 CHAPTER XXV. When Hearst Wood 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 realize how it had all come about. It seemed a monstrous, unnatural, unwarranted condition which had suddenly descended upon him without his letter 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. Tomorrow 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 all that she knew, 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 clench 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 and 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 tonight, 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 the 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 Hearstwood, I gave it to her. My wife? Yes, sir. Any answer? She said it was high time. Hearstwood 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 Kerry, 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 Kerry and the arrangement by which he was to get her away from Dreway. How about that now? His pain at her failure to meet or write him rapidly increased as he devoted himself to the subject. He decided to write her care of the West Side Post Office and asked 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 directed a house owing to the exposure of it. But finding that time was slipping away to no purpose, he wrote a letter and then began to think again. The hour slipped by and with them the possibility of the union he had contemplated. He had thought to be joyously aiding Kerry by now in the task of joining her interest 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 Kerry, 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 them and see 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 Kerry. 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 to 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, supposing 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 carry, 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 pays a man queer tricks. He got back to his office and joined in a conversation with friends. It was as if idle chatter deadened to the sense of misery. That night he dined at Rectors 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 tomorrow, 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 around the block. CHAPTER XXVI. THE EMBASSADOR FALLEN A SEARCH FOR THE GATE Mary, left alone by Drueth, listened to his retreating steps, scarcely realizing 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 Drueth 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 Hearstwood. 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 a 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. Drueth 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 the 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 a due 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 of 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. Druah had gone, but what of it? He did not seem seriously angry. He only acted as if he were hurry. He would come back, of course he would. There was his cane in the corner. Here was one of his collars. He had left his light overcoat in the wardrobe. She looked about and tried to assure herself with the sight of a dozen such details, but alas the secondary thought arrived, supposing he did come back. Then what? Here was another proposition nearly, if not quite, as disturbing. She would have to talk with and explain to him. He would want her to admit that he was right. It would be impossible for her to live with him. On Friday Carrie remembered her appointment with Hearstwood, and the passing of the hour when she should, by all right of promise, have been in his company, served to keep the calamity which had befallen her exceedingly fresh and clear. In her nervousness and stress of mind, she felt it necessary to act, and consequently put on a brown street dress, and at eleven o'clock started to visit the business portion once again. She must look for work. The rain, which threatened at twelve and began at one, served equally well to cause her to retrace her steps and remain within doors, as it did to reduce Hearstwood's spirits and give him a wretched day. The morrow was Saturday, a half-holiday in many business quarters, and besides it was a balmy, radiant day, with the trees and grass shining exceedingly green after the rain of the night before. When she went out the sparrows were twittering merrily in joyous choruses. She could not help feeling, as she looked across the lovely park, that life was a joyous thing for those who did not need to worry, and she wished over and over that something might interfere now to preserve for her the comfortable state which she had occupied. She did not want Druett or his money when she thought of it, nor anything more to do with Hearstwood, but only the content and ease of mind she had experienced. For, after all, she had been happy. Happier at least than she was now when confronted by the necessity of making her way alone. When she arrived in the business part it was quite eleven o'clock, and the business had little longer to run. She did not realize this at first, being affected by some of the old distress, which was a result of her earlier adventure into this strenuous and exacting quarter. She wandered about, assuring herself that she was making up her mind to look for something, and at the same time feeling that perhaps it was not necessary to be in such a haste about it. The thing was difficult to encounter, and she had a few days. Besides, she was not sure that she was really face to face again with the bitter problem of self-sustenance. Anyhow, there was one change for the better. She knew that she had improved in appearance. Her manner had vastly changed. Her clothes were becoming, and men, well-dressed men, some