Заезды по воскресеньям с 16 июня по 18 августа 2013 года 4 страница

hand, 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 took.

 

In the crowded elevator, another dusty, toil-stained youth tried to

make an impression on her by leering in her face.

 

One young man, waiting on the walk outside for the appearance of

another, 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 turned the corner, she saw through the great shiny window the

small desk at which she had applied. There were the crowds, hurrying

with the same buzz and energy yielding enthusiasm. She felt a slight

relief, but it was only at her escape. She felt ashamed in the face of

better dressed girls who went by. She felt as though she should be

better served, and her heart revolted.

 

 

Chapter V

A GLITTERING NIGHT FLOWER: THE USE OF A NAME

 

Drouet did not call that evening. After receiving the letter, he had

laid aside all thought of Carrie for the time being and was floating

around having what he considered a gay time. On this particular evening

he dined at " Rector's," a restaurant of some local fame, which

occupied a basement at Clark and Monroe Streets. Thereafter he visited

the resort of Fitzgerald and Moy's in Adams Street, opposite the

imposing Federal Building. There he leaned over the splendid bar and

swallowed a glass of plain whiskey and purchased a couple of cigars,

one of which he lighted. This to him represented in part high life-a

fair sample of what the whole must be.

 

Drouet was not a drinker in excess. He was not a moneyed man. He only

craved the best, as his mind conceived it, and such doings seemed to

him a part of the best. Rector's, with its polished marble walls and

floor, its profusion of lights, its show of china and silverware, and,

above all, its reputation as a resort for actors and professional men,

seemed to him the proper place for a successful man to go. He loved

fine clothes, good eating, and particularly the company and

acquaintanceship of successful men. When dining, it was source of keen

satisfaction to him to know that Joseph Jefferson was wont to come to

this same place, r that Henry E. Dixie, a well known performer of the

day, was then only a few tables off. At Rector's he could always obtain

this satisfaction for there one could encounter politicians, brokers,

actors, some rich young "rounders" of the town, all eating and drinking

amid a buzz of popular commonplace conversation.

 

" That's So-and so over there," was a common remark of these gentlemen

among themselves, particularly among those who had not yet reached, but

hoped to do so, the dazzling height which money to dine here lavishly

represented.

 

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

 

" Why, yes, didn't you know that? Why, he's manager

 

of the Grand Opera House."

 

When these things would fall upon Drouet's ears, he would straighten

himself a little more stiffly and eat with solid comfort. If he had any

vanity, 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 another

yard off the same cloth. This was really a gorgeous saloon from a

Chicago standpoint. Like Rector's, it was also ornamented with a blaze

of incandescent lights, held in handsome chandeliers. The floors were

of brightly colored tiles, the walls a composition of rich, dark,

polished wood, which gave the place a very sumptuous appearance. The

long bar was a blaze of lights, polished wood-work, colures and cut

glassware, and many fancy bottles. 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 Fitgerald

and Moy's. He had been pointed out as a very successful and well-known

man about town. Hurstwood looked the part, for, besides being slightly

under forty, he had a good, stout constitution, an active manner, and

solid, substantial air, which was composed in part of his fine clothes,

his clean linen, his jewels, and, above all, his own sense of his

importance. Drouet immediately conceived a notion of him as being some

one worth knowing, and was glad not only to meet him, but to visit the

Adams Street bar thereafter whenever he wanted a drink or a cigar.

 

Hurstwood was an interesting character after his kind. He was shrewd

and clever in many little things, and capable of creating a good

impression. His managerial position was fairly important-a kind of

stewardship which was imposing, but lacks financial control. He had

risen by perseverance and industry, through long years of service, from

the position of barkeeper in a commonplace saloon to his present

altitude. He had a little office in the place, set off in polished

cherry and grill-work, where he kept, in a roll-top desk, the rather

simple accounts of the place-supplies ordered and needed. The chief

executive and financial functions devolved upon the owner Messrs.

