Sister Carrie, by Theodore Dreiser

T >> Theodore Dreiser >> Sister Carrie, by Theodore Dreiser

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35

All this she thought of as Drouet rummaged the drawers for
collars and laboured long and painstakingly at finding a shirt-
stud. He was in no hurry to rush this matter. He felt an
attraction to Carrie which would not down. He could not think
that the thing would end by his walking out of the room. There
must be some way round, some way to make her own up that he was
right and she was wrong--to patch up a peace and shut out
Hurstwood for ever. Mercy, how he turned at the man's shameless
duplicity.

"Do you think," he said, after a few moments' silence, "that
you'll try and 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
that line."

She made no answer to this.

"Don't go and try to knock around now without any money. Let me
help you," 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
to blame."

"No, I wasn't," he answered.

"Yes, you were, too," said Carrie. "You shouldn't have ever told
me such a 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 the peace 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 let me know where I stand, at least."

"I won't," said Carrie, feeling no refuge but in anger.
"Whatever has happened is your own fault."

"Then you do care for him?" said Drouet, stopping completely and
experiencing a rush of feeling.

"Oh, stop!" said Carrie.
"Well, I'll not be made a fool of," exclaimed Drouet. "You may
trifle around with him if you want to, but you can't lead me.
You can tell me or not, just as you want to, but I won't fool any
longer!"

He shoved the last few remaining things he had laid out into his
valise and snapped it with a vengeance. Then he grabbed his
coat, which he had laid 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
he reached the door. "I'm no sucker," and with that he opened it
with a jerk and closed it equally vigorously.

Carrie listened at her window view, more astonished than anything
else at this sudden rise of passion in the drummer. She could
hardly believe her senses--so good-natured and tractable had he
invariably been. It was not for her to see the wellspring of
human passion. A real flame of love is a subtle thing. It burns
as a will-o'-the-wisp, dancing onward to fairylands of delight.
It roars as a furnace. Too often jealousy is the quality upon
which it feeds.

Chapter XXIV

ASHES OF TINDER--A FACE AT THE WINDOW

That night Hurstwood remained down town entirely, going to the
Palmer House for a bed after his work was through. He was in a
fevered state of mind, owing to the blight his wife's action
threatened to cast upon his entire future. While he was not sure
how much significance might be attached to the threat she had
made, he was sure that her attitude, if long continued, would
cause him no end of trouble. She was determined, and had worsted
him in a very important contest. How would it be from now on? He
walked the floor of his little office, and later that of his
room, putting one thing and another together to no avail.

Mrs. Hurstwood, on the contrary, had decided not to lose her
advantage by inaction. Now that she had practically cowed him,
she would follow up her work with demands, the acknowledgment of
which would make her word LAW in the future. He would have to
pay her the money which she would now regularly demand or there
would be trouble. It did not matter what he 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 she could
do as she wished without consulting any one. Now she proposed to
consult a lawyer and hire a detective. She would find out at
once just what advantages she could gain.

Hurstwood walked the floor, mentally arranging the chief points
of his situation. "She has that property in her name," he kept
saying to himself. "What a fool trick that was. Curse it! What
a fool move that was."

He also thought of his managerial position. "If she raises a row
now I'll lose this thing. They won't have me around if my name
gets in the papers. My friends, too!" He grew more angry as he
thought of the talk any 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 deny and make a general
mark of himself. Then Moy would come and confer with him 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 loophole left.

Through all this thoughts of Carrie flashed upon him, and the
approaching affair of Saturday. Tangled as all his matters were,
he did not worry over that. It was the one pleasing thing in
this whole rout of trouble. He could arrange that
satisfactorily, for Carrie would be glad to wait, if necessary.
He would see how things turned out to-morrow, and then he would
talk to her. They were going to meet as usual. He saw only her
pretty face and neat figure and wondered why life was not
arranged so that such joy as he found with her could be steadily
maintained. How much more pleasant it would be. Then he would
take up his wife's threat again, and the wrinkles and moisture
would return.

