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" Oh, no," said Minnie.

 

" Yes, come on," said Carrie.

 

She began to pull the basket over, and now, in spite of all protest,

she had swung over and was going down.

 

" Carrie," she called, " Carrie, come back;" but Carrie was far down

now and the shadow had swallowed her completely.

 

She moved her arm.

 

Now the mystic scenery merged queerly and the place was by waters she

had never seen. They were upon some board or ground or something that

reached far out, and at the end of this was Carrie. They looked about,

and now the thing was sinking, and Minnie heard the low sip of the

encroaching water.

 

" Come on, Carrie," she called, but Carrie was reaching farther out.

She seemed to recede, and now it was difficult to call to her.

 

" Carrie," she called, " Carrie," but her own voice sounded far away,

and the strange waters were blurring everything. She came away

suffering as though she had lost something. She was more inexpressibly

sad thus she had ever been in life.

 

It was this way through many shifts of the tired brain, those curious

phantoms of the spirit slipping in, blurring strange scenes, one with

the other. The last one made her cry out, for Carrie was slipping away

somewhere over a rock, and her fingers had let loose and she had seen

her falling.

 

" Minnie! What's the matter? Here, wake up," said Hanson, disturbed,

and shaking her by the shoulder.

 

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

 

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

 

A week or so later Drouet strolled into Fitzgerald and Moy's spruce in

dress and manner.

 

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

 

Drouet strolled over and looked in upon the manger at his desk.

 

" When do you go out on the road again?" he inquired.

 

" Pretty soon," said Drouet.

 

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

 

" Well, I've been busy," said Drouet.

 

They talked some few minutes on general topics.

 

" Say," said Drouet, as if stuck by a sudden idea, " I want you to come

out some evening."

 

" Out where?" inquired Hurstwood.

 

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

 

Hurstwood looked up quizzically, the least suggestion of a smile

hovering about his lips. He studied the face of Drouet in his wise way,

and then with the demeanor of a gentlemen, said: " Certainly; glad to."

 

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

 

" May I bring a nice little bottle of Sec?" asked Hurstwood.

 

" Certainly," said Drouet. " I'll introduce you."

 

 

Chapter X

THE COUNSEL OF WINTER: FORTUNE'S AMBASSADOR CALLS

 

In the light of the world's attitude toward woman and her duties, the

nature of Carrie's mental state deserves consideration. Actions such as

hers are measured by an arbitrary scale. Society possesses a

conventional standard whereby it judges all things. All men should be

good, all women virtuous. Wherefore, villain, hast thou failed?

 

For all the liberal analysis of Spencer and our modern naturalistic

philosophers, we have but an infantile perception of morals. There is

more in the subject than mere conformity to a law of evolution. It is

yet deeper than conformity to things of earth alone. It is more

involved than we, as yet, perceive. Answer, first, why the heart

thrills; explain wherefore some plaintive note goes wandering about the

world, undying; make clear the rose's stable alchemy evolving its

ruddy lamp in light and rain. In the essence of these facts lie the

first principles of morals.

 

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

 

" Ah," though Carrie, with mournful misgivings, " what is it I have

lost?"

 

Before this world-old proposition we stand, serious, interested,

confused; endeavoring to evolve the true theory of morals-the true

answer to what is right.

 

In the view of a certain stratum of society, Carrie was comfortably

established-in eyes of the traveling, beaten by every wind and gusty

sheet of rain, she was safe in a halcyon harbor. Drouet had taken three

rooms, furnished, in Ogden Place, facing Union Park, on the West Side.

That was a little, green-carpeted breathing spot than which, to-day,

there is nothing more beautiful in Chicago. It afforded a vista

pleasant to contemplate. The best room looked out upon the lawn of the

park, now sear and brown, where a little lake lay sheltered. Over the

bare limbs of the trees, which now swayed in the wintry wind, rose the

steeple of the Union park Congregational Church, and far off the towers

of several others.