Fitzgerald and Moy-and upon a cashier who looked after the money taken

in.

 

For the most part he lounged about, dressed in excellent tailored suits

of 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 and

engraving. He knew by name, and could greet personally with a " Well,

old fellow," hundreds of actors, merchants, politicians, and the

general run of successful characters about town, and it was part of his

success to do so. He had a finely graduated scale of informality and

friendship, which improved from the " How do you do?" addressed to the

fifteen-dollar-a-week clerks and office attaches, who, by long

frequenting of the place, became aware of his position, to the " Why

old man, how are you?" which he addressed to those noted or rich

individuals who knew him and were inclined to be friendly. There was a

class however, too rich, too famous, or too successful with whom he

could not attempt any familiarity of address, and with these he was

professionally tactful, assuming a grave and dignified attitude, paying

them the deference which would win their good feeling without in the

least compromising his own bearing and opinions. There were, in the

last place, a few good followers, neither rich nor poor, famous, nor

yet remarkably successful, with whom he was friendly on the score of

good-fellowship. These were the kind of men with whom he would

converse longest and most seriously. He loved to go out and have a good

time once in a while to go to the races, the theatres, the sporting

entertainments at some of the clubs. He kept a horse and neat trap,

had his wife and two children, who were well established in neat house

on the North Side near Lincoln Park, and was altogether a very

acceptable individual of our great American upper class-the first grade

below the luxuriously rich.

 

Hurstwood liked Douet. The latter's genial nature and dressy appearance

pleased him. He knew that Drouet was only a traveling salesman-and not

one of many years at that-but the firm of Barlett, Caryoe & Company was

large and prosperous house, and Drouet stood well. Hurstwood knew

Caryoe quite well, having drunk a glass now and then with him, in

company with several others, when tie conversation was general. Drouet

had what was a help in his business, a moderate sense of humor, and

could tell a good story when the occasion required. He could talk races

with Hurstwood, tell interesting incidents concerning himself and his

experiences with women, and report the state of trade in the cities

which he visited, and so managed to make himself almost invariably

agreeable. To-night he was particularly so, since his report to the

company had been favorably commented upon, his new samples had been

satisfactorily selected, and his trip marked out for the next six

weeks.

 

" Why, hello, Charlie, old man," said Hurstwood, as Drouet came in that

evening about eight o'clock. " How goes it?" The room was crowded.

 

Drouet shook hands, beaming good nature, and they strolled towards the

bar.

 

" 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 which

half displaced the cold make-believe that usually dwelt in them. "

What are you going to take?" he added, as the barkeeper, in snowy

jacket and tie, leaned toward them from behind the bar.

 

" 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 which

half displaced the cold make-believe that usually dwelt in them. "

Where are you going to take?" he added, as the barkeeper, in snowy

jacket and tie, 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

last week."

 

" Yes, I saw George," returned Drouet. " Great old boy, isn't he? We

had quite a time there together."

 

The barkeeper was setting out the glasses and bottle before them, and

they now poured out the drought as they talked, Drouet filling his to

within a third of full, as was considering proper, and Hurstwood taking

the barest suggestion of whiskey and modifying it with seltzer.

 

" What's become of Caryoe?" remarked Hurstwood " I haven't seen him

around 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, and swift-pacer," laughed Drouet.

 

" I guess he can't hurt the business very much, though, with the other

members 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 agreeable

distinctness. He was the picture of fastidious comfort.

 

To one not inclined to drink, and gifted with a more serious turn of

mind, such a bubbling, chattering, glittering chamber must ever seem an

anomaly, a strange commentary on nature and life. Here come the moths,

in endless procession, to bask in the light of the flame. Such

conversation as one may hear would not warrant a commendation of the

scene upon intellectual grounds. It seems plain that schemers would

choose more sequestered quarters to arrange their plans, that

politicians would not gather here in company to discuss anything save

formalities, where the sharp-eared may hear, and it would scarcely be

justified on the score of thirst, for the majority of those who

frequent these more gorgeous places have no craving for liquor.