In the morning he came over from the hotel and opened his mail,
but there was nothing in it outside the ordinary run. For some
reason he felt as if something might come that way, and was
relieved when all the envelopes had been scanned and nothing
suspicious noticed. He began to feel the appetite that had been
wanting before he had reached the office, and decided before
going out to the park to meet Carrie to drop in at the Grand
Pacific and have a pot of coffee and some rolls. While the
danger had not lessened, it had not as yet materialised, and with
him 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 not drift along to catastrophe and he not find a way
out.

His spirits fell, however, when, upon reaching the park, he
waited and waited and Carrie did not come. He held his favourite
post for an hour or more, then arose and began to walk about
restlessly. Could something have happened out there to keep her
away? Could she have been reached by his wife? Surely not. So
little did he consider Drouet that it never once occurred to him
to worry about his finding out. He grew restless as he
ruminated, and then decided that perhaps it was nothing. She had
not been able to get away this morning. That was why no letter
notifying him had come. He would get one to-day. It would
probably be on his desk when he 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 little fleecy clouds which shut out the sun. The
wind veered to the east, and by the time he reached his office it
was threatening to drizzle all afternoon.

He went in and examined his letters, but there was nothing from
Carrie. Fortunately, there was nothing from his wife either. He
thanked his stars that he did not have to confront that
proposition just now when he needed to think so much. He walked
the floor again, pretending to be in an ordinary mood, but
secretly troubled beyond the expression of words.

At one-thirty he went to Rector's for lunch, and when he returned
a messenger was waiting for him. He looked at the little chap
with a feeling of doubt.

"I'm to bring an answer," said the boy.

Hurstwood recognised his wife's writing. He tore it open and
read without a show of feeling. It began in the most formal
manner and was sharply and coldly worded throughout.

"I want you to send the money I asked for at once. I need it to
carry out my plans. You can stay away if you want to. It
doesn't matter in the least. But I must have some money. So
don't delay, but send it by the boy."

When he had finished it, he stood holding it in his hands. The
audacity of the thing took his breath. It roused his ire also--
the deepest element of revolt in him. His first impulse was to
write but four words in reply--"Go to the devil!"--but he
compromised by telling the boy that there would be no reply.
Then he sat down in his chair and gazed without seeing,
contemplating the result of his work. What would she do about
that? The confounded wretch! Was she going to try to bulldoze him
into submission? He would go up there and have it out with her,
that's what he would do. She was carrying things with too high a
hand. These were his first thoughts.

Later, however, his old discretion asserted itself. Something
had to be done. A climax was near and she would not sit idle.
He knew her well enough to know that when she had decided upon a
plan she would follow it up. Possibly matters would go into a
lawyer's hands at once.

"Damn her!" he said softly, with his teeth firmly set, "I'll make
it hot for her if she causes me trouble. I'll make her change
her tone if I have to use force to do it!"

He arose from his chair and went and looked out into the street.
The long drizzle had begun. Pedestrians had turned up collars,
and trousers at the bottom. Hands were hidden in the pockets of
the umbrellaless; umbrellas were up. The street looked like a
sea of round black cloth roofs, twisting, bobbing, moving.
Trucks and vans were rattling in a noisy line and everywhere men
were shielding themselves as best they could. He scarcely
noticed the picture. He was forever confronting his wife,
demanding of her to change her attitude toward him before he
worked her bodily harm.

At four o'clock another note came, which simply said that if the
money was not forthcoming that evening the matter would be laid
before Fitzgerald and Moy on the morrow, and other steps would be
taken to get it.

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 up there and have a talk with her, and that at once.

He put on his hat and looked around for his umbrella. He would
have some arrangement of this thing.

He called a cab and was driven through the dreary rain to the
North Side. On the way his temper cooled as he thought of the
details of the case. What did she know? What had she done? Maybe
she'd got hold of Carrie, who knows--or--or Drouet. Perhaps she
really had evidence, and was 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 good grounds?

