Sister Carrie 9 страница

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after all, was Drouet? What was she? At her window, she thought it

over, rocking to and fro, and gazing out across the lamp-lit park

toward the lamp-lit houses on Warren and Ashland avenues. She was too

wrought up 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 in Columbia City, now the mansion upon the Shore Drive,

now the fine dress of some lady, now the elegance of some scene. She

was sad beyond measure, and yet uncertain, wishing, fancying. Finally,

it seemed as if all her state was one of loneliness and forsakenness,

and she could scarce refrain from trembling at the lip. She hummed and

hummed as the moments went by, sitting in the shadow by the window, and

was therein as happy, though she did not perceive it, as she ever would

be.

While Carrie was still in this frame of mind, the house-servant brought

up the intelligence that Mr. Hurstwood was in the parlor asking to see

Mr. 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 quite

disturbed for the moment as to her appearance, but soon satisfied

herself by the aid of the mirror, and went below.

Hurstwood was in his best form, as usual. He hadn't heard that Drouet

was out of town. He was but slightly affected by the intelligence, and

devoted himself to the more general topics which would interest Carrie.

It was surprising--the ease with which he conducted a conversation. He

was like every man who has had the advantage of practice and knows he

has sympathy. He knew that Carrie listened to him pleasurably, and,

without the least effort, he fell into a train of observation which

absorbed her fancy. He drew up his chair and modulated his voice to

such a degree that what he said seemed wholly confidential. He

confined himself almost exclusively to his observation of men and

pleasures. He had been here and there, he had seen this and that.

Somehow he made Carrie wish to see similar things, and all the while

kept her aware of himself. She could not shut out the consciousness of

his individuality and presence for a moment. He would raise his eyes

slowly in smiling emphasis of something, and she was fixed by their

magnetism. He would draw out, with the easiest grace, her approval.

Once he touched her hand for emphasis and she only smiled. He seemed

to radiate an atmosphere which suffused her being. He was never dull

for a minute, and seemed to make her clever. At least, she brightened

under his influence until all her best side was exhibited. She felt

that she was more clever with him than 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

between them, both when Drouet was present and when he was absent, that

Carrie could not speak of it without feeling a sense of difficulty.

She was no talker. She could never arrange her thoughts in fluent

order. It was always a matter of feeling with her, strong and deep.

Each time there had been no sentence of importance which she could

relate, and as for the glances and sensations, what woman would reveal

them? Such things had never been between her and Drouet. As a matter

of fact, they could never be. She had been dominated by distress and

the enthusiastic forces of relief which Drouet represented at an

opportune moment when she yielded to him. Now she was persuaded by

secret current feelings which Drouet had never understood. Hurstwood's

glance was as effective as the spoken words of a lover, and more. They

called for no immediate decision, and could not be answered.

People in general attach too much importance to words. They are under

the illusion that talking effects great results. As a matter of fact,

words are, as a rule, the shallowest portion of all the argument. They

but dimly represent the great surging feelings and desires which lie

behind. When the distraction of the tongue is removed, the heart

listens.

In this conversation she heard, instead of his words, the voices of the

things which he represented. How suave was the counsel of his

appearance! How feelingly did his superior state speak for itself!

The growing desire he felt for her lay upon her spirit as a gentle

hand. She did not need to tremble at all, because it was invisible;

she did not need to worry over what other people would say--what she

herself would say--because it had no tangibility. She was being

pleaded with, persuaded, led into denying old rights and assuming new

ones, and yet there were no words to prove it. Such conversation as

was indulged in held the same relationship to the actual mental

enactments of the twain that the low music of the orchestra does to the

dramatic incident which it 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

they beautiful? "

" 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

assumed that he had struck a deep chord. Now was a slight chance to

say a word in his own behalf. He leaned over quietly and continued his

steady gaze. He felt the critical character of the period. She

endeavored to stir, but it was useless. The whole strength of a man's

nature was working. He had good cause to urge him on. He looked and

looked, and the longer the situation lasted the more difficult it

became. The little shop-girl was getting into deep water. She was

letting her few supports float away from 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 over

and 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

the interview, but he drifted off into a pleasant field of thought with

the readiest grace. Not long after he rose to go, and she felt that he

was in power. " You mustn't feel bad, " he said, kindly; " things will

straighten 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 way

that 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 and

ascended into her room. She undid her broad lace collar before the

mirror and unfastened her pretty alligator belt which she had recently

bought.

