stoutnesshad gone. With it, even the semblance of a fit in his clothes. Now hedecided he must do something, and, walking about, saw another day go by, bringing him down to his last twenty cents--not enough to eat for themorrow. 

Summoning all his courage, he crossed to Broadway and up to the BroadwayCentral hotel. Within a block he halted, undecided. A big, heavy-facedporter was standing at one of the side entrances, looking out. Hurstwoodpurposed to appeal to him. Walking straight up, he was upon him beforehe could turn away. 

"My friend, " he said, recognising even in his plight the man'sinferiority, "is there anything about this hotel that I could get todo?"

The porter stared at him the while he continued to talk. 

"I'm out of work and out of money and I've got to get something, --itdoesn't matter what. I don't care to talk about what I've been, but ifyou'd tell me how to get something to do, I'd be much obliged to you. Itwouldn't matter if it only lasted a few days just now. I've got to havesomething. "

The porter still gazed, trying to look indifferent. Then, seeing thatHurstwood was about to go on, he said:

"I've nothing to do with it. You'll have to ask inside. "

Curiously, this stirred Hurstwood to further effort. 

"I thought you might tell me. "

The fellow shook his head irritably. 

Inside went the ex-manager and straight to an office off the clerk'sdesk. One of the managers of the hotel happened to be there. Hurstwoodlooked him straight in the eye. 

"Could you give me something to do for a few days?" he said. "I'm in aposition where I have to get something at once. "

The comfortable manager looked at him, as much as to say: "Well, Ishould judge so. "

"I came here, " explained Hurstwood, nervously, "because I've been amanager myself in my day. I've had bad luck in a way but I'm not here totell you that. I want something to do, if only for a week. "

The man imagined he saw a feverish gleam in the applicant's eye. 

"What hotel did you manage?" he inquired. 

"It wasn't a hotel, " said Hurstwood. "I was manager of Fitzgerald andMoy's place in Chicago for fifteen years. "

"Is that so?" said the hotel man. "How did you come to get out of that?"

The figure of Hurstwood was rather surprising in contrast to the fact. 

"Well, by foolishness of my own. It isn't anything to talk about now. You could find out if you wanted to. I'm 'broke' now and, if you willbelieve me, I haven't eaten anything to-day. "

The hotel man was slightly interested in this story. He could hardlytell what to do with such a figure, and yet Hurstwood's earnestness madehim wish to do something. 

"Call Olsen, " he said, turning to the clerk. 

In reply to a bell and a disappearing hall-boy, Olsen, the head porter, appeared. 

"Olsen, " said the manager, "is there anything downstairs you could findfor this man to do? I'd like to give him something. "

"I don't know, sir, " said Olsen. "We have about all the help we need. Ithink I could find something, sir, though, if you like. "

"Do. Take him to the kitchen and tell Wilson to give him something toeat. "

"All right, sir, " said Olsen. 

Hurstwood followed. Out of the manager's sight, the head porter's mannerchanged. 

"I don't know what the devil there is to do, " he observed. 

Hurstwood said nothing. To him the big trunk hustler was a subject forprivate contempt. 

"You're to give this man something to eat, " he observed to the cook. 

The latter looked Hurstwood over, and seeing something keen andintellectual in his eyes, said:

"Well, sit down over there. "

Thus was Hurstwood installed in the Broadway Central, but not for long. He was in no shape or mood to do the scrub work that exists about thefoundation of every hotel. Nothing better offering, he was set to aidthe fireman, to work about the basement, to do anything and everythingthat might offer. Porters, cooks, firemen, clerks--all were over him. Moreover his appearance did not please these individuals--his temper wastoo lonely--and they made it disagreeable for him. 

With the stolidity and indifference of despair, however, he endured itall, sleeping in an attic at the roof of the house, eating what the cookgave him, accepting a few dollars a week, which he tried to save. Hisconstitution was in no shape to endure. 

One day the following February he was sent on an errand to a large coalcompany's office. It had been snowing and thawing and the streets weresloppy. He soaked his shoes in his progress and came back feeling dulland weary. All the next day he felt unusually depressed and sat aboutas much as possible, to the irritation of those who admired energy inothers. 

In the afternoon some boxes were to be moved to make room for newculinary supplies. He was ordered to handle a truck. Encountering a bigbox, he could not lift it. 

"What's the matter there?" said the head porter. "Can't you handle it?"

He was straining to lift it, but now he quit. 

"No, " he said, weakly. 

The man looked at him and saw that he was deathly pale. 

"Not sick, are you?" he asked. "I think I am, " returned Hurstwood. 

"Well, you'd better go sit down, then. "

This he did, but soon grew rapidly worse. It seemed all he could do tocrawl to his room, where he remained for a day. 

"That man Wheeler's sick, " reported one of the lackeys to the nightclerk. 

"What's the matter with him?"

"I don't know. He's got a high fever. "

The hotel physician looked at him. 

"Better send him to Bellevue, " he recommended. "He's got pneumonia. "

Accordingly, he was carted away. 

In three weeks the worst was over, but it was nearly the first ofMay before his strength permitted him to be turned out. Then he wasdischarged. 

No more weakly looking object ever strolled out into the spring sunshinethan the once hale, lusty manager. All his corpulency had fled. His facewas thin and pale, his hands white, his body flabby. Clothes and all, he weighed but one hundred and thirty-five pounds. Some old garmentshad been given him--a cheap brown coat and misfit pair of trousers. Alsosome change and advice. He was told to apply to the charities. 

Again he resorted to the Bowery lodging-house, brooding over where tolook. From this it was but a step to beggary. 

"What can a man do?" he said. "I can't starve. "

His first application was in sunny Second Avenue. A well-dressed mancame leisurely strolling toward him out of Stuyvesant Park. Hurstwoodnerved himself and sidled near. 

"Would you mind giving me ten cents?" he said, directly. "I'm in aposition where I must ask some one. "

The man scarcely looked at him, fished in his vest pocket and took out adime. 

"There you are, " he said. 

"Much obliged, " said Hurstwood, softly, but the other paid no moreattention to him. 

Satisfied with his success and yet ashamed of his situation, he decidedthat he would only ask for twenty-five cents more, since that would besufficient. He strolled about sizing up people, but it was long beforejust the right face and situation arrived. When he asked, he wasrefused. Shocked by this result, he took an hour to recover and thenasked again. This time a nickel was given him. By the most watchfuleffort he did get twenty cents more, but it was painful. 

The next day he resorted to the same effort, experiencing a variety ofrebuffs and one or two generous receptions. At last it crossed his mindthat there was a science of faces, and that a man could pick the liberalcountenance if he tried. 

It was no pleasure to him, however, this stopping of passers-by. He sawone man taken up for it and now troubled lest he should be arrested. Nevertheless, he went on, vaguely anticipating that indefinite somethingwhich is always better. 

It was with a sense of satisfaction, then, that he saw announced onemorning the return of the Casino Company, "with Miss Carrie Madenda. "He had thought of her often enough in days past. How successful shewas--how much money she must have! Even now, however, it took a severerun of ill luck to decide him to appeal to her. He was truly hungrybefore he said:

"I'll ask her. She won't refuse me a few dollars. "

Accordingly, he headed for the Casino one afternoon, passing it severaltimes in an effort to locate the stage entrance. Then he sat in BryantPark, a block away, waiting. "She can't refuse to help me a little, " hekept saying to himself. 

Beginning with half-past six, he hovered like a shadow about theThirty-ninth Street entrance, pretending always to be a hurryingpedestrian and yet fearful lest he should miss his object. He wasslightly nervous, too, now that the eventful hour had arrived; but beingweak and hungry, his ability to suffer was modified. At last he saw thatthe actors were beginning to arrive, and his nervous tension increased, until it seemed as if he could not stand much more. 

Once he thought he saw Carrie coming and moved forward, only to see thathe was mistaken. 

"She can't be long, now, " he said to himself, half fearing to encounterher and equally depressed at the thought that she might have gone in byanother way. His stomach was so empty that it ached. 