of the kind who before had gazed at her indifferently from behind their polished railings and imposing office partitions, now gazed into her face with a soft light in their eyes. In a way, she felt the power and satisfaction of the thing, but it did not wholly reassure her. She looked for nothing, saved what might come legitimately, and without the appearance of special favor. She wanted something, but no man should buy her by false protestations or favor. She proposed to earn her living honestly. This door closes at one on Saturdays, was a pleasing and satisfactory legend to see upon doors which she felt she ought to enter and inquire for work. It gave her an excuse, and after encountering quite a number of them, and noting that the clock registered twelve-fifteen, she decided that it would be no use to seek further to-day. So she got on a car and went to Lincoln Park. There was always something to see there. The flowers, the animals, the lake, and she flattered herself that on Monday she would be up, be times, and searching. Besides many things might happen between now and Monday. Sunday passed with equal doubts, worries, assurances, and heaven knows what vigories of mind and spirit. Every half hour in the day the thought would come to her most sharply, like the tale of a swishing whip, that action, immediate action, was imperative. At other times she would look about her and assure herself that things were not so bad, that certainly she would come out safe and sound. At such times she would think of Druah's advice about going on the stage and saw some chance for herself in that quarter. She decided to take up that opportunity on the morrow. Accordingly she arose early Monday morning and dressed herself carefully. She did not know just how such applications were made, but she took it to be a matter which related more directly to the theater buildings. All you had to do was inquire of someone about the theater for the manager and ask for a position. If there was anything you might get it, or at least he could tell you how. She had had no experience with this class of individuals whatsoever and did not know the salacity and humor of the theatrical tribe. She only knew of the position which Mr. Hale occupied, but, of all things, she did not wish to encounter that personage on account of her intimacy with his wife. There was, however, at this time one theater, the Chicago Opera House, which was considerably in the public eye, and its manager, David A. Henderson, had a fair local reputation. Carrie had seen one or two elaborate performances there and had heard of several others. She knew nothing of Henderson nor of the methods of applying, but she instinctively felt that this would be a likely place, and accordingly strolled about in that neighborhood. She came bravely enough to the showy entranceway, with the polished and beguilded lobby set with framed pictures out of the current attraction, leading up to the quiet box office, but she could get no further. A noted comic opera comedian was holding forth that week, and the air of distinction and prosperity overawed her. She could not imagine that there would be anything in such a lofty sphere for her. She almost trembled at the audacity which might have carried her on to a terrible rebuff. She could find heart only to look at the pictures which were showy and then walk out. It seemed to her as if she had made a splendid escape, and that it would be foolhardy to think of applying in that quarter again. This little experience settled her hunting for one day. She looked around elsewhere, but it was from the outside. She got the location of several playhouses fixed in her mind, notably the Grand Opera House and Mick Vickers, both of which were leading in attractions. And then came away. Her spirits were materially reduced, owing to the newly restored sense of magnitude of the great interests and the insignificance of her claims upon society, such as she understood them to be. That night she was visited by Mrs. Hale, whose chatter and protracted stay made it impossible to dwell upon her predicament or the fortune of the day. Before retiring, however, she sat down to think and gave herself up to the most gloomy forebodings. Druah had not put in own appearance. She had had no word from any quarter. She had spent a dollar of her precious sum in procuring food and paying car fare. It was evident that she would not endure long. Besides, she had discovered no resource. In this situation her thoughts went out to her sister in Van Buren Street, whom she had not seen since the night of her flight, and to her home at Columbia City, which seemed now a part of something that could not be again. She looked for no refuge in that direction. Nothing but sorrow was brought to her by thoughts of Hearstwood which would return. That he could have chosen to dupe her in so ready a manner seemed a cruel thing. Tuesday came, and with it, appropriate indecision and speculation. She was in no mood after her failure of the day before, to hasten forth upon her work-seeking errand, and yet she rebuked herself for what she considered her weakness the day before. Accordingly she started out to revisit the Chicago Opera House, but possessed scarcely enough courage to approach. She did manage to inquire at the box-office, however. "'Manager of the company or the house?' asked the smartly dressed individual who took care of the tickets. He was favorably impressed by Carrie's looks. "'I don't know,' said Carrie, taken aback by the question. "'You couldn't see the manager of the house today anyhow,' volunteered the young man. He's out of town.' He noted her puzzled look, and then added, "'What is it you wish to see about?' "'I want to see about getting a position,' she