Nevertheless, the fact that here men gather, there chatter, here love

to pass and rub elbows, must be explained upon some grounds. It must be

that a strange bundle of passions and vague desires give rise to such

a curious social institution or it would not be.

 

Drouet, for one, was lured as much by his longing for pleasure as by

his desire to shine among his betters. The many friends he met here

dropped in because they craved, without, perhaps, consciously analyzing

it, the company, the glow, the atmosphere which they found. One might

take it, after all, as an auger of the better social order, for the

things which they satisfied here, though sensory, were not evil. No

evil could come out of the contemplation of an expensively decorated

chamber. The worst effect of such a thing would be, perhaps, to stir up

in the material minded an ambition to arrange their lives upon a

similarly splendid basis. In the last analysis, that would scarcely be

called the fault of the decorations, but rather of the innate trend of

the mind. That such a scene might stir the less expensively dressed to

emulate the more expensively dress could scarcely be laid at the door

of anything save the false ambition of the minds of those so affected.

Remove the element so thoroughly and solely complained of-liquor-and

there would not be one to gainsay the qualities of beauty and

enthusiasm which would remain. The pleased eye with which our modern

restaurants of fashion are looked upon is proof of this assertion.

 

Yet, here is the fact of the lighted chamber, the dressy greedy

company, the small, self-interested palaver, the disorganized, aimless,

wandering mental action which it represents-the love of light and show

and finery which, to one outside, under the serene light of the eternal

stars, and sweeping night winds, what a lamp-flower it must bloom; a

strange, glittering night-flower, yielding-yielding, insect-drawing,

insect-infested rose of pleasure.

 

" See that a fellow coming in there?" said Hurstwood, glancing at a

gentlemen 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

to it. 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 of

the time.

 

" Well, you'd better be going. It's half after eight already," and he

drew out his watch.

 

The crowd was already thinning out considerably, some bound for the

theatres, some to their clubs, and some to that most fascinating of

all the pleasures for the type of man there represented, at least the

ladies.

 

" Yes, I will," said Drouet.

 

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

said Hurstwood.

 

" 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," remarked

Drouet, by way of parting. " By George, that's so, I must go and call

on her before I go away."

 

" Oh, never mind her" Hurstwood remarked.

 

" Say, she was a little dandy, I tell you," went on Drouet

confidentially, 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 of

places, and that also when the little toiler was bemoaning her narrow

lot, which was almost inseparable from the early stages of this, her

unfolding 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.

The fact that it was unchanged, while her feelings were different,

increased her knowledge of its character. Minnie, after the good

spirits Carrie manifested at first, expected a fair report. Hanson

supposed that Carrie would be satisfied.

 

" Well," he said, as he came in from the hall in his working clothes,

and looked 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 she

was both weary and disappointed.

 

" What sort of work is it?" he asked, lingering a moment as he turned

upon 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

side of the flat's success. He was irritated a shade because it could

not have 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 that Carrie had reported her discontent. To Carrie, the one relief

of the whole day would have been a jolly home, a sympathetic reception,

a bright supper table, and some one to say: " Oh, well stand it a

little while. You will get something better," put now this was ashes.

She began to see that they looked upon her complaint as unwarranted,

and that she was supposed to work on and say nothing. She knew that she

was to pay four dollar for her board and room, and now she felt that it

would be an exceedingly gloomy round living with these people.