 

The rooms were comfortably enough furnished. There was good Brussels

carpet on the floor, rich in dull red and lemon shades, and

representing large jardiniиres filled with gorgeous, impossible

flowers. There was a large pier-glass mirror between the two windows.

A large, soft, green, plush-covered couch occupied one corner, and

several rocking-chairs were set about. Some pictures, several rugs, a

few small pieces of bric-a-brac, and the tale of contents is told.

 

In the bedroom, off the front room, was Carrie's trunk, bought by

Drouet, and in the wardrobe built into the wall quite an array of

clothing-more than she had ever possessed before, and of very becoming

designs. There was a third room for possible use as a kitchen, where

Drouet had Carrie establish a little portable gas stove for the

preparation of small lunches, oysters, Welsh rarebits, and the like, of

which he was exceedingly fond; and, lastly a bath. The whole place was

cozy, in that it was lighted by gas and heated by furnace registers,

possessing also a small grate, set with an asbestos back, a method of

cheerful warming which was then first coming into use. By her industry

and natural love of order, which now developed, the place maintained an

air pleasing in the extreme.

 

Here, then, was Carrie, established in a pleasant fashion, free of

certain difficulties which most ominously confronted her, laden with

many new ones which were of a mental order, and altogether so turned

about in all of her earthly relationships that she might well have

been a new and different individual. She looked into her glass and saw

a prettier Carrie than she had seen before; she looked into her mind, a

mirror prepared of her own and the world's opinions, and saw a worse.

Between these two images she wavered, hesitating which to believe.

 

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

 

She would look at him with large, pleased eyes.

 

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

 

" Oh, I don't know," she would reply, feeling delight in the fact that

one should think so, hesitating to believe, though she really did, that

she was vain enough to think so much of herself.

 

Her conscience, however, was not a Drouet, interested to praise. There

she heard a different voice, with which she argued, pleaded, excused.

It was no just and sapient counselor, in its last analysis. It was only

an average little conscience, habit, convention, in a confused way.

With it, the voice of the people was truly the voice of God

 

" Oh, thou failure!" said the voice.

 

" Why?" she questioned.

 

" Look at those about," came the whispered answer. " Look at those who

are good. How would they scorn to do what you have done. Look at the

good girls; how will they draw away from such as you when they know you

have been weak. You had not tried before you failed."

 

It was when Carrie was alone, looking out across the park, that she

would be listening to this. It would come infrequently-when something

else did not interface when the pleasant side was not too apparent,

when Drouet was not there. It was somewhat clear in utterance at first,

but never wholly convincing. There was always an answer, always the

December days threatened. She was alone; she was desireful; she was

fearful of the whistling wind. The voice of what made answer for her.

 

Once the bright days of summer pass by, a city takes on that somber

garb of gray, wrapped in which it goes about its labors during the long

winter. Its endless buildings look gray, its sky and its street assume

a somber hue; the scattered, leafless trees and wind-blown dust and

paper but add to the general solemnity of color. There seems to be

something in the chill breezes which scurry through the long, narrow

thoroughfares productive of rueful thoughts. Not poets alone, nor

artist, nor that superior order of mind which arrogates to itself all

refinement, feel this, but dogs and all men. These feels as much as the

poet, though they have not the same power of expression. The sparrow

upon the wire, the cat in the doorway, the dry horse tugging his weary

load, feel the long, keen breaths of winter. It strikes to the heart of

all life, animate and inanimate. If it were not for the artificial

fires of merriment, the rush of profit-seeking trade, and pleasure-

selling amusements; if the various merchants failed to make the

customary display within and without their establishments; if our

streets were not strung with signs of gorgeous hues and thronged with

hurrying purchasers, we would quickly discover how firmly the chill

hand of winter lays upon the heart; how dispiriting are the days during

which the sun withholds a portion of our allowance of light and warmth.

We are more dependent upon these things than is often thought. We are

insects produced by heat, and pass without it.

 

In the drag of such a gray day the secret voice would reassert itself,

feebly and more feebly.