Individual after individual passed him, nearly all well dressed, almostall indifferent. He saw coaches rolling by, gentlemen passing withladies--the evening's merriment was beginning in this region of theatresand hotels. 

Suddenly a coach rolled up and the driver jumped down to open the door. Before Hurstwood could act, two ladies flounced across the broad walkand disappeared in the stage door. He thought he saw Carrie, but it wasso unexpected, so elegant and far away, he could hardly tell. He waiteda while longer, growing feverish with want, and then seeing that thestage door no longer opened, and that a merry audience was arriving, heconcluded it must have been Carrie and turned away. 

"Lord, " he said, hastening out of the street into which the morefortunate were pouring, "I've got to get something. "

At that hour, when Broadway is wont to assume its most interestingaspect, a peculiar individual invariably took his stand at the cornerof Twenty-sixth Street and Broadway--a spot which is also intersected byFifth Avenue. This was the hour when the theatres were just beginningto receive their patrons. Fire signs announcing the night's amusementsblazed on every hand. Cabs and carriages, their lamps gleaming likeyellow eyes, pattered by. Couples and parties of three and four freelymingled in the common crowd, which poured by in a thick stream, laughingand jesting. On Fifth Avenue were loungers--a few wealthy strollers, a gentleman in evening dress with his lady on his arm, some club-menpassing from one smoking-room to another. Across the way the greathotels showed a hundred gleaming windows, their cafes and billiard-roomsfilled with a comfortable, well-dressed, and pleasure-loving throng. All about was the night, pulsating with the thoughts of pleasure andexhilaration--the curious enthusiasm of a great city bent upon findingjoy in a thousand different ways. 

This unique individual was no less than an ex-soldier turnedreligionist, who, having suffered the whips and privations of ourpeculiar social system, had concluded that his duty to the God which heconceived lay in aiding his fellow-man. The form of aid which he choseto administer was entirely original with himself. It consisted ofsecuring a bed for all such homeless wayfarers as should apply to him atthis particular spot, though he had scarcely the wherewithal to providea comfortable habitation for himself. Taking his place amid thislightsome atmosphere, he would stand, his stocky figure cloaked in agreat cape overcoat, his head protected by a broad slouch hat, awaitingthe applicants who had in various ways learned the nature of hischarity. For a while he would stand alone, gazing like any idler upon anever-fascinating scene. On the evening in question, a policemanpassing saluted him as "captain, " in a friendly way. An urchin who hadfrequently seen him before, stopped to gaze. All others took him fornothing out of the ordinary, save in the matter of dress, and conceivedof him as a stranger whistling and idling for his own amusement. 

As the first half-hour waned, certain characters appeared. Here andthere in the passing crowds one might see, now and then, a loitereredging interestedly near. A slouchy figure crossed the opposite cornerand glanced furtively in his direction. Another came down Fifth Avenueto the corner of Twenty-sixth Street, took a general survey, and hobbledoff again. Two or three noticeable Bowery types edged along the FifthAvenue side of Madison Square, but did not venture over. The soldier, inhis cape overcoat, walked a short line of ten feet at his corner, to andfro, indifferently whistling. 

As nine o'clock approached, some of the hubbub of the earlier hourpassed. The atmosphere of the hotels was not so youthful. The air, too, was colder. On every hand curious figures were moving--watchers andpeepers, without an imaginary circle, which they seemed afraid toenter--a dozen in all. Presently, with the arrival of a keener sense ofcold, one figure came forward. It crossed Broadway from out the shadowof Twenty-sixth Street, and, in a halting, circuitous way, arrived closeto the waiting figure. There was something shamefaced or diffident aboutthe movement, as if the intention were to conceal any idea of stoppinguntil the very last moment. Then suddenly, close to the soldier, camethe halt. 

The captain looked in recognition, but there was no especial greeting. The newcomer nodded slightly and murmured something like one who waitsfor gifts. The other simply motioned to-ward the edge of the walk. 

"Stand over there, " he said. 

By this the spell was broken. Even while the soldier resumed his short, solemn walk, other figures shuffled forward. They did not so muchas greet the leader, but joined the one, sniffling and hitching andscraping their feet. 

"Gold, ain't it?"

"I'm glad winter's over. "

"Looks as though it might rain. "

The motley company had increased to ten. One or two knew each other andconversed. Others stood off a few feet, not wishing to be in the crowdand yet not counted out. They were peevish, crusty, silent, eyingnothing in particular and moving their feet. 

There would have been talking soon, but the soldier gave them no chance. Counting sufficient to begin, he came forward. 

"Beds, eh, all of you?"

There was a general shuffle and murmur of approval. 

"Well, line up here. I'll see what I can do. I haven't a cent myself. "

They fell into a sort of broken, ragged line. One might see, now, someof the chief characteristics by contrast. There was a wooden leg inthe line. Hats were all drooping, a group that would ill become asecond-hand Hester Street basement collection. Trousers were all warpedand frayed at the bottom and coats worn and faded. In the glare of thestore lights, some of the faces looked dry and chalky; others were redwith blotches and puffed in the cheeks and under the eyes; one or twowere rawboned and reminded one of railroad hands. A few spectators camenear, drawn by the seemingly conferring group, then more and more, andquickly there was a pushing, gaping crowd. Some one in the line began totalk. 

"Silence!" exclaimed the captain. "Now, then, gentlemen, these men arewithout beds. They have to have some place to sleep to-night. They can'tlie out in the streets. I need twelve cents to put one of them to bed. Who will give it to me?"

No reply. 

"Well, we'll have to wait here, boys, until some one does. Twelve centsisn't so very much for one man. "

"Here's fifteen, " exclaimed a young man, peering forward with strainedeyes. "It's all I can afford. "

"All right. Now I have fifteen. Step out of the line, " and seizing oneby the shoulder, the captain marched him off a little way and stood himup alone. 

Coming back, he resumed his place and began again. 

"I have three cents left. These men must be put to bed somehow. Thereare"--counting--"one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve men. Nine cents more will put the next man to bed;give him a good, comfortable bed for the night. I go right along andlook after that myself. Who will give me nine cents?"

One of the watchers, this time a middle-aged man, handed him a five-centpiece. 

"Now, I have eight cents. Four more will give this man a bed. Come, gentlemen. We are going very slow this evening. You all have good beds. How about these?"

"Here you are, " remarked a bystander, putting a coin into his hand. 

"That, " said the captain, looking at the coin, "pays for two beds fortwo men and gives me five on the next one. Who will give me seven centsmore?"

"I will, " said a voice. 

Coming down Sixth Avenue this evening, Hurstwood chanced to crosseast through Twenty-sixth Street toward Third Avenue. He was whollydisconsolate in spirit, hungry to what he deemed an almost mortalextent, weary, and defeated. How should he get at Carrie now? It wouldbe eleven before the show was over. If she came in a coach, she would goaway in one. He would need to interrupt under most trying circumstances. Worst of all, he was hungry and weary, and at best a whole day mustintervene, for he had not heart to try again to-night. He had no foodand no bed. 

When he neared Broadway, he noticed the captain's gathering ofwanderers, but thinking it to be the result of a street preacher or somepatent medicine fakir, was about to pass on. However, in crossing thestreet toward Madison Square Park, he noticed the line of men whose bedswere already secured, stretching out from the main body of the crowd. Inthe glare of the neighbouring electric light he recognised a type ofhis own kind--the figures whom he saw about the streets and in thelodging-houses, drifting in mind and body like himself. He wondered whatit could be and turned back. 

There was the captain curtly pleading as before. He heard withastonishment and a sense of relief the oft-repeated words: "These menmust have a bed. " Before him was the line of unfortunates whose bedswere yet to be had, and seeing a newcomer quietly edge up and take aposition at the end of the line, he decided to do likewise. What useto contend? He was weary to-night. It was a simple way out of onedifficulty, at least. To-morrow, maybe, he would do better. 

Back of him, where some of those were whose beds were safe, a relaxedair was apparent. The strain of uncertainty being removed, he heardthem talking with moderate freedom and some leaning toward sociability. Politics, religion, the state of the government, some newspapersensations, and the more notorious facts the world over, foundmouthpieces and auditors there. Cracked and husky voices pronouncedforcibly upon odd matters. Vague and rambling observations were made inreply. 