" I'm getting terrible, " she said, honestly affected by a feeling of

trouble and shame. " I don't seem to do anything right. "

She unloosed her hair after a time, and let it hang in loose brown

waves. 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 I

know. "

The aroused manager whistled merrily for a good four miles to t his

office an 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 Hurstwood

in the Ogden Place parlor before he again put in his appearance. He

had been thinking almost uninterruptedly of her. Her leniency had, in a

way, inflamed his regard. He felt that he must succeed with her, and

that speedily.

The reason for his interest, not to say fascination, was deeper than

mere desire. It was a flowering out of feelings which had been

withering in dry and almost barren soil for many years. It is probable

that Carrie represented 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 erroneous was his original judgment. Whenever he thought of it, he

told himself that, 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 his respect for the sex. He maintained a cynical

attitude, well grounded on numerous experiences. Such women as he had

known were of nearly one type, selfish, ignorant, flashy. The wives of

his friends were not inspiring to look upon. His own wife had

developed a cold, commonplace nature which to him was anything but

pleasing. What he knew of that under-world where grovel the beat-men

of society (and he knew a great deal) had hardened his nature. He

looked upon most women with suspicion--a single eye to the utility of

beauty and dress. He followed them with a keen, suggestive glance. At

the same time, he was not so dull but that a good woman commanded his

respect. Personally, he did not attempt to analyze the marvel of a

saintly woman. He would take off his hat, and would silence the light-

tongued and the vicious in her presence--much as the Irish keeper of a

Bowery hall will humble himself before a Sister of Mercy, and pay toll

to charity with a willing and reverent hand. But he would not think

much upon the question of why he did so.

A man in his situation who comes, after a long round of worthless or

hardening experiences, upon a young, unsophisticated, innocent soul, is

apt either to hold aloof, out of a sense of his own remoteness, or to

draw near and become fascinated and elated by his discovery. It is

only by a roundabout process that such men ever do draw near such a

girl. They have no method, no understanding of how to ingratiate

themselves in youthful favor, save when they find virtue in the toils.

If, unfortunately, the fly has got caught in the net, the spider can

come forth and talk business upon its own terms. So when maidenhood

has wandered into the moil of the city, when it is brought within the

circle of 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 of

fine clothes and pretty features. He entered, expecting to indulge in

an evening of lightsome frolic, and then lose track of the newcomer

forever. Instead he found a woman whose youth and beauty attracted

him. In the mild light of Carrie's eye was nothing of the calculation

of the mistress. In the diffident manner was nothing of the art of the

courtesan. He saw at once that a mistake had been made, that some

difficult conditions had pushed this troubled creature into his

presence, and his interest was enlisted. Here sympathy sprang to the

rescue, but it was not unmixed with selfishness. He wanted to win

Carrie because he thought her fate mingled with his was better than if

it were united with Drouet's. He envied the drummer his conquest as he

had never envied 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, the

light of the country still in her eye. Here was neither guile nor

rapacity. There were slight inherited traits of both in her, but they

were rudimentary. She was too full of wonder and desire to be greedy.

She still looked about her upon the great maze of the city without

understanding. Hurstwood felt the bloom and the youth. He picked her

as he would the fresh fruit of a tree. He felt as fresh in her

presence as one who is taken out of the flash of summer to the first

cool breath of spring.

Carrie, left alone since the scene in question, and having no one with

whom to counsel, had at first wandered from one strange mental

conclusion to another, until at last, tired out, she gave it up. She

owed something to Drouet, she thought. It did not seem more than

yesterday that he had aided her when she was worried and distressed.