 

Such mental conflict was not always uppermost. Carrie was not by any

means a gloomy soul. More, she had not the mind to get firm hold a

definite truth. When she could not find her way out of the labyrinth of

ill-logic which thought upon the subject created, she would tune away

entirely.

 

Drouet, all the time, was conducting himself in a model way for one of

his sort. he took her about a great deal spent money upon her, and when

he traveled took her with him. There were times when she would be alone

for two or three days, while he made the shorter circuits of his

business, but, as a rule, she saw a great deal of him.

 

" Say. Carrie," he said one morning, shortly after they had so

established themselves, " I've invited my friend Hurstwood to come out

some day and spend the evening with us."

 

" Who is he?" asked Carrie, doubtfully.

 

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

 

" What that?" said Carrie.

 

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

 

Carrie puzzled a moment. She was wondering what Drouet had told him,

what her attitude would be.

 

" That's all right," said Drouet, feeling her thought.

 

" He doesn't know anything. You're Mrs. Drouet now."

 

There was something about this which struck Carrie as slightly

inconsiderate. She could see that Drouet did not have the keenest

sensibilities.

 

" Why don't we got married?" she inquired, thinking of the voluble

promise he had made.

 

" Well, we will," he said, " just as soon as I get this little deal of

mine closed up."

 

He was referring to some property which he said he had, and which

required so much attention, adjustment, and what not, that somehow or

other it interested with his free moral, personal actions.

 

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

it."

 

Carrie accepted this as basis for hope-it was a sort of salve to her

conscience, a pleasant way out. Under the circumstances, things would

be righted. Her actions would be justified.

 

She really was not enamored of Drouet. She was more clever than he. In

a dim way, she was beginning to see where he lacked. If it had not been

for this, if she had not been able to measure and judge him a way, she

would have been utterly wretched in her fear of not gaining his

affection, of losing his interest, of being swept away and left without

an anchorage. As it was, she wavered a little, slightly anxious, at

first, to gain him completely, but later feelings at ease in waiting.

She was not exactly sure what she thought of him-what she wanted to do.

 

When Hurstwood called, she met a man who was more clever than Drouet in

a hundred ways. He paid that peculiar deference to women which every

member of the sex appreciates. He was not overawed, he was not

overbold. His great charm was attentiveness. Schooled in winning those

birds of fine feather among his own sex, the merchants and

professionals who visited his resort, he could use even greater tact

when endeavoring to prove agreeable to some one who charmed him. In a

pretty woman of any refinement of feeling whatsoever he found his

greatest incentive. His was mild, placid, assured, giving the

impression that he wished to be of service only-to do something which

would make the lady more pleased.

 

Drouet had ability in this fine himself when the game was worth the

candle, but he was too much the egotist to reach the polish which

Hurstwood possessed. He was too buoyant, too full of ruddy life, too

assured. He succeeded with many who were not quite schooled in the art

of love. He failed dismally where the woman was slightly experienced

and possessed innate refinement. In the case of Carrie he found a woman

who was all of the latter, but none of the former. He was lucky in the

fact that opportunity tumbled into his lap, as it were. A few years

later, with a little more experience, the slightest tide of success,

and he had not been able to approach Carrie at all.

 

" You ought to have a piano here, Drouet," said Hurstwood, smiling at

Carrie, on the evening in question, " so that your wife could play."

 

Drouet had not though of that.

 

" So we ought," he observed readily.

 

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

 

" It's isn't very difficult," returned Hurstwood. " You could do very

well in a few weeks."

 

He was in the best form for entertaining this evening. His clothes were

particularly new and rich in appearance. The coat lapels stood out with

that medium tidiness which excellent cloth possesses. The vast was of a

rich Scotch plaid, set with a double row of round mother-of pearl

buttons. His cravat was shiny combination of nice threads, not loud,

not inconspicuous. What he wore did not strike the eye so forcibly as

that which. Drouet had on, but Carrie could see the elegance of the

material. Hurstwood's shoes were of soft, black calf, polished only to

a dull shine. Drouet wore patent leather, but Carrie could not help

feeling that there was a distinction in favor of the soft leather,

where all else was so rich. She noticed these things almost

unconsciously. They were things which would naturally flow from the

situation. She was used to Drouet's appearance.