He began to wish that he had compromised in some way or other--
that he had sent the money. Perhaps he could do it up here. He
would go in and see, anyhow. He would have no row. By the time
he reached his own street he was keenly alive to the difficulties
of his situation and wished over and over that some solution
would offer itself, that he could see his way out. He alighted
and went up the steps to the front door, but it was with a
nervous palpitation of the heart. He pulled out his key and
tried to 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 rang again--this time harder. Still no answer. He
jangled it fiercely several times 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 the kitchen windows were down. What could it
mean? He rang the bell and then waited. Finally, seeing that no
one was coming, he turned and went back to his cab.

"I guess they've gone out," he said apologetically to the
individual who was 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
moodily into the cab, relieved and distressed.

So this was the game, was it? Shut him out and make him pay.
Well, by the 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
quandary than ever. Lord, Lord, he thought, what had he got
into? How could things have taken such a violent turn, and so
quickly? He could hardly realise how it had all come about. It
seemed a monstrous, unnatural, unwarranted condition which had
suddenly descended upon him without his let or hindrance.

Meanwhile he gave a thought now and then to Carrie. What could
be the trouble in that quarter? No letter had come, no word of
any kind, and yet here it was late in the evening and she had
agreed to meet him that morning. To-morrow they were to have met
and gone off--where? He saw that in the excitement of recent
events he had not formulated a plan upon that score. He was
desperately in love, and would have taken great chances to win
her under ordinary circumstances, but now--now what? Supposing
she had found out something? Supposing she, too, wrote him and
told him that she knew all--that she would have nothing more to
do with him? 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 in his pockets, his brow wrinkled, his mouth set. He was
getting some vague comfort out of a good cigar, but it was no
panacea for the ill which affected him. Every once in a while he
would clinch his fingers and tap his foot--signs of the stirring
mental process he was undergoing. His whole nature was
vigorously and powerfully shaken up, and he was finding what
limits the mind has to endurance. He drank more brandy and soda
than he had any evening in months. He was altogether a fine
example of great mental perturbation.

For all his study nothing came of the evening except this--he
sent the money. It was with great opposition, after two or three
hours of the most urgent mental affirmation and denial, that at
last he got an envelope, 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, "and give 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
boy turned 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 had done it. There was no use speculating over that. He was
beaten for to-night and he might just as well make the best of
it. But, oh, the wretchedness of being forced this way! He could
see her meeting the boy at the door and smiling sardonically.
She would take the envelope and know that she had triumphed. If
he only had that letter back he wouldn't send it. He breathed
heavily and wiped the moisture from his face.

For relief, he arose and joined in conversation with a few
friends who were drinking. He tried to get the interest of
things about him, but it was not to be. All the time his
thoughts would run out to his home and see the scene being
therein enacted. All the time he was wondering what she would
say when the boy handed her the envelope.

In about an hour and three-quarters the boy returned. He had
evidently delivered the package, for, as he came up, he made no
sign of taking anything 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
on brooding over his situation until midnight, when he repaired
again to the Palmer House. He wondered what the morning would
bring forth, and slept anything but soundly upon it.
Next day he went again to the office and opened his mail,
suspicious and hopeful of its contents. No word from Carrie.
Nothing from his wife, which was pleasant.

The fact that he had sent the money and that she had received it
worked to the ease of his mind, for, as the thought that he had
done it receded, his chagrin at it grew less and his hope of
peace more. He fancied, as he sat at his desk, that nothing
would be done for a week or two. Meanwhile, he would have time
to think.

This process of THINKING began by a reversion to Carrie and the
arrangement by which he was to get her away from Drouet. How
about that now? His pain at her failure to meet or write him
rapidly increased as he devoted himself to this subject. He
decided to write her care of the West Side Post-office and ask
for an explanation, as well as to have her meet him. The thought
that this letter would probably not reach her until Monday chafed
him exceedingly. He must get some speedier method--but how?

He thought upon it for a half-hour, not contemplating a messenger
or a cab direct to the house, owing to the exposure of it, but
finding that time was slipping away to no purpose, he wrote the
letter and then began to think again.