She had the kindliest feelings for him in every way. She gave him

credit for his good looks, his generous feelings, and even, in fact,

failed to recollect his egotism when he was absent; but she could not

feel any binding 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 enduring

relationships in his own lightsome manner and unstable fancy. He went

merrily on, assured that he was alluring all, that affection followed

tenderly in his wake, that things would endure unchangingly for his

pleasure. When he missed some old face, or found some door finally

shut to 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 concerning

Carrie. He had no definite plans regarding her, but he was determined

to make her confess an affection for him. He thought he saw in her

drooping eye, her unstable glance, her wavering manner, the symptoms of

a budding passion. He wanted to stand near her and make her lay her

hand in his--he wanted to find out what her next step would be--what

the next sign of feeling for him would be. Such anxiety and enthusiasm

had not affected him for years. He was a youth again in feeling--a

cavalier in action.

In his position opportunity for taking his evenings out was excellent.

He was a most faithful worker in general, and a man who commanded the

confidence of his employers in so far as the distribution of his time

was concerned. He could take such hours off as he chose, for it was

well known that he fulfilled his managerial duties successfully,

whatever time he might take. His grace, tact, and ornate appearance

gave the place an air which was most essential, while at the same time

his long experience 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 barely notice the change. He gave the place the atmosphere to

which they were used. Consequently, he arranged his hours very much to

suit himself, taking now an afternoon, now an evening, but invariably

returning between eleven and twelve to witness the last hour or two of

the day's business and look after the closing details.

" You see that things are safe and all the employees are out when you go

home, George, " Moy had once remarked to him, and he never once, in all

the period of his long service, neglected to do this. Neither of the

owners had for years been in the resort after five in the afternoon,

and yet their manager as faithfully fulfilled this request as if they

had been there regularly to observe.

On this Friday afternoon, scarcely two days after his previous visit,

he made up his mind to see Carrie. He could not stay away longer.

" Evans, " he said, addressing the head barkeeper, " if any one calls, I

will be back between four and five. "

He hurried to Madison Street and boarded a horse-car, which carried him

to Ogden Place in half an hour.

Carrie had thought of going for a walk, and had put on a light gray

woolen dress with a jaunty double-breasted jacket. She had out her hat

and gloves, and was fastening a white lace tie about her throat when

the housemaid brought up the information that Mr. Hurstwood wished to

see her.

She started slightly at the announcement, but told the girl to say that

she would come down in a moment, and proceeded to hasten her dressing.

Carrie could not have told herself at this moment whether she was glad

or sorry that the impressive manager was awaiting her presence. She

was slightly flurried and tingling in the cheeks, but it was more

nervousness than either fear or favor. She did not try to conjecture

what the drift of the conversation would be. She only felt that she

must be 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 by

the thorough consciousness of his mission. He felt that he must make a

strong play on this occasion, but now that the hour was come, and he

heard Carrie's feet upon the stair, his nerve failed him. He sank a

little in determination, for he was not so sure, after all, what her

opinion might be.

When she entered the room, however, her appearance gave him courage.

She looked 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 to

come out this afternoon, it was so pleasant. "

" Yes, " said Carrie, halting before him, " I was just preparing to go for

a walk myself. "

" Oh, were you? " he said. " Supposing, then, you get your hat and we

both go? "

They crossed the park and went west along Washington Boulevard,

beautiful with its broad macadamized road, and large frame houses set

back from the sidewalks. It was a street where many of the more

prosperous residents of the West Side lived, and Hurstwood could not

help feeling nervous over the publicity of it. They had gone but a few

blocks when a livery stable sign in one of the side streets solved the

difficulty 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

part he intended showing her was much farther out on this same West

Side, where there was scarcely a house. It connected Douglas Park with

Washington or South Park, and was nothing more than a neatly MADE road,

running due south for some five miles over an open, grassy prairie, and

then due east over the same kind of prairie for the same distance.

There was not a house to be encountered anywhere along the larger part

of the route, and any conversation would be pleasantly free of

interruption.

At the stable he picked a gentle horse, and they were soon out of range

of 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, "

he added, encouragingly.

