Sister Carrie 32 страница

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" 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 clothes

calling for instant purchase, she soon found excuse in Hurstwood's

lassitude. He said less and drooped more than ever.

As rent day approached, an idea grew in him. It was fostered by the

demands of creditors and the impossibility of holding up many more.

Twenty-eight dollars was too much for rent. " It's hard on her, " he

thought. " 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't

need four rooms. "

Her countenance, had he been scrutinizing her, would have exhibited the

disturbance she felt at this evidence of his determination to stay by

her. 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

to move? To think of being in two rooms with him! She resolved to spend

her money for clothes quickly, before something terrible happened.

That very day 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 her

expenditures--enough for this and her board beside. Her enlarged

salary would not begin for ten days yet--would not reach her for

seventeen. She paid 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 you

need it. "

" No, " said Carrie. " I guess I'll get along. "

They decided to move Friday, which was two days away. Now that the

thing was settled, Carrie's heart misgave her. She felt very much like

a criminal in the matter. Each day looking at Hurstwood, she had

realized that, along with the disagreeableness of his attitude, there

was something pathetic.

She looked at him the same evening she had made up her mind to go, and

now he seemed not so shiftless and worthless, but run down and beaten

upon by chance. His eyes were not keen, his face marked, his hands

flabby. She thought his hair had a touch of gray. All unconscious of

his doom, 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 for

dinner. "

Hurstwood rose and took the money, slipping on his overcoat and getting

his hat. Carrie noticed that both of these articles of apparel were

old and poor looking in appearance. It was plain enough before, but

now it came home with peculiar force. Perhaps he couldn't help it,

after all. He had done well in Chicago. She remembered his fine

appearance the days he had met her in the park. Then he was so

sprightly, so clean. Had it been 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 be

other things. "

He wondered at this, not knowing the pathetic figure he had become in

her eyes. She restrained herself with difficulty from showing a quaver

in her voice.

To say truly, this would have been Carrie's attitude in any case. She

had looked back at times upon her parting from Drouet and had regretted

that she had served him so badly. She hoped she would never meet him

again, but she was ashamed of her conduct. Not that she had any choice

in the final separation. She had gone willingly to seek him, with

sympathy in her heart, when Hurstwood had reported him ill. There was

something cruel somewhere, and not being able to track it mentally to

its logical lair, she concluded with feeling that he would never

understand what Hurstwood had done and would see hard-hearted decision

in her deed; hence her shame. Not that she cared for him. She did not

want to make any one who had been good to her feel badly.

She did not realize what she was doing by allowing these feelings to

possess 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 lady

packing 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 mind

lending 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, glad

to be of service. It had been days since Hurstwood had done more than

go to the grocery or to the news-stand. Now the weariness of indoors

was upon him--had been for two days--but chill, gray weather had held

him back. Friday broke fair and warm. It was one of those lovely

harbingers of spring, given as a sign in dreary winter that earth is

not forsaken of warmth and beauty. The blue heaven, holding its one

golden orb, poured down a crystal wash of warm light. It was plain,

from the voice of the sparrows, that all was halcyon outside. Carrie

raised the front windows, 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 seen

some ships up there, the time he had called upon the brewers. He

wondered 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 the

neighborhood and turned over to look at the mass of buildings erected.

It was very much improved. The great open spaces were filling up.

Coming back, he kept to the Park until 110th Street, and then turned

into Seventh Avenue again, reaching the pretty river by one o'clock.

There it ran winding before his gaze, shining brightly in the clear

light, between the undulating banks on the right and the tall, tree-

covered heights on the left. The spring-like atmosphere woke him to a

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

toward the east side, idly seeking the ships he had seen. It was four

o'clock before the waning day, with its suggestion of a cooler evening,

caused him 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 knew

that Carrie was not there, not only because there was no light showing

through the transom, but because the evening papers were stuck between

the outside knob and the door. He opened with his key and went in.

Everything was still dark. Lighting the gas, he sat down, preparing to

wait 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. What was

it? He looked around, as if he missed something, and then saw an

envelope near where he had been sitting. It spoke for itself, almost

without further action on his part.

Reaching over, he took it, a sort of chill settling upon him even while

he reached. The crackle of the envelope in his hands was loud. Green

paper money lay soft within the note.

" Dear George, " he read, crunching the money in one hand, " I'm going

away. I'm not coming back any more. It's no use trying to keep up the

flat; I can't do it. I wouldn't mind helping you, if I could, but I

can't support us both, and pay the rent. I need what little I make to

pay for my clothes. I'm leaving twenty dollars. It's all I have just

now. You can do whatever you like with the furniture. I won't want

it. --CARRIE.