There were squints, and leers, and some dull, ox-like stares from thosewho were too dull or too weary to converse. 

Standing tells. Hurstwood became more weary waiting. He thought heshould drop soon and shifted restlessly from one foot to the other. At last his turn came. The man ahead had been paid for and gone to theblessed line of success. He was now first, and already the captain wastalking for him. 

"Twelve cents, gentlemen--twelve cents puts this man to bed. He wouldn'tstand here in the cold if he had any place to go. "

Hurstwood swallowed something that rose to his throat. Hunger andweakness had made a coward of him. 

"Here you are, " said a stranger, handing money to the captain. 

Now the latter put a kindly hand on the ex-manager's shoulder. "Line upover there, " he said. 

Once there, Hurstwood breathed easier. He felt as if the world werenot quite so bad with such a good man in it. Others seemed to feel likehimself about this. 

"Captain's a great feller, ain't he?" said the man ahead--a little, woebegone, helpless-looking sort of individual, who looked as though hehad ever been the sport and care of fortune. 

"Yes, " said Hurstwood, indifferently. 

"Huh! there's a lot back there yet, " said a man farther up, leaning outand looking back at the applicants for whom the captain was pleading. 

"Yes. Must be over a hundred to-night, " said another. 

"Look at the guy in the cab, " observed a third. 

A cab had stopped. Some gentleman in evening dress reached out a bill tothe captain, who took it with simple thanks and turned away to his line. There was a general craning of necks as the jewel in the white shirtfront sparkled and the cab moved off. Even the crowd gaped in awe. 

"That fixes up nine men for the night, " said the captain, counting outas many of the line near him. "Line up over there. Now, then, there areonly seven. I need twelve cents. "

Money came slowly. In the course of time the crowd thinned out toa meagre handful. Fifth Avenue, save for an occasional cab or footpassenger, was bare. Broadway was thinly peopled with pedestrians. Onlynow and then a stranger passing noticed the small group, handed out acoin, and went away, unheeding. 

The captain remained stolid and determined. He talked on, very slowly, uttering the fewest words and with a certain assurance, as though hecould not fail. 

"Come; I can't stay out here all night. These men are getting tired andcold. Some one give me four cents. "

There came a time when he said nothing at all. Money was handed him, and for each twelve cents he singled out a man and put him in the otherline. Then he walked up and down as before, looking at the ground. 

The theatres let out. Fire signs disappeared. A clock struck eleven. Another half-hour and he was down to the last two men. 

"Come, now, " he exclaimed to several curious observers; "eighteen centswill fix us all up for the night. Eighteen cents. I have six. Somebodygive me the money. Remember, I have to go over to Brooklyn yet to-night. Before that I have to take these men down and put them to bed. Eighteencents. "

No one responded. He walked to and fro, looking down for severalminutes, occasionally saying softly: "Eighteen cents. " It seemed as ifthis paltry sum would delay the desired culmination longer than all therest had. Hurstwood, buoyed up slightly by the long line of which he wasa part, refrained with an effort from groaning, he was so weak. 

At last a lady in opera cape and rustling skirts came down Fifth Avenue, accompanied by her escort. Hurstwood gazed wearily, reminded by her bothof Carrie in her new world and of the time when he had escorted his ownwife in like manner. 

While he was gazing, she turned and, looking at the remarkable company, sent her escort over. He came, holding a bill in his fingers, allelegant and graceful. 

"Here you are, " he said. 

"Thanks, " said the captain, turning to the two remaining applicants. "Now we have some for to-morrow night, " he added. 

Therewith he lined up the last two and proceeded to the head, countingas he went. 

"One hundred and thirty-seven, " he announced. "Now, boys, line up. Rightdress there. We won't be much longer about this. Steady, now. "

He placed himself at the head and called out "Forward. " Hurstwoodmoved with the line. Across Fifth Avenue, through Madison Square by thewinding paths, east on Twenty-third Street, and down Third Avenue woundthe long, serpentine company. Midnight pedestrians and loiterersstopped and stared as the company passed. Chatting policemen, at variouscorners, stared indifferently or nodded to the leader, whom they hadseen before. On Third Avenue they marched, a seemingly weary way, toEighth Street, where there was a lodginghouse, closed, apparently, forthe night. They were expected, however. 

Outside in the gloom they stood, while the leader parleyed within. Thendoors swung open and they were invited in with a "Steady, now. "

Some one was at the head showing rooms, so that there was no delay forkeys. Toiling up the creaky stairs, Hurstwood looked back and saw thecaptain, watching; the last one of the line being included in his broadsolicitude. Then he gathered his cloak about him and strolled out intothe night. 

"I can't stand much of this, " said Hurstwood, whose legs ached himpainfully, as he sat down upon the miserable bunk in the small, lightless chamber allotted to him. "I've got to eat, or I'll die. "

Chapter XLVI. STIRRING TROUBLED WATERS

Playing in New York one evening on this her return, Carrie was puttingthe finishing touches to her toilet before leaving for the night, whena commotion near the stage door caught her ear. It included a familiarvoice. 

"Never mind, now. I want to see Miss Madenda. "

"You'll have to send in your card. "

"Oh, come off! Here. "

A half-dollar was passed over, and now a knock came at her dressing-roomdoor. Carrie opened it. 

"Well, well!" said Drouet. "I do swear! Why, how are you? I knew thatwas you the moment I saw you. "

Carrie fell back a pace, expecting a most embarrassing conversation. 

"Aren't you going to shake hands with me? Well, you're a dandy! That'sall right, shake hands. "

Carrie put out her hand, smiling, if for nothing more than the man'sexuberant good-nature. Though older, he was but slightly changed. Thesame fine clothes, the same stocky body, the same rosy countenance. 

"That fellow at the door there didn't want to let me in, until I paidhim. I knew it was you, all right. Say, you've got a great show. You doyour part fine. I knew you would. I just happened to be passing tonight and thought I'd drop in for a few minutes. I saw your name on theprogramme, but I didn't remember it until you came on the stage. Thenit struck me all at once. Say, you could have knocked me down with afeather. That's the same name you used out there in Chicago, isn't it?"

"Yes, " answered Carrie, mildly, overwhelmed by the man's assurance. 

"I knew it was, the moment I saw you. Well, how have you been, anyhow?"

"Oh, very well, " said Carrie, lingering in her dressing-room. She wasrather dazed by the assault. "How have you been?"

"Me? Oh, fine. I'm here now. "

"Is that so?" said Carrie. 

"Yes. I've been here for six months. I've got charge of a branch here. "

"How nice!"

"Well, when did you go on the stage, anyhow?" inquired Drouet. 

"About three years ago, " said Carrie. 

"You don't say so! Well, sir, this is the first I've heard of it. I knewyou would, though. I always said you could act--didn't I?"

Carrie smiled. 

"Yes, you did, " she said. 

"Well, you do look great, " he said. "I never saw anybody improve so. You're taller, aren't you?"

"Me? Oh, a little, maybe. "

He gazed at her dress, then at her hair, where a becoming hat was setjauntily, then into her eyes, which she took all occasion to avert. Evidently he expected to restore their old friendship at once andwithout modification. 

"Well, " he said, seeing her gather up her purse, handkerchief, and thelike, preparatory to departing, "I want you to come out to dinner withme; won't you? I've got a friend out here. "

"Oh, I can't, " said Carrie. "Not to-night. I have an early engagementto-morrow. "

"Aw, let the engagement go. Come on. I can get rid of him. I want tohave a good talk with you. "

"No, no, " said Carrie; "I can't. You mustn't ask me any more. I don'tcare for a late dinner. "

"Well, come on and have a talk, then, anyhow. "

"Not to-night, " she said, shaking her head. "We'll have a talk someother time. "

As a result of this, she noticed a shade of thought pass over his face, as if he were beginning to realise that things were changed. Good-naturedictated something better than this for one who had always liked her. 