 

" Suppose we have a little game of euchre?" He was Hurstwood, after a

light round of conversation. He was rather dexterous in avoiding of

Carrie's past. He kept away from personalities altogether, and confined

himself to these things which did not concern individuals at all. By

his manner, he put Carrie at their ease, and by his deference and

pleasantries he amused her. He pretended to be seriously interested in

all she said.

 

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

 

" Charlie, you are neglecting a part of your duty," he observed to

Drouet most affably. " Between us, though," he went on, " we can show

you."

 

By this tact he made Drouet feel that he admired his choice. There was

something in his manner that showed that he was pleased to be there.

Drouet felt really closer to him than ever before. It gave him more

respect for Carrie. Her appearance came into a new light, under

Hurstwood's appreciation. The situation livened considerably.

 

" Now, let me see," said Hurstwood, looking over Carrie's shoulder very

deferentially. " What have you?" He studied for a moment. " That's

rather good," he said.

 

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

take my advice."

 

" Here," said Drouet, " if you two are going to scheme together, I

won't stand a ghost of a show. Hurstwood a regular sharp."

 

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

 

Carrie looked gratefully at Hurstwood, and smiled at Drouet. The former

took the air of a mere friend. He was simply there to enjoy himself.

Anything that Carrie did was pleasing to him, nothing more.

 

"There," he said, holding back one of his own good cards, and giving

Carrie a chance to take a trick. " I count that clever playing for a

beginner."

 

The latter laughed gleefully as she saw the hand coming her way. It was

as if she were invincible when Hurstwood helped her.

 

He did not look at her often. When he did, it was with a mild light in

his eye. Not a shade was there of anything save geniality and kindness.

He took back the shifty, clever gleam, and replaced it with one of

innocence. Carrie could not guess but there it was pleasure with him in

the immediate kind. She felt that he considered she was doing a great

deal.

 

" It's unfair to let such playing go without earning something," he

said after a time, slipping his finger into the little coin pocket of

his coat. " Let's play for dimes."

 

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

 

Hurstwood was quicker. His finger were full of new ten-cent pieces. "

Here we are," he said, supplying each one with a little stack.

 

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

 

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

you will of to Heaven."

 

" Don't you moralize," said Hurstwood to Carrie gently, " until you see

what becomes of the money."

 

Drouet smiled.

 

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

 

Drouet laughed loud.

 

There was such an ingratiating tone about Hurstwood's voice, the

insinuation was so perceptible that even Carrie got the humor of it.

 

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

 

" On Wednesday," he replied.

 

" It's rather hard to have your husband addressing Carrie like that,

isn't it?" said Hurstwood, addressing Carrie.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Hurstwood did his best to see that Carrie won the money. He rejoined

in her success, kept counting her winnings, and finally gathered and

put them in her extended hand. They spread a little lunch, at which he

served the wine, and afterwards he used fine tact in going

 

" Now," he said, addressing first Carrie and then. Drouet with his

eyes, " you must be ready at 7:30. I'll come and get you."

 

They went with him to the door and there was his cab waiting, its red

lamps gleaming cheerfully in the shadow.

 

" Now," he observed to Drouet, with a tone of good fellowship, " when

you leave your wife alone, you must let me show her around a little. It

will break up her loneliness."

 

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

 

" You're so kind," observed Carrie.

 

" Not at all," said Hurstwood, " I would want you husband to do as much

for me."

 

He smiled and went lightly away. Carrie was thoroughly impressed. She

had never come in contact with such grace. As for Drouet, he was

equally pleased.

 

" There's a nice man," he remarked to Carrie, as the returned to their

cozy chamber. " A good friend of mine, too."

 

" He seems to be," said Carrie.