answered. "'You'd better see the manager of the company,' he returned, "'but he isn't here now.' "'When will he be in?' asked Carrie, somewhat relieved by this information. "'Well, you might find him in between eleven and twelve. He's here after two o'clock.' Carrie thanked him and walked briskly out, while the young man gazed after her through one of the side windows of his gilded coop. "'Good-looking,' he said to himself, and proceeded to visions of condescensions on her part which were exceedingly flattering to himself. One of the principal comedy-companies of the day was playing an engagement at the Grand Opera House. Here Carrie asked to see the manager of the company. She little knew the trivial authority of this individual, or that had there been a vacancy, an actor would have been sent on from New York to fill it. "'His office is upstairs,' said a man in the box-office. Several persons were in the manager's office, two lounging near a window, another talking to an individual sitting at a roll-top desk, the manager. Carrie glanced nervously about, and began to fear that she should have to make her appeal before the assembled company, two of whom, the occupants of the window, were already observing her carefully. "'I can't do it,' the manager was saying. "'It's a rule of Mr. Frommans never to allow visitors back of the stage. No, no!' Carrie timidly waited, standing. They were chairs, but no one motioned her to be seated. The individual to whom the manager had been talking went away quite crestfallen. That luminary gazed earnestly at some papers before him, as if they were of the greatest concern. "'Did you see that in the Herald this morning about not good one, Harris?' "'No,' said the person addressed. "'What was it?' "'Made quite a curtain address at Hoolie's last night. Better look it up.' Harris reached over to a table and began to look for the Herald. "'What is it?' said the manager to Carrie, apparently noticing her for the first time. He thought he was going to be held up for free tickets. Carrie summoned up all her courage, which was little at best. She realized that she was a novice, and felt as if a rebuff were certain. Of this she was so sure that she only wished now to pretend she had called for advice. "'Can you tell me how to go about getting on the stage?' It was the best way, after all, to have gone about the matter. She was interesting, in a manner, to the occupant of the chair, and the simplicity of her request and attitude took his fancy. He smiled, as did the others in the room, who, however, made some slight effort to conceal their humor. "'I don't know,' he answered, looking her brazenly over. "'Have you ever had any experience upon the stage?' "'A little,' answered Carrie. "'I have taken part in amateur performances.' She thought she had to make some sort of showing in order to retain his interest. "'Never studied for the stage?' he said, putting on an air intended as much to impress his friends with his discretion as Carrie. "'No, sir.' "'Well, I don't know,' he answered, tipping lazily back in his chair while she stood before him. What makes you want to get on the stage?' She felt abashed at the man's daring, but could only smile in answer to his engaging smirk and say, I need to make a living. "'Oh,' he answered, rather taken by her trim appearance, and feeling as if he might scrape up an acquaintance with her. "'That's a good reason, isn't it?' "'Well, Chicago is not a good place for what you want to do. You ought to be in New York. There's more chance there. You could hardly expect to get started out here.' Carrie smiled genially, grateful that he should condescend to advise her even so much. He noticed the smile and put a slightly different construction on it. He thought he saw an easy chance for a little flirtation. "'Sit down,' he said, pulling a chair forward from the side of his desk and dropping his voice so that the two men in the room should not hear. Those two gave each other the suggestion of a wink. "'Well, I'll be going, Barney,' said one, breaking away and so addressing the manager. "'See you this afternoon.' "'All right,' said the manager. The remaining individual took up a paper as if to read. "'Did you have any idea what sort of part you would like to get?' asked the manager softly. "'Oh, no,' said Carrie. "'I would take anything to begin with.' "'I see,' he said. "'Do you live here in the city?' "'Yes, sir.' The manager smiled most blandly. "'Have you ever tried to get in as a chorus girl?' He asked, assuming a more confidential air. Carrie began to feel that there was something exuberant and unnatural in his manner. "'No,' she said. "'That's the way most girls begin,' he went on. "'Who go on the stage? It's a good way to get experience.' He was turning on her a glance of the companionable and persuasive manner. "'I didn't know that,' said Carrie. "'It's a difficult thing,' he went on. "'But there's always a chance, you know. Then, as if he suddenly remembered, he pulled out his watch and consulted it. "'I have an appointment at two,' he said. "'And I've got to go to lunch now. "'Would you care to come and dine with me? We can talk it over there.' "'Oh, no,' said Carrie, the whole motive of the man flashing on her at once. "'I have an engagement myself.' "'That's too bad,' he said, realizing that he had been a little beforehand in his offer, and that Carrie was about to go away. "'Come in later. I may know of something.' "'Thank you,' she answered, with some trepidation, and went out. "'She was good-looking, wasn't she?' said the manager's companion, who had not caught all the details of the game he had played. "'Yes, in a way,' said the other, sore to think the game had been lost. "'She'd never make an actress, though, just