"You come around to the hotel to-morrow, " she said, as sort of penancefor error. "You can take dinner with me. "

"All right, " said Drouet, brightening. "Where are you stopping?"

"At the Waldorf, " she answered, mentioning the fashionable hostelry thenbut newly erected. 

"What time?"

"Well, come at three, " said Carrie, pleasantly. 

The next day Drouet called, but it was with no especial delight thatCarrie remembered her appointment. However, seeing him, handsome asever, after his kind, and most genially disposed, her doubts as towhether the dinner would be disagreeable were swept away. He talked asvolubly as ever. 

"They put on a lot of lugs here, don't they?" was his first remark. 

"Yes; they do, " said Carrie. 

Genial egotist that he was, he went at once into a detailed account ofhis own career. 

"I'm going to have a business of my own pretty soon, " he observed in oneplace. "I can get backing for two hundred thousand dollars. "

Carrie listened most good-naturedly. 

"Say, " he said, suddenly; "where is Hurstwood now?"

Carrie flushed a little. 

"He's here in New York, I guess, " she said. "I haven't seen him for sometime. "

Drouet mused for a moment. He had not been sure until now that theex-manager was not an influential figure in the background. He imaginednot; but this assurance relieved him. It must be that Carrie had gotrid of him--as well she ought, he thought. "A man always makes a mistakewhen he does anything like that, " he observed. 

"Like what?" said Carrie, unwitting of what was coming. 

"Oh, you know, " and Drouet waved her intelligence, as it were, with hishand. 

"No, I don't, " she answered. "What do you mean?"

"Why that affair in Chicago--the time he left. "

"I don't know what you are talking about, " said Carrie. Could it be hewould refer so rudely to Hurstwood's flight with her?

"Oho!" said Drouet, incredulously. "You knew he took ten thousanddollars with him when he left, didn't you?"

"What!" said Carrie. "You don't mean to say he stole money, do you?"

"Why, " said Drouet, puzzled at her tone, "you knew that, didn't you?"

"Why, no, " said Carrie. "Of course I didn't. "

"Well, that's funny, " said Drouet. "He did, you know. It was in all thepapers. "

"How much did you say he took?" said Carrie. 

"Ten thousand dollars. I heard he sent most of it back afterwards, though. "

Carrie looked vacantly at the richly carpeted floor. A new light wasshining upon all the years since her enforced flight. She remembered nowa hundred things that indicated as much. She also imagined that he tookit on her account. Instead of hatred springing up there was a kind ofsorrow generated. Poor fellow! What a thing to have had hanging over hishead all the time. 

At dinner Drouet, warmed up by eating and drinking and softened in mood, fancied he was winning Carrie to her old-time good-natured regard forhim. He began to imagine it would not be so difficult to enter intoher life again, high as she was. Ah, what a prize! he thought. Howbeautiful, how elegant, how famous! In her theatrical and Waldorfsetting, Carrie was to him the all desirable. 

"Do you remember how nervous you were that night at the Avery?" heasked. 

Carrie smiled to think of it. 

"I never saw anybody do better than you did then, Cad, " he addedruefully, as he leaned an elbow on the table; "I thought you and I weregoing to get along fine those days. "

"You mustn't talk that way, " said Carrie, bringing in the least touch ofcoldness. 

"Won't you let me tell you----"

"No, " she answered, rising. "Besides, it's time I was getting ready forthe theatre. I'll have to leave you. Come, now. " "Oh, stay a minute, "pleaded Drouet. "You've got plenty of time. "

"No, " said Carrie, gently. 

Reluctantly Drouet gave up the bright table and followed. He saw her tothe elevator and, standing there, said:

"When do I see you again?"

"Oh, some time, possibly, " said Carrie. "I'll be here all summer. Good-night!"

The elevator door was open. 

"Good-night!" said Drouet, as she rustled in. 

Then he strolled sadly down the hall, all his old longing revived, because she was now so far off. The merry frou-frou of the place spokeall of her. He thought himself hardly dealt with. Carrie, however, hadother thoughts. 

That night it was that she passed Hurstwood, waiting at the Casino, without observing him. 

The next night, walking to the theatre, she encountered him face toface. He was waiting, more gaunt than ever, determined to see her, ifhe had to send in word. At first she did not recognise the shabby, baggyfigure. He frightened her, edging so close, a seemingly hungry stranger. 

"Carrie, " he half whispered, "can I have a few words with you?"

She turned and recognised him on the instant. If there ever had lurkedany feeling in her heart against him, it deserted her now. Still, sheremembered what Drouet said about his having stolen the money. 

"Why, George, " she said; "what's the matter with you?"

"I've been sick, " he answered. "I've just got out of the hospital. ForGod's sake, let me have a little money, will you?"

"Of course, " said Carrie, her lip trembling in a strong effort tomaintain her composure. "But what's the matter with you, anyhow?"

She was opening her purse, and now pulled out all the bills in it--afive and two twos. 

"I've been sick, I told you, " he said, peevishly, almost resenting herexcessive pity. It came hard to him to receive it from such a source. 

"Here, " she said. "It's all I have with me. "

"All right, " he answered, softly. "I'll give it back to you some day. "

Carrie looked at him, while pedestrians stared at her. She felt thestrain of publicity. So did Hurstwood. 

"Why don't you tell me what's the matter with you?" she asked, hardlyknowing what to do. "Where are you living?"

"Oh, I've got a room down in the Bowery, " he answered. "There's no usetrying to tell you here. I'm all right now. "

He seemed in a way to resent her kindly inquiries--so much better hadfate dealt with her. 

"Better go on in, " he said. "I'm much obliged, but I won't bother youany more. "

She tried to answer, but he turned away and shuffled off toward theeast. 

For days this apparition was a drag on her soul before it began to wearpartially away. Drouet called again, but now he was not even seen byher. His attentions seemed out of place. 

"I'm out, " was her reply to the boy. 

So peculiar, indeed, was her lonely, self-withdrawing temper, that shewas becoming an interesting figure in the public eye--she was so quietand reserved. 

Not long after the management decided to transfer the show to London. Asecond summer season did not seem to promise well here. 

"How would you like to try subduing London?" asked her manager, oneafternoon. 

"It might be just the other way, " said Carrie. 

"I think we'll go in June, " he answered. 

In the hurry of departure, Hurstwood was forgotten. Both he and Drouetwere left to discover that she was gone. The latter called once, andexclaimed at the news. Then he stood in the lobby, chewing the ends ofhis moustache. At last he reached a conclusion--the old days had gonefor good. 

"She isn't so much, " he said; but in his heart of hearts he did notbelieve this. 

Hurstwood shifted by curious means through a long summer and fall. Asmall job as janitor of a dance hall helped him for a month. Begging, sometimes going hungry, sometimes sleeping in the park, carried him overmore days. Resorting to those peculiar charities, several of which, inthe press of hungry search, he accidentally stumbled upon, did the rest. Toward the dead of winter, Carrie came back, appearing on Broadway ina new play; but he was not aware of it. For weeks he wandered about thecity, begging, while the fire sign, announcing her engagement, blazednightly upon the crowded street of amusements. Drouet saw it, but didnot venture in. 

About this time Ames returned to New York. He had made a little successin the West, and now opened a laboratory in Wooster Street. Of course, he encountered Carrie through Mrs. Vance; but there was nothingresponsive between them. He thought she was still united to Hurstwood, until otherwise informed. Not knowing the facts then, he did not professto understand, and refrained from comment. 

With Mrs. Vance, he saw the new play, and expressed himself accordingly. 

"She ought not to be in comedy, " he said. "I think she could do betterthan that. "

One afternoon they met at the Vances' accidentally, and began a veryfriendly conversation. She could hardly tell why the one-time keeninterest in him was no longer with her. Unquestionably, it was becauseat that time he had represented something which she did not have; butthis she did not understand. Success had given her the momentary feelingthat she was now blessed with much of which he would approve. As amatter of fact, her little newspaper fame was nothing at all to him. Hethought she could have done better, by far. 

"You didn't go into comedy-drama, after all?" he said, remembering herinterest in that form of art. 