He dropped the note and looked quietly round. Now he knew what he

missed. It was the little ornamental clock, which was hers. It had

gone from the mantelpiece. He went into the front room, his bedroom,

the parlor, lighting the gas as he went. From the chiffonier had gone

the knick-knacks of silver and plate. From the table-top, the lace

coverings. He opened the wardrobe--no clothes of hers. He opened the

drawers--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 parlor and stood for a few moments looking vacantly

at the floor. The silence grew oppressive. The little flat seemed

wonderfully deserted. He wholly forgot that he was hungry, that it was

only dinner-time. It seemed later in the night.

Suddenly, he found that the money was still in his hands. There were

twenty dollars in all, as she had said. Now he walked back, leaving

the lights 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 days

of warmth, was now a memory. Something colder and chillier confronted

him. He sank down in his chair, resting his chin in his hand--mere

sensation, 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 had

taken her departure. She arranged a few things hastily and then left

for the theatre, half expecting to encounter him at the door. Not

finding him, her dread lifted, and she felt more kindly toward him.

She quite forgot him until about to come out, after the show, when the

chance of his being there frightened her. As day after day passed and

she heard nothing at all, the thought of being bothered by him passed.

In a little while she was, except for occasional thoughts, wholly free

of the gloom with which her life had been weighed in the flat.

It is curious to note how quickly a profession absorbs one. Carrie

became wise in theatrical lore, hearing the gossip of little Lola. She

learned what the theatrical papers were, which ones published items

about 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 be

renowned like others, and read with avidity all the complimentary or

critical comments made concerning others high in her profession. The

showy world in which her interest lay completely absorbed her.

It was about this time that the newspapers and magazines were beginning

to pay that illustrative attention to the beauties of the stage which

has since become fervid. The newspapers, and particularly the Sunday

newspapers, indulged in large decorative theatrical pages, in which the

faces and forms of well-known theatrical celebrities appeared, enclosed

with artistic scrolls. The magazines also or at least one or two of the

newer ones-published occasional portraits of pretty stars, and now and

again photos of scenes from various plays. Carrie watched these with

growing interest. When would a scene from her opera appear? When would

some paper think her photo worth while?

The Sunday before taking her new part she scanned the theatrical pages

for some little notice. It would have accorded with her expectations

if nothing had been said, but there in the squibs, tailing off several

more substantial items, was a wee notice. Carrie read it with a

tingling body:

" The part of Katisha, the country maid, in 'The Wives of Abdul' at the

Broadway, heretofore played by Inez Carew, will be hereafter filled by

Carrie 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 called

her clever. She could hardly restrain herself from laughing loudly.

Had Lola seen it?

" They've got a notice here of the part I'm going to play tomorrow

night, " 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

my picture in the 'World' once. "

" Did you? " asked Carrie.

" Did I? Well, I should say, " returned the little girl. " They had a

frame around it. "

Carrie laughed.

" They've never published my picture. "

" But they will, " said Lola. " You'll see. You do better than most that

get theirs in now. "

Carrie felt deeply grateful for this. She almost loved Lola for the

sympathy and praise she extended. It was so helpful to her-so almost

necessary.

Fulfilling her part capably brought another notice in the papers that

she was doing her work acceptably. This pleased her immensely. She

began to think the world was taking note of her.

The first week she got her thirty-five dollars, it seemed an enormous

sum. Paying only three dollars for room rent seemed ridiculous. After

giving Lola her twenty-five, she still had seven dollars left. With

four left over from previous earnings, she had eleven. Five of this

went to pay the regular installment on the clothes she had to buy. The

next week she was even in greater feather. Now, only three dollars

need be paid for room rent and five on her clothes. The rest she had

for food and her own whims.

" You'd better save a little for summer, " cautioned Lola. " We'll

probably close in May. "

" I intend to, " said Carrie.

The regular entrance of thirty-five dollars a week to one who has

endured scant allowances for several years is a demoralizing thing.

Carrie found her purse bursting with good green bills of comfortable

denominations. Having no one dependent upon her, she began to buy

pretty clothes and pleasing trinkets, to eat well, and to ornament her

room. Friends were not long in gathering about. She met a few young

men who belonged to Lola's staff. The members of the opera company made

her acquaintance without the formality of introduction. One of these

discovered a fancy for her. On several occasions he strolled home with

her.

" 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 criticizing this man. He was too stilted, too self-

opinionated. He did not talk of anything that lifted her above the

common run of clothes and material success. When it was all over, he

smiled 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 thereafter

his respect and ardor were increased.

She could not help sharing in Lola's love for a good time. There were

days when they went carriage riding, nights when after the show they

dined, 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 known

of it, and it took her breath. " Miss Carrie Madenda, " it was labeled.