The hours slipped by, and with them the possibility of the union
he had contemplated. He had thought to be joyously aiding Carrie
by now in the task of joining her interests to his, and here it
was afternoon and nothing done. Three o'clock came, four, five,
six, and no letter. The helpless 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 ability to
alter his condition one iota. It was the worst Sunday he had
spent in his 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 law offices 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 been retained by Mrs. Julia Hurstwood
to adjust certain matters which related to her sustenance and
property rights, and would he kindly call and see them about the
matter at once.

He read it through carefully several times, and then merely shook
his head. 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
certain now that she knew he was married and was angered at his
perfidy. His loss seemed all the more bitter now that he needed
her most. He thought he would go out and insist on seeing her if
she did not send him word of some sort soon. He was really
affected most miserably of all by this desertion. He had loved
her earnestly enough, but now that the possibility of losing her
stared him in the face she seemed much more attractive. He
really pined for a word, and looked out upon her with his mind'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 would plead until her anger would melt--
until she would forgive him.

Suddenly he thought: "Supposing she isn't out there--suppose she
has gone?"

He was forced to take his feet. It was too much to think of and
sit still.

Nevertheless, his rousing availed him nothing.

On Tuesday it was the same way. He did manage to bring himself
into the mood to go out to Carrie, but when he got in Ogden Place
he thought he saw a man watching him and went away. He did not
go within a block of the house.

One of the galling incidents of this visit was that he came back
on a Randolph Street car, and without noticing arrived almost
opposite the building of the concern with which his son was
connected. This sent a pang 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 be noticed by either of his
children. Well, well, fortune plays a man queer tricks. He got
back to his office and joined in a conversation with friends. 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. In the bustle and show of the latter was his only
relief. He troubled over many little details and talked
perfunctorily to everybody. He stayed at his desk long after all
others had gone, and only quitted it when the night watchman on
his round pulled at the front door to see if it was safely
locked.

On Wednesday he received another polite note from McGregor, James
and Hay. It read:

"Dear Sir: We beg to inform you that we are instructed to wait
until to-morrow (Thursday) at one o'clock, before filing suit
against you, on behalf of Mrs. Julia Hurstwood, for divorce and
alimony. If we do not hear from you before that time we shall
consider that you do not wish to compromise 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
to expect. If he didn't go and see them they would sue him
promptly. If he did, he would be offered terms that would make
his blood boil. He folded the letter and put it with the other
one. Then he put on his hat and went 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,
scarcely realising what had happened. She knew that he had
stormed out. It was some moments before she questioned whether
he would return, not now exactly, but ever. She looked around
her upon the rooms, out of which the evening light was dying, and
wondered why she did not feel quite the 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
she did, this truth began to take on importance. She was quite
alone. Suppose Drouet did not come back? Suppose she should
never hear anything more of him? This fine arrangement of
chambers would not last long. She would have to quit them.

To her credit, be it said, she never once counted on Hurstwood.
She could only approach that subject with a pang of sorrow and
regret. For a truth, she was rather shocked and frightened by
this evidence of human depravity. He would have tricked her
without turning an eyelash. She would have been led into a newer
and worse situation. And yet she could not keep out the pictures
of his looks and manners. Only this one deed seemed strange and
miserable. It contrasted sharply with all she felt and knew
concerning the man.

But she was alone. That was the greater thought just at present.
How about that? Would she go out to work again? Would she begin
to look around in the business district? The stage! Oh, yes.
Drouet had spoken about that. Was there any hope there? She
moved to and fro, in deep and varied thoughts, while the minutes
slipped away and night fell completely. She had had nothing to
eat, and yet there she sat, thinking it over.

She remembered that she was hungry and went to the little
cupboard in the rear room where were the remains of one of their
breakfasts. She looked at these things with certain misgivings.
The contemplation of food had more significance than usual.

While she was eating she began to wonder how much money she had.
It struck her as exceedingly important, and without ado she went
to look for her purse. It was on the dresser, and in it were
seven dollars in bills and some change. She quailed as she
thought of the insignificance of the amount and rejoiced because
the rent was paid until the end of the month. She began also to
think what she would have done if she had gone out into the
street when she first started. By the side of that situation, as
she looked at it now, the present seemed agreeable. She had a
little time at least, and then, perhaps, everything would come
out all right, after all.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35