"No, " she answered; "I haven't, so far. "

He looked at her in such a peculiar way that she realised she hadfailed. It moved her to add: "I want to, though. "

"I should think you would, " he said. "You have the sort of dispositionthat would do well in comedy-drama. "

It surprised her that he should speak of disposition. Was she, then, soclearly in his mind?

"Why?" she asked. 

"Well, " he said, "I should judge you were rather sympathetic in yournature. "

Carrie smiled and coloured slightly. He was so innocently frank withher that she drew nearer in friendship. The old call of the ideal wassounding. 

"I don't know, " she answered, pleased, nevertheless, beyond allconcealment. 

"I saw your play, " he remarked. "It's very good. "

"I'm glad you liked it. "

"Very good, indeed, " he said, "for a comedy. "

This is all that was said at the time, owing to an interruption, butlater they met again. He was sitting in a corner after dinner, staringat the floor, when Carrie came up with another of the guests. Hard workhad given his face the look of one who is weary. It was not for Carrieto know the thing in it which appealed to her. 

"All alone?" she said. 

"I was listening to the music. "

"I'll be back in a moment, " said her companion, who saw nothing in theinventor. 

Now he looked up in her face, for she was standing a moment, while hesat. 

"Isn't that a pathetic strain?" he inquired, listening. 

"Oh, very, " she returned, also catching it, now that her attention wascalled. 

"Sit down, " he added, offering her the chair beside him. 

They listened a few moments in silence, touched by the same feeling, only hers reached her through the heart. Music still charmed her as inthe old days. 

"I don't know what it is about music, " she started to say, moved by theinexplicable longings which surged within her; "but it always makes mefeel as if I wanted something--I----"

"Yes, " he replied; "I know how you feel. "

Suddenly he turned to considering the peculiarity of her disposition, expressing her feelings so frankly. 

"You ought not to be melancholy, " he said. 

He thought a while, and then went off into a seemingly alien observationwhich, however, accorded with their feelings. 

"The world is full of desirable situations, but, unfortunately, we canoccupy but one at a time. It doesn't do us any good to wring our handsover the far-off things. "

The music ceased and he arose, taking a standing position before her, asif to rest himself. 

"Why don't you get into some good, strong comedy-drama?" he said. He waslooking directly at her now, studying her face. Her large, sympatheticeyes and pain-touched mouth appealed to him as proofs of his judgment. 

"Perhaps I shall, " she returned. 

"That's your field, " he added. 

"Do you think so?"

"Yes, " he said; "I do. I don't suppose you're aware of it, but thereis something about your eyes and mouth which fits you for that sort ofwork. "

Carrie thrilled to be taken so seriously. For the moment, lonelinessdeserted her. Here was praise which was keen and analytical. 

"It's in your eyes and mouth, " he went on abstractedly. "I rememberthinking, the first time I saw you, that there was something peculiarabout your mouth. I thought you were about to cry. "

"How odd, " said Carrie, warm with delight. This was what her heartcraved. 

"Then I noticed that that was your natural look, and to-night I saw itagain. There's a shadow about your eyes, too, which gives your face muchthis same character. It's in the depth of them, I think. "

Carrie looked straight into his face, wholly aroused. 

"You probably are not aware of it, " he added. 

She looked away, pleased that he should speak thus, longing to be equalto this feeling written upon her countenance. It unlocked the door toa new desire. She had cause to ponder over this until they metagain--several weeks or more. It showed her she was drifting away fromthe old ideal which had filled her in the dressing-rooms of the Averystage and thereafter, for a long time. Why had she lost it?

"I know why you should be a success, " he said, another time, "if you hada more dramatic part. I've studied it out----"

"What is it?" said Carrie. 

"Well, " he said, as one pleased with a puzzle, "the expression in yourface is one that comes out in different things. You get the same thingin a pathetic song, or any picture which moves you deeply. It's athing the world likes to see, because it's a natural expression of itslonging. "

Carrie gazed without exactly getting the import of what he meant. 

"The world is always struggling to express itself, " he went on. "Mostpeople are not capable of voicing their feelings. They depend uponothers. That is what genius is for. One man expresses their desires forthem in music; another one in poetry; another one in a play. Sometimesnature does it in a face--it makes the face representative of alldesire. That's what has happened in your case. "

He looked at her with so much of the import of the thing in his eyesthat she caught it. At least, she got the idea that her look wassomething which represented the world's longing. She took it to heart asa creditable thing, until he added:

"That puts a burden of duty on you. It so happens that you have thisthing. It is no credit to you--that is, I mean, you might not have hadit. You paid nothing to get it. But now that you have it, you must dosomething with it. "

"What?" asked Carrie. 

"I should say, turn to the dramatic field. You have so much sympathy andsuch a melodious voice. Make them valuable to others. It will make yourpowers endure. "

Carrie did not understand this last. All the rest showed her that hercomedy success was little or nothing. 

"What do you mean?" she asked. 

"Why, just this. You have this quality in your eyes and mouth and inyour nature. You can lose it, you know. If you turn away from it andlive to satisfy yourself alone, it will go fast enough. The lookwill leave your eyes. Your mouth will change. Your power to act willdisappear. You may think they won't, but they will. Nature takes care ofthat. "

He was so interested in forwarding all good causes that he sometimesbecame enthusiastic, giving vent to these preachments. Something inCarrie appealed to him. He wanted to stir her up. 

"I know, " she said, absently, feeling slightly guilty of neglect. 

"If I were you, " he said, "I'd change. "

The effect of this was like roiling helpless waters. Carrie troubledover it in her rocking-chair for days. 

"I don't believe I'll stay in comedy so very much longer, " sheeventually remarked to Lola. 

"Oh, why not?" said the latter. 

"I think, " she said, "I can do better in a serious play. "

"What put that idea in your head?"

"Oh, nothing, " she answered; "I've always thought so. "

Still, she did nothing--grieving. It was a long way to this betterthing--or seemed so--and comfort was about her; hence the inactivity andlonging. 

Chapter XLVII. THE WAY OF THE BEATEN--A HARP IN THE WIND

In the city, at that time, there were a number of charities similar innature to that of the captain's, which Hurstwood now patronised in alike unfortunate way. One was a convent mission-house of the Sisters ofMercy in Fifteenth Street--a row of red brick family dwellings, beforethe door of which hung a plain wooden contribution box, on which waspainted the statement that every noon a meal was given free to all thosewho might apply and ask for aid. This simple announcement was modest inthe extreme, covering, as it did, a charity so broad. Institutions andcharities are so large and so numerous in New York that such things asthis are not often noticed by the more comfortably situated. But to onewhose mind is upon the matter, they grow exceedingly under inspection. Unless one were looking up this matter in particular, he could havestood at Sixth Avenue and Fifteenth Street for days around the noon hourand never have noticed that out of the vast crowd that surged alongthat busy thoroughfare there turned out, every few seconds, someweather-beaten, heavy-footed specimen of humanity, gaunt in countenanceand dilapidated in the matter of clothes. The fact is none the lesstrue, however, and the colder the day the more apparent it became. Space and a lack of culinary room in the mission-house, compelled anarrangement which permitted of only twenty-five or thirty eating at onetime, so that a line had to be formed outside and an orderly entranceeffected. This caused a daily spectacle which, however, had becomeso common by repetition during a number of years that now nothing wasthought of it. The men waited patiently, like cattle, in the coldestweather--waited for several hours before they could be admitted. Noquestions were asked and no service rendered. They ate and went awayagain, some of them returning regularly day after day the winterthrough. 

A big, motherly looking woman invariably stood guard at the door duringthe entire operation and counted the admissible number. The men moved upin solemn order. There was no haste and no eagerness displayed. It wasalmost a dumb procession. In the bitterest weather this line was to befound here. Under an icy wind there was a prodigious slapping of handsand a dancing of feet. Fingers and the features of the face looked as ifseverely nipped by the cold. A study of these men in broad light provedthem to be nearly all of a type. They belonged to the class that sit onthe park benches during the endurable days and sleep upon them duringthe summer nights. They frequent the Bowery and those down-at-the-heelsEast Side streets where poor clothes and shrunken features are notsingled out as curious. They are the men who are in the lodginghousesitting-rooms during bleak and bitter weather and who swarm about thecheaper shelters which only open at six in a number of the lower EastSide streets. Miserable food, ill-timed and greedily eaten, had playedhavoc with bone and muscle. They were all pale, flabby, sunken-eyed, hollow-chested, with eyes that glinted and shone and lips that were asickly red by contrast. Their hair was but half attended to, their earsanaemic in hue, and their shoes broken in leather and run down at heeland toe. They were of the class which simply floats and drifts, everywave of people washing up one, as breakers do driftwood upon a stormyshore. 