He had been looking for some time for a break in the conversation when

he could give it a serious turn. Once or twice he had held his peace,

hoping that in silence her thoughts would take the color of his own,

but she had lightly continued the subject. Presently, however, his

silence controlled the situation. The drift of his thoughts began to

tell. He gazed fixedly at nothing in particular, as if he were

thinking of 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 years

since I have known you? "

" Have you? " she said, with assumed airiness, but still excited by the

conviction which the tone of his voice carried.

" I was going to tell you the other evening, " he added, " but somehow the

opportunity slipped away. "

Carrie was listening without attempting to reply. She could think of

nothing worth while to say. Despite all the ideas concerning right

which had troubled her vaguely since she had last seen him, she was now

influenced again strongly in his favor.

" I came out here to-day, " he went on, solemnly, " to tell you just how I

feel--to see if you wouldn't listen to me. "

Hurstwood was something of a romanticist after his kind. He was

capable of strong feelings--often poetic ones--and under a stress of

desire, such as the present, he waxed eloquent. That is, his feelings

and his voice were colored with that seeming repression and pathos

which is the essence of eloquence.

" You know, " he said, putting his hand on her arm, and keeping a strange

silence while he formulated words, " that I love you? " Carrie did not

stir at the words. She was bound up completely in the man's

atmosphere. He would have churchlike silence in order to express his

feelings, and she kept it. She did not move her eyes from the flat,

open scene before her. 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 feeble

thought that something ought to be said. He paid no attention to them

whatever.

" Carrie, " he said, using her first name with sympathetic familiarity,

" I want you to love me. You don't know how much I need some one to

waste a little affection on me. I am practically alone. There is

nothing in my life that is pleasant or delightful. It's all work and

worry with people who are nothing to me. "

As he said this, Hurstwood really imagined that his state was pitiful.

He had the ability to get off at a distance and view himself

objectively--of seeing what he wanted to see in the things which made

up his existence. Now, as he spoke, his voice trembled with that

peculiar vibration which is the result of tensity. It went ringing

home to his companion's heart.

" Why, I should think, " she said, turning upon him large eyes which were

full of sympathy and feeling, " that you would be very happy. You know

so much of the world. "

" That is it, " he said, his voice dropping to a soft minor, " I know too

much of the world. "

It was an important thing to her to hear one so well-positioned and

powerful speaking in this manner. She could not help feeling the

strangeness 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, and

the city, with all its mystery, taken its place? Here was this greatest

mystery, the man of money and affairs sitting beside her, appealing to

her. Behold, he had ease and comfort, his strength was great, his

position high, his clothing rich, and yet he was appealing to her. She

could formulate no thought which would be just and right. She troubled

herself no more upon the matter. She only basked in the warmth of his

feeling, which was as a grateful blaze to one who is cold. Hurstwood

glowed with his own intensity, and the heat of his passion was already

melting the wax of his companion's scruples.

" You think, " he said, " I am happy; that I ought not to complain? If you

were 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 show

and indifference, if there was not one person in all those you knew to

whom you could appeal for sympathy or talk to with pleasure, perhaps

you would be unhappy too.

He was striking a chord now which found sympathetic response in her own

situation. She knew what it was to meet with people who were

indifferent, to walk alone amid so many who cared absolutely nothing

about you. Had not she? Was not she at this very moment quite alone?

Who was 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. If

I had you to go to; you for a companion. As it is, I simply move about

from place to place without any satisfaction. Time hangs heavily on my

hands. Before you came I did nothing but idle and drift into anything

that 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

grow in Carrie's mind. She truly pitied this sad, lonely figure. To

think that all his fine state should be so barren for want of her; that

he needed to make such an appeal when she herself was lonely and

without anchor. Surely, this was too bad.

" I am not very bad, " he said, apologetically, as if he owed it to her

to explain on this score. " You think, probably, that I roam around,

and get into all sorts of evil? I have been rather reckless, but I

could easily come out of that. I need you to draw me back, if my life

ever amounts to anything. "

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