" One of the favorites of 'The Wives of Abdul' company. " At Lola's

advice she had had some pictures taken by Sarony. They had got one

there. 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 them

to. Only Lola, apparently, in all the world was interested.

The metropolis is a cold place socially, and Carrie soon found that a

little money brought her nothing. The world of wealth and distinction

was quite as far away as ever. She could feel that there was no warm,

sympathetic friendship back of the easy merriment with which many

approached her. All seemed to be seeking their own amusement,

regardless of the possible sad consequence to others. So much for the

lessons of Hurstwood and Drouet.

In April she learned that the opera would probably last until the

middle or the end of May, according to the size of the audiences. Next

season it 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 home engagement.

" They're putting on a summer play at the Casino, " she announced, after

figuratively 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 her

admirers. " I went once and I didn't have anything at the end of the

season. "

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 never

heard of Carrie, but the several notices she had received, her

published picture, and the program bearing her name had some little

weight with him. 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 away

from New York. They forget all about you if you do. "

Now, because Carrie was pretty, the gentlemen who made up the advance

illustrations of shows about to appear for the Sunday papers selected

Carrie's photo along with others to illustrate the announcement.

Because she was very pretty, they gave it excellent space and drew

scrolls about it. Carrie was delighted. Still, the management did not

seem to have seen anything of it. At least, no more attention was paid

to her than before. At the same time there seemed very little in her

part. It consisted of standing around in all sorts of scenes, a silent

little Quakeress. The author of the skit had fancied that a great deal

could be made of such a part, given to the right actress, but now,

since it had been 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 first

week we will cut it out. "

Carrie had no warning of this halcyon intention. She practiced her

part ruefully, feeling that she was effectually shelved. At the dress

rehearsal she was disconsolate.

" That isn't so bad, " said the author, the manager noting the curious

effect which Carrie's blues had upon the part. " Tell her to frown a

little more when Sparks dances. "

Carrie did not know it, but there was the least show of wrinkles

between her 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

see how it looks. "

It was easy enough to do. Carrie scowled. The effect was something so

quaint and droll it caught even the manager.

" That is good, " he said. " If she'll do that all through, I think it

will take. "

Going over to Carrie, he said:

" Suppose you try frowning all through. Do it hard. Look mad. It'll

make the part really funny. "

On the opening night it looked to Carrie as if there were nothing to

her part, after all. The happy, sweltering audience did not seem to

see her in the first act. She frowned and frowned, but to no effect.

Eyes were riveted upon the more elaborate efforts of the stars.

In the second act, the crowd, wearied by a dull conversation, roved

with its eyes about the stage and sighted her. There she was, suited-

suited, sweet-faced, demure, but scowling. At first the general idea

was that she was temporarily irritated, that the look was genuine and

not fun at all. As she went on frowning, looking now at one principal

and now at the other, the audience began to smile. The portly

gentlemen in the front rows began to feel that she was a delicious

little morsel. It was the kind of frown they would have loved to force

away with kisses. All the gentlemen yearned toward her. She was

capital.

At last, the chief comedian, singing in the center of the stage,

noticed a giggle where it was not expected. Then another and another.

When the place came for loud applause it was only moderate. What could

be the trouble? He realized that something was up.

All at once, after an exit, he caught sight of Carrie. She was

frowning alone on the stage and the audience was giggling and laughing.

" By George, I won't stand that! " thought the thespian. " I'm not going

to have my work cut up by some one else. Either she quits that when I

do my turn or I quit. "

" Why, that's all right, " said the manager, when the kick came. " That's

what 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 little

fun 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

what we can do. "

The next act, however, settled what was to be done. Carrie was the

chief feature of the play. The audience, the more it studied her, the

more it indicated its delight. Every other feature paled beside the

quaint, teasing, delightful atmosphere which Carrie contributed while

on the stage. Manager and company realized she had made a hit.

The critics of the daily papers completed her triumph. There were long

notices in praise of the quality of the burlesque, touched with

recurrent references to Carrie. The contagious mirth of the thing was

repeatedly emphasized.

" Miss Madenda presents one of the most delightful bits of character

work ever 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 Madenda is not often on the stage, but the audience, with the

characteristic perversity of such bodies, selected for itself. The

little Quakeress was marked for a favorite the moment she appeared, and

thereafter easily held attention and applause. The vagaries of fortune

are indeed curious. "

The critic of the " Evening World, " seeking as usual to establish a

catch phrase which should " go" with the town, wound up by advising: " If

you wish to be merry, see Carrie frown. "

The result was miraculous so far as Carrie's fortune was concerned.

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