 

Minnie was no companion for her sister-she was too old. Her thoughts

were staid and solemnly adapted to a condition. If Hanson had any

pleasant thoughts or happy feelings he concealed them. He seemed to do

all his mental operations without the aid of physical expression. He

was as still as a deserted chamber. Carrie, on the other hand, had the

blood of youth and some imagination. Her day of love and the mysteries

of courtship were still ahead. She could think of things she would like

to do, of clothes she would like to wear, and of places she would like

to visit. These were the things upon which her mind ran, and it was

like meeting with opposition at every turn to find no one here to call

forth or 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 two

people were, she hoped he would not. She did not know exactly what she

would do or how she would explain to Drouet, if he came. After supper

she changed her clothes. When she was trimly dressed she was rather a

sweet little being, with large eyes and a sad mouth. Her face expressed

the mingled expectancy, dissatisfaction, and depression she felt. She

wandered about after the dishes were put away, talked a little with

Minnie, and then decided to go down and stand in the door at the foot

of the stairs. If Drouet came, she could meet him there. Her face took

on the 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 to her

husband when the latter came out, paper in hand, to sit in the dining-

room a few minutes.

 

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

downstairs?"

 

" Yes," said Minnie.

 

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

without getting 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 in

the door down there. It don't look good."

 

" I'll tell her," said Minnie.

 

The life of the streets contained for a long time to interest Carrie.

She never wearied of wondering where the people in the cars were going

or what their enjoyments were. Her imagination trod a very narrow

round, always winding up at points which concerned money, looks,

clothes or enjoyment. She would have a far-off thought of Columbia City

now and then, or an irritating rush of feeling concerning her

experiences of the present day, but, on the whole, the little world

about her enlisted her whole 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 his

presence 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 really came for bread,

the though dwelt with him that now he would see what Carrie was doing.

No sooner did he draw near her with that in mind than she felt it. Of

course, she had no understanding of what put it into her head, but,

nevertheless, it aroused in her the first shade of real antipathy to

him. She knew now that she did not like him. He was suspicious.

 

A though will color a world for us. The flow of Carrie's meditations

had been disturbed, and Hanson had not long gone upstairs before she

followed. She had realized with the lapse of the quarter hours that

Drouet was not coming, and somehow she felt a little resentful, a

little as 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 has already turned in for the night. In her weariness

and disappointment Carrie did no more than announce that she was going

to bed.

 

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

you know."

 

The morning was no better. Hanson was just going out the door as Carrie

came from her room. Minnie tried to talk with her during breakfast, but

there was not much of interest which they could mutually discuss. As on

the previous morning, Carrie walked down town, for she began to

realize now that her four-fifty would not even allow her cat fare after

she paid her board. This seemed a miserable arrangement. But the

morning light swept away the first misgivings of the day, as morning

light is ever won't to do.

 

At the shoe factory she put in a long day, scarcely so wearisome as the

preceding, 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, " She that you keep things going."

 

The machine girls impressed her even less favorably. They seemed

satisfied with their lot, and were in a sense " common." Carrie had

more imagination than they She was not used to slang. Her instinct in

the matter of dress was naturally better. She disliked to listen to the

girl next to her, who was rather hardened by experience.

 

" I'm going to quit this," she heard her remark to her neighbor. " What

with the stipend and being up late, it's too much for me health."

 

They were free with the follows, young and old, about the place, and

exchanged banter in rude phrases, which at first shocked her. She saw

that 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

chase yourself!" in return, and was sufficiently abashed, by Carrie's

silently moving away, to retreat, awkwardly grinning.

 

That night at the flat she was even more lonely-the dull situation was

becoming harder to endure. She could see that the Hassons seldom or

never had any company. Standing at the street door looking out, she

ventured to walk out a little way. Her easy gait and idle manner

attracted attention of an offensive but common sort. She was slightly

taken back at the overtures of a well-dressed man of thirty, who in

passing 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

thoughts to 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 own

door quite out of breath. There was something in the man's look which

frightened her.

 

During the remainder of the week it was very much the same. One or two

nights she found herself too tried to walk home, and expended car fare.

She was not very strong, and sitting all day affected her back. She

went to bed one night before Hanson.

 

Transplantation is not always successful in the matter of flowers or

maidens. It requires sometimes a richer soil, a better atmosphere to

continue even a natural growth. It would have been better if her

acclimatization had been more gradual-less rigid. She would have done

better if she had not secured a position so quickly, and had seen more

of the city which she constantly troubled to know about.