another chorus girl. That's all.'" This little experience nearly destroyed her ambition to call up on the manager at the Chicago Opera House, but she decided to do so after a time. He was a more sedate turn of mind. He said at once that there was no opening of any sort and seemed to consider her search foolish. "'Chicago is no place to get a start,' he said. "'You ought to be in New York.' Still, she persisted, and went to Mick Vickers, where she could not find anyone. The old homestead was running there, but the person to whom she was referred was not to be found. These little expeditions took up her time until quite four o'clock, when she was weary enough to go home. She felt as if she ought to continue and inquire elsewhere, but the results so far were too dispiriting. She took the car and arrived at Ogden Place in three-quarters of an hour, but decided to ride on to the west side branch of the post office, where she was accustomed to receive Hearstwood's letters. There was one there now, written Saturday, which she tore open and read with mingled feelings. There was so much warmth in it, and such tense complaint at her having failed to meet him, and her subsequent silence that she rather pitied the man, that he loved her was evident enough, that he wished and dared to do so, married as he was, was the evil. She felt as if the thing deserved an answer, and consequently decided that she would write and let him know that she knew of his married state, and was justly incensed at his deception. She would tell him that it was all over between them. At her room the wording of this missive occupied her for some time, for she fell to the task at once. It was most difficult. You do not need to have me explain why I did not meet you, she wrote in part. How could you deceive me so? You cannot expect me to have anything more to do with you. I wouldn't under any circumstances. Oh, how could you act so? She added in a burst of feeling. You have caused me more misery than you can think. I hope you will get over your infatuation for me. We must not meet any more. Goodbye. She took the letter the next morning, and at the corner dropped it reluctantly into the letterbox, still uncertain as to whether she should do so or not. Then she took the car and went downtown. This was the dull season with the department stores, but she was listened to with more consideration than was usually accorded to young women applicants owing to her neat and attractive appearance. She was asked the same old questions with which she was already familiar. What can you do? Have you ever worked in a retail store before? Are you experienced? At the fair, sea and companies, and all the great stores, it was much the same. It was the dull season. She might come in a little later. Possibly they would like to have her. When she arrived at the house at the end of the day, weary and disheartened, she discovered that Druah had been there. His umbrella and light overcoat were gone. She thought she missed other things, but could not be sure. Everything had not been taken. So his going was crystallizing into staying. What was she to do now? Evidently she would be facing the world in the same old way within a day or two. Her clothes would get poor. She put her two hands together in her customary expressive way and pressed her fingers. Large tears gathered in her eyes and broke hot across her cheeks. She was alone, very much alone. Druah really had called, but it was with a very different mind from that which Carrie had imagined. He expected to find her to justify his return by claiming that he came to get the remaining portion of his wardrobe and before he got away again to patch up a piece. Accordingly, when he arrived, he was disappointed to find Carrie out. He trifled about hoping that she was somewhere in the neighborhood and would soon return. He constantly listened, expecting to hear her foot on the stair. When he did so, it was his intention to make believe that he had just come in and was disturbed at being caught. Then he would explain his need of clothes and find out how things stood. Wait as he did, however, Carrie did not come. From pottering around among the drawers, in momentary expectation of her arrival, he changed to looking out of the window and from that to resting himself in the rocking chair. Still, no Carrie. He began to grow restless and lit a cigar. After that he walked the floor. Then he looked out of the window and saw clouds gathering. He remembered an appointment at three. He began to think that it would be useless to wait and got hold of his umbrella and light coat, intending to take these things anyway. It would scare her, he hoped. Tomorrow he would come back for the others. He would find out how things stood. As he started to go he felt truly sorry that he had missed her. There was a little picture of her on the wall, showing her arrayed in the little jacket he had first bought her, her face a little more wistful than he had seen it lately. He was really touched by it and looked into the eyes of it with a rather rare feeling for him. You didn't do me right, Cad, he said, as if he were addressing her in the flesh. Then he went to the door, took a good look around, and went out. CHAPTER 27 When waters engulf us we reach for a star. It was when he returned from his disturbed stroll around the streets, after receiving the decisive note from McGregor, James, and Hay, that Hearstwood found the letter Currie had written him that morning. He thrilled intensely as he noted the handwriting and rapidly tore it open. Then, he thought, she loves me or she would not have written to me at all. He was slightly depressed at the tenor of the note for the first few minutes, but soon recovered. She wouldn't write