For nearly a quarter of a century, in another section of the city, Fleischmann, the baker, had given a loaf of bread to any one who wouldcome for it to the side door of his restaurant at the corner of Broadwayand Tenth Street, at midnight. Every night during twenty years aboutthree hundred men had formed in line and at the appointed time marchedpast the doorway, picked their loaf from a great box placed justoutside, and vanished again into the night. From the beginning to thepresent time there had been little change in the character or number ofthese men. There were two or three figures that had grown familiar tothose who had seen this little procession pass year after year. Twoof them had missed scarcely a night in fifteen years. There were aboutforty, more or less, regular callers. The remainder of the line wasformed of strangers. In times of panic and unusual hardships there wereseldom more than three hundred. In times of prosperity, when little isheard of the unemployed, there were seldom less. The same number, winter and summer, in storm or calm, in good times and bad, held thismelancholy midnight rendezvous at Fleischmann's bread box. 

At both of these two charities, during the severe winter which was nowon, Hurstwood was a frequent visitor. On one occasion it was peculiarlycold, and finding no comfort in begging about the streets, he waiteduntil noon before seeking this free offering to the poor. Already, ateleven o'clock of this morning, several such as he had shambled forwardout of Sixth Avenue, their thin clothes flapping and fluttering in thewind. They leaned against the iron railing which protects the walls ofthe Ninth Regiment Armory, which fronts upon that section of FifteenthStreet, having come early in order to be first in. Having an hour towait, they at first lingered at a respectful distance; but others comingup, they moved closer in order to protect their right of precedence. Tothis collection Hurstwood came up from the west out of Seventh Avenueand stopped close to the door, nearer than all the others. Those whohad been waiting before him, but farther away, now drew near, and by acertain stolidity of demeanour, no words being spoken, indicated thatthey were first. 

Seeing the opposition to his action, he looked sullenly along theline, then moved out, taking his place at the foot. When order had beenrestored, the animal feeling of opposition relaxed. 

"Must be pretty near noon, " ventured one. 

"It is, " said another. "I've been waiting nearly an hour. "

"Gee, but it's cold!"

They peered eagerly at the door, where all must enter. A grocery mandrove up and carried in several baskets of eatables. This started somewords upon grocery men and the cost of food in general. 

"I see meat's gone up, " said one. 

"If there wuz war, it would help this country a lot. "

The line was growing rapidly. Already there were fifty or more, and those at the head, by their demeanour, evidently congratulatedthemselves upon not having so long to wait as those at the foot. Therewas much jerking of heads, and looking down the line. 

"It don't matter how near you get to the front, so long as you're in thefirst twenty-five, " commented one of the first twenty-five. "You all goin together. "

"Humph!" ejaculated Hurstwood, who had been so sturdily displaced. 

"This here Single Tax is the thing, " said another. "There ain't going tobe no order till it comes. "

For the most part there was silence; gaunt men shuffling, glancing, andbeating their arms. 

At last the door opened and the motherly-looking sister appeared. Sheonly looked an order. Slowly the line moved up and, one by one, passedin, until twenty-five were counted. Then she interposed a stout arm, andthe line halted, with six men on the steps. Of these the ex-manager wasone. Waiting thus, some talked, some ejaculated concerning the misery ofit; some brooded, as did Hurstwood. At last he was admitted, and, havingeaten, came away, almost angered because of his pains in getting it. 

At eleven o'clock of another evening, perhaps two weeks later, he wasat the midnight offering of a loaf--waiting patiently. It had beenan unfortunate day with him, but now he took his fate with a touch ofphilosophy. If he could secure no supper, or was hungry late in theevening, here was a place he could come. A few minutes before twelve, a great box of bread was pushed out, and exactly on the hour a portly, round-faced German took position by it, calling "Ready. " The wholeline at once moved forward each taking his loaf in turn and goinghis separate way. On this occasion, the ex-manager ate his as he wentplodding the dark streets in silence to his bed. 

By January he had about concluded that the game was up with him. Lifehad always seemed a precious thing, but now constant want and weakenedvitality had made the charms of earth rather dull and inconspicuous. Several times, when fortune pressed most harshly, he thought he wouldend his troubles; but with a change of weather, or the arrival of aquarter or a dime, his mood would change, and he would wait. Each day hewould find some old paper lying about and look into it, to see if therewas any trace of Carrie, but all summer and fall he had looked in vain. Then he noticed that his eyes were beginning to hurt him, and thisailment rapidly increased until, in the dark chambers of the lodgingshe frequented, he did not attempt to read. Bad and irregular eating wasweakening every function of his body. The one recourse left him was todoze when a place offered and he could get the money to occupy it. 

He was beginning to find, in his wretched clothing and meagre state ofbody, that people took him for a chronic type of bum and beggar. Policehustled him along, restaurant and lodginghouse keepers turned him outpromptly the moment he had his due; pedestrians waved him off. He foundit more and more difficult to get anything from anybody. 

At last he admitted to himself that the game was up. It was after along series of appeals to pedestrians, in which he had been refused andrefused--every one hastening from contact. 

"Give me a little something, will you, mister?" he said to the last one. "For God's sake, do; I'm starving. "

"Aw, get out, " said the man, who happened to be a common type himself. "You're no good. I'll give you nawthin'. "

Hurstwood put his hands, red from cold, down in his pockets. Tears cameinto his eyes. 

"That's right, " he said; "I'm no good now. I was all right. I had money. I'm going to quit this, " and, with death in his heart, he started downtoward the Bowery. People had turned on the gas before and died; whyshouldn't he? He remembered a lodginghouse where there were little, close rooms, with gas-jets in them, almost pre-arranged, he thought, forwhat he wanted to do, which rented for fifteen cents. Then he rememberedthat he had no fifteen cents. 

On the way he met a comfortable-looking gentleman, coming, clean-shaven, out of a fine barber shop. 

"Would you mind giving me a little something?" he asked this man boldly. 

The gentleman looked him over and fished for a dime. Nothing butquarters were in his pocket. 

"Here, " he said, handing him one, to be rid of him. "Be off, now. "

Hurstwood moved on, wondering. The sight of the large, bright coinpleased him a little. He remembered that he was hungry and that he couldget a bed for ten cents. With this, the idea of death passed, for thetime being, out of his mind. It was only when he could get nothing butinsults that death seemed worth while. 

One day, in the middle of the winter, the sharpest spell of the seasonset in. It broke grey and cold in the first day, and on the secondsnowed. Poor luck pursuing him, he had secured but ten cents bynightfall, and this he had spent for food. At evening he found himselfat the Boulevard and Sixty-seventh Street, where he finally turnedhis face Bowery-ward. Especially fatigued because of the wanderingpropensity which had seized him in the morning, he now half dragged hiswet feet, shuffling the soles upon the sidewalk. An old, thin coat wasturned up about his red ears--his cracked derby hat was pulled downuntil it turned them outward. His hands were in his pockets. 

"I'll just go down Broadway, " he said to himself. 

When he reached Forty-second Street, the fire signs were already blazingbrightly. Crowds were hastening to dine. Through bright windows, atevery corner, might be seen gay companies in luxuriant restaurants. There were coaches and crowded cable cars. 

In his weary and hungry state, he should never have come here. Thecontrast was too sharp. Even he was recalled keenly to better things. "What's the use?" he thought. "It's all up with me. I'll quit this. "

People turned to look after him, so uncouth was his shambling figure. Several officers followed him with their eyes, to see that he did notbeg of anybody. 