 

 

Chapter XI

THE PERSUASION OF FASHION: FEELING GUARDS O'ER ITS OWN

 

Carrie was an apt student of fortune's ways-of for Time's

superficialities. Seeing a thing, she would immediately set to

inquiring how she would look, properly rated to it. Be it known that

this is not fine feeling, it is Not wisdom. The greatest minds are not

so afflicted; and On the contrary, the lowest order of mind is not so

disturbed. Fine clothes to her were a vast persuasion; they spoke

tenderly and Jesuitical for themselves. When she came within earshot of

their pleading, desire in her bent a willing ear. The voice of the so-

called inanimate! Who shall translate for us the language of the

stones?

 

" My dear," said the lace collar she secured from Partridge's, " I fit

you beautifully; don't give me up."

 

" Ah, such little feet," said the leather of the soft new shoes; " how

effectively I cover them. What a pity they Should ever want my aid."

 

Once these things were in hand, on her person. She might dream of

giving them up; the method by which they came might intrude itself so

forcibly that she would ache to be rid of the thought of it, but she

would not give them up. " Put on the old clothes-that torn pair of

shoes," was called to her by her conscience in vain. She could possibly

have conquered the fear of hunger and gone back; the though of hard

work and a narrow round of suffering would, under the last pressure of

conscience have yielded, but spoil her appearance? -be old-clothes and

poor-appearing?-never!

 

Drouet heightened her opinion on this and allied subjects in such a

manner as to weaken her power of resisting their influence. It is so

easy to do this when the thing opined is in the line of what we desire.

In his hearty way, he insisted upon her good looks. He looked at her

admiringly, and she took it at its full value. Under the circumstances,

she did not need to carry herself as pretty women do. She picked that

knowledge up fast enough for herself. Drouet had a habit,

characteristic of his kind, of looking after stylishly dressed or

pretty women on the street and remarking upon them. He had just enough

of the feminine love of dress to be a good judge-not of intellect, but

of clothes. He saw how they set their little feet, how they carried

their chins, with what grace ands sinuosity they swung their bodies. A

dainty, self-conscious swaying of the hips by a woman was to him as

alluring as the glint of red wine to a toper. He would turn and follow

the disappearing vision with his eyes. he would thrill as a child with

the unhindered passion that was in him. He loves the thing that women

love in themselves, grace. At this their own shrine, he Knelt with

them, an ardent devotee.

 

" Did you see that women who went by just now?" he said to Carrie on

the first day they took a walk together. " Fine stepper, wasn't she?"

 

Carrie looked, and observed the grace commended.

 

" Yes, she is" she returned, cheerfully, a little suggestion of

possible defect in herself awakening in her mind. If that was so fine,

she must look at it more closely. Instinctively, she felt a desire to

imitate it. Surely she could do that too.

 

When one of her mind sees many things emphasized and reemphasized and

admired, she gathers the logic of it and applies accordingly. Drouet

was not shrewd enough to see that this was not tactful. He could not

see that it would be better to make her feel that she was competing

with herself, not others better than herself. He would not have done it

with an older, wiser woman, but in Carrie he saw only the novice. Less

clever than she, he was naturally unable to comprehend her sensibility.

He went on educating and wounding her, a thing rather foolish in one

whose admiration for his pupil and victim was apt to grow.

 

Carrie took the instructions affably. She saw what Drouet liked; in

vague way she saw where he was weak. It lessens a woman's opinion of a

man when she learns that his admiration is so pointedly and generously

distributed. She sees but one object of supreme compliment in this

world, and that is herself. If a man is to succeed with many women, he

went he must be all in all to each.

 

In her own apartments Carrie saw things that were lessons in the same

school.

 

In the same house with her live an official of one of the Theatres,

Mr. Frank A. Hale, manager of the Standard, and his wife, a pleasing-

looking brunette of thirty-five. They were people of a sort very common

in America today, who live respectably from hand to mouth. Her wife,

quite attractive affected the feeling of youth, and objected to that

sort of home life which means the care of a house and the raising of a

family. Like Drouet and Carrie, they also occupied three rooms on the

floor above. Not long after she arrived Mrs. Hale established social

relations with her, and together they went about. For a long time this