Once he paused in an aimless, incoherent sort of way and looked throughthe windows of an imposing restaurant, before which blazed a fire sign, and through the large, plate windows of which could be seen the red andgold decorations, the palms, the white napery, and shining glassware, and, above all, the comfortable crowd. Weak as his mind had become, hishunger was sharp enough to show the importance of this. He stopped stockstill, his frayed trousers soaking in the slush, and peered foolishlyin. 

"Eat, " he mumbled. "That's right, eat. Nobody else wants any. "

Then his voice dropped even lower, and his mind half lost the fancy ithad. 

"It's mighty cold, " he said. "Awful cold. "

At Broadway and Thirty-ninth Street was blazing, in incandescent fire, Carrie's name. "Carrie Madenda, " it read, "and the Casino Company. " Allthe wet, snowy sidewalk was bright with this radiated fire. It was sobright that it attracted Hurstwood's gaze. He looked up, and then ata large, gilt-framed posterboard, on which was a fine lithograph ofCarrie, lifesize. 

Hurstwood gazed at it a moment, snuffling and hunching one shoulder, asif something were scratching him. He was so run down, however, that hismind was not exactly clear. 

He approached that entrance and went in. 

"Well?" said the attendant, staring at him. Seeing him pause, he wentover and shoved him. "Get out of here, " he said. 

"I want to see Miss Madenda, " he said. 

"You do, eh?" the other said, almost tickled at the spectacle. "Get outof here, " and he shoved him again. Hurstwood had no strength to resist. 

"I want to see Miss Madenda, " he tried to explain, even as he was beinghustled away. "I'm all right. I----"

The man gave him a last push and closed the door. As he did so, Hurstwood slipped and fell in the snow. It hurt him, and some vaguesense of shame returned. He began to cry and swear foolishly. 

"God damned dog!" he said. "Damned old cur, " wiping the slush from hisworthless coat. "I--I hired such people as you once. "

Now a fierce feeling against Carrie welled up--just one fierce, angrythought before the whole thing slipped out of his mind. 

"She owes me something to eat, " he said. "She owes it to me. "

Hopelessly he turned back into Broadway again and slopped onward andaway, begging, crying, losing track of his thoughts, one after another, as a mind decayed and disjointed is wont to do. 

It was truly a wintry evening, a few days later, when his one distinctmental decision was reached. Already, at four o'clock, the sombre hue ofnight was thickening the air. A heavy snow was falling--a fine picking, whipping snow, borne forward by a swift wind in long, thin lines. Thestreets were bedded with it--six inches of cold, soft carpet, churned toa dirty brown by the crush of teams and the feet of men. Along Broadwaymen picked their way in ulsters and umbrellas. Along the Bowery, menslouched through it with collars and hats pulled over their ears. Inthe former thoroughfare businessmen and travellers were making forcomfortable hotels. In the latter, crowds on cold errands shiftedpast dingy stores, in the deep recesses of which lights were alreadygleaming. There were early lights in the cable cars, whose usual clatterwas reduced by the mantle about the wheels. The whole city was muffledby this fast-thickening mantle. 

In her comfortable chambers at the Waldorf, Carrie was reading at thistime "Pere Goriot, " which Ames had recommended to her. It was so strong, and Ames's mere recommendation had so aroused her interest, that shecaught nearly the full sympathetic significance of it. For the firsttime, it was being borne in upon her how silly and worthless had beenher earlier reading, as a whole. Becoming wearied, however, she yawnedand came to the window, looking out upon the old winding procession ofcarriages rolling up Fifth Avenue. 

"Isn't it bad?" she observed to Lola. 

"Terrible!" said that little lady, joining her. "I hope it snows enoughto go sleigh riding. "

"Oh, dear, " said Carrie, with whom the sufferings of Father Goriot werestill keen. "That's all you think of. Aren't you sorry for the peoplewho haven't anything to-night?"

"Of course I am, " said Lola; "but what can I do? I haven't anything. "

Carrie smiled. 

"You wouldn't care, if you had, " she returned. 

"I would, too, " said Lola. "But people never gave me anything when I washard up. "

"Isn't it just awful?" said Carrie, studying the winter's storm. 

"Look at that man over there, " laughed Lola, who had caught sight ofsome one falling down. "How sheepish men look when they fall, don'tthey?"

"We'll have to take a coach to-night, " answered Carrie absently. 

In the lobby of the Imperial, Mr. Charles Drouet was just arriving, shaking the snow from a very handsome ulster. Bad weather had driven himhome early and stirred his desire for those pleasures which shut out thesnow and gloom of life. A good dinner, the company of a young woman, andan evening at the theatre were the chief things for him. 

"Why, hello, Harry!" he said, addressing a lounger in one of thecomfortable lobby chairs. "How are you?"

"Oh, about six and six, " said the other. "Rotten weather, isn't it?"

"Well, I should say, " said the other. "I've been just sitting herethinking where I'd go to-night. "

"Come along with me, " said Drouet. "I can introduce you to somethingdead swell. "

"Who is it?" said the other. 

"Oh, a couple of girls over here in Fortieth Street. We could have adandy time. I was just looking for you. "

"Supposing you get 'em and take 'em out to dinner?"

"Sure, " said Drouet. "Wait'll I go upstairs and change my clothes. "

"Well, I'll be in the barber shop, " said the other. "I want to get ashave. "

"All right, " said Drouet, creaking off in his good shoes toward theelevator. The old butterfly was as light on the wing as ever. 

On an incoming vestibuled Pullman, speeding at forty miles an hourthrough the snow of the evening, were three others, all related. 

"First call for dinner in the dining-car, " a Pullman servitor wasannouncing, as he hastened through the aisle in snow-white apron andjacket. 

"I don't believe I want to play any more, " said the youngest, ablack-haired beauty, turned supercilious by fortune, as she pushed aeuchre hand away from her. 

"Shall we go into dinner?" inquired her husband, who was all that fineraiment can make. 

"Oh, not yet, " she answered. "I don't want to play any more, though. "

"Jessica, " said her mother, who was also a study in what good clothingcan do for age, "push that pin down in your tie--it's coming up. "

Jessica obeyed, incidentally touching at her lovely hair and looking ata little jewel-faced watch. Her husband studied her, for beauty, evencold, is fascinating from one point of view. 

"Well, we won't have much more of this weather, " he said. "It only takestwo weeks to get to Rome. "

Mrs. Hurstwood nestled comfortably in her corner and smiled. It was sonice to be the mother-in-law of a rich young man--one whose financialstate had borne her personal inspection. 

"Do you suppose the boat will sail promptly?" asked Jessica, "if itkeeps up like this?"

"Oh, yes, " answered her husband. "This won't make any difference. "

Passing down the aisle came a very fair-haired banker's son, also ofChicago, who had long eyed this supercilious beauty. Even now he did nothesitate to glance at her, and she was conscious of it. With a speciallyconjured show of indifference, she turned her pretty face wholly away. It was not wifely modesty at all. By so much was her pride satisfied. 

At this moment Hurstwood stood before a dirty four story building in aside street quite near the Bowery, whose one-time coat of buff had beenchanged by soot and rain. He mingled with a crowd of men--a crowd whichhad been, and was still, gathering by degrees. 

It began with the approach of two or three, who hung about the closedwooden doors and beat their feet to keep them warm. They had on fadedderby hats with dents in them. Their misfit coats were heavy with meltedsnow and turned up at the collars. Their trousers were mere bags, frayedat the bottom and wobbling over big, soppy shoes, torn at the sidesand worn almost to shreds. They made no effort to go in, but shiftedruefully about, digging their hands deep in their pockets and leeringat the crowd and the increasing lamps. With the minutes, increased thenumber. There were old men with grizzled beards and sunken eyes, menwho were comparatively young but shrunken by diseases, men who weremiddle-aged. None were fat. There was a face in the thick of thecollection which was as white as drained veal. There was another red asbrick. Some came with thin, rounded shoulders, others with wooden legs, still others with frames so lean that clothes only flapped about them. There were great ears, swollen noses, thick lips, and, above all, red, blood-shot eyes. Not a normal, healthy face in the whole mass; not astraight figure; not a straightforward, steady glance. 

In the drive of the wind and sleet they pushed in on one another. Therewere wrists, unprotected by coat or pocket, which were red with cold. There were ears, half covered by every conceivable semblance of a hat, which still looked stiff and bitten. In the snow they shifted, now onefoot, now another, almost rocking in unison. 

With the growth of the crowd about the door came a murmur. It was notconversation, but a running comment directed at any one in general. Itcontained oaths and slang phrases. 

"By damn, I wish they'd hurry up. "

"Look at the copper watchin'. "

"Maybe it ain't winter, nuther!"

"I wisht I was in Sing Sing. "

Now a sharper lash of wind cut down and they huddled closer. It was anedging, shifting, pushing throng. There was no anger, no pleading, nothreatening words. It was all sullen endurance, unlightened by eitherwit or good fellowship. 

A carriage went jingling by with some reclining figure in it. One of themen nearest the door saw it. 

"Look at the bloke ridin'. "

"He ain't so cold. "

"Eh, eh, eh!" yelled another, the carriage having long since passed outof hearing. 

Little by little the night crept on. Along the walk a crowd turnedout on its way home. Men and shop-girls went by with quick steps. Thecross-town cars began to be crowded. The gas lamps were blazing, andevery window bloomed ruddy with a steady flame. Still the crowd hungabout the door, unwavering. 

"Ain't they ever goin' to open up?" queried a hoarse voice, suggestively. 

This seemed to renew the general interest in the closed door, and manygazed in that direction. They looked at it as dumb brutes look, as dogspaw and whine and study the knob. They shifted and blinked and muttered, now a curse, now a comment. Still they waited and still the snow whirledand cut them with biting flakes. On the old hats and peaked shoulders itwas piling. It gathered in little heaps and curves and no one brushedit off. In the centre of the crowd the warmth and steam melted it, andwater trickled off hat rims and down noses, which the owners couldnot reach to scratch. On the outer rim the piles remained unmelted. Hurstwood, who could not get in the centre, stood with head lowered tothe weather and bent his form. 

A light appeared through the transom overhead. It sent a thrill ofpossibility through the watchers. There was a murmur of recognition. Atlast the bars grated inside and the crowd pricked up its ears. Footstepsshuffled within and it murmured again. Some one called: "Slow up there, now, " and then the door opened. It was push and jam for a minute, withgrim, beast silence to prove its quality, and then it melted inward, like logs floating, and disappeared. There were wet hats and wetshoulders, a cold, shrunken, disgruntled mass, pouring in between bleakwalls. It was just six o'clock and there was supper in every hurryingpedestrian's face. And yet no supper was provided here--nothing butbeds. 

Hurstwood laid down his fifteen cents and crept off with weary steps tohis allotted room. It was a dingy affair--wooden, dusty, hard. A smallgas-jet furnished sufficient light for so rueful a corner. 

"Hm!" he said, clearing his throat and locking the door. 

Now he began leisurely to take off his clothes, but stopped first withhis coat, and tucked it along the crack under the door. His vest hearranged in the same place. His old wet, cracked hat he laid softly uponthe table. Then he pulled off his shoes and lay down. 

It seemed as if he thought a while, for now he arose and turned the gasout, standing calmly in the blackness, hidden from view. After a fewmoments, in which he reviewed nothing, but merely hesitated, he turnedthe gas on again, but applied no match. Even then he stood there, hiddenwholly in that kindness which is night, while the uprising fumes filledthe room. When the odour reached his nostrils, he quit his attitude andfumbled for the bed. "What's the use?" he said, weakly, as he stretchedhimself to rest. 

And now Carrie had attained that which in the beginning seemed life'sobject, or, at least, such fraction of it as human beings ever attain oftheir original desires. She could look about on her gowns and carriage, her furniture and bank account. Friends there were, as the world takesit--those who would bow and smile in acknowledgment of her success. Forthese she had once craved. Applause there was, and publicity--once faroff, essential things, but now grown trivial and indifferent. Beauty also--her type of loveliness--and yet she was lonely. In herrocking-chair she sat, when not otherwise engaged--singing and dreaming. 

Thus in life there is ever the intellectual and the emotionalnature--the mind that reasons, and the mind that feels. Of one comethe men of action--generals and statesmen; of the other, the poets anddreamers--artists all. 

As harps in the wind, the latter respond to every breath of fancy, voicing in their moods all the ebb and flow of the ideal. 

Man has not yet comprehended the dreamer any more than he has theideal. For him the laws and morals of the world are unduly severe. Ever hearkening to the sound of beauty, straining for the flash of itsdistant wings, he watches to follow, wearying his feet in travelling. Sowatched Carrie, so followed, rocking and singing. 

And it must be remembered that reason had little part in this. Chicagodawning, she saw the city offering more of loveliness than she had everknown, and instinctively, by force of her moods alone, clung to it. In fine raiment and elegant surroundings, men seemed to be contented. Hence, she drew near these things. Chicago, New York; Drouet, Hurstwood;the world of fashion and the world of stage--these were but incidents. Not them, but that which they represented, she longed for. Time provedthe representation false. 

Oh, the tangle of human life! How dimly as yet we see. Here was Carrie, in the beginning poor, unsophisticated, emotional; responding withdesire to everything most lovely in life, yet finding herself turned asby a wall. Laws to say: "Be allured, if you will, by everything lovely, but draw not nigh unless by righteousness. " Convention to say: "Youshall not better your situation save by honest labour. " If honest labourbe unremunerative and difficult to endure; if it be the long, long roadwhich never reaches beauty, but wearies the feet and the heart; if thedrag to follow beauty be such that one abandons the admired way, takingrather the despised path leading to her dreams quickly, who shall castthe first stone? Not evil, but longing for that which is better, moreoften directs the steps of the erring. Not evil, but goodness more oftenallures the feeling mind unused to reason. 

Amid the tinsel and shine of her state walked Carrie, unhappy. As whenDrouet took her, she had thought: "Now I am lifted into that which isbest"; as when Hurstwood seemingly offered her the better way: "Now amI happy. " But since the world goes its way past all who will not partakeof its folly, she now found herself alone. Her purse was open to himwhose need was greatest. In her walks on Broadway, she no longer thoughtof the elegance of the creatures who passed her. Had they more of thatpeace and beauty which glimmered afar off, then were they to be envied. 

Drouet abandoned his claim and was seen no more. Of Hurstwood's deathshe was not even aware. A slow, black boat setting out from the pier atTwenty-seventh Street upon its weekly errand bore, with many others, hisnameless body to the Potter's Field. 

Thus passed all that was of interest concerning these twain in theirrelation to her. Their influence upon her life is explicable alone bythe nature of her longings. Time was when both represented for herall that was most potent in earthly success. They were the personalrepresentatives of a state most blessed to attain--the titledambassadors of comfort and peace, aglow with their credentials. It isbut natural that when the world which they represented no longer alluredher, its ambassadors should be discredited. Even had Hurstwood returnedin his original beauty and glory, he could not now have allured her. She had learned that in his world, as in her own present state, was nothappiness. 

Sitting alone, she was now an illustration of the devious ways by whichone who feels, rather than reasons, may be led in the pursuit of beauty. Though often disillusioned, she was still waiting for that halcyon daywhen she would be led forth among dreams become real. Ames had pointedout a farther step, but on and on beyond that, if accomplished, wouldlie others for her. It was forever to be the pursuit of that radiance ofdelight which tints the distant hilltops of the world. 

Oh, Carrie, Carrie! Oh, blind strivings of the human heart! Onwardonward, it saith, and where beauty leads, there it follows. Whether itbe the tinkle of a lone sheep bell o'er some quiet landscape, or theglimmer of beauty in sylvan places, or the show of soul in some passingeye, the heart knows and makes answer, following. It is when the feetweary and hope seems vain that the heartaches and the longings arise. Know, then, that for you is neither surfeit nor content. In yourrocking-chair, by your window dreaming, shall you long, alone. In yourrocking-chair, by your window, shall you dream such happiness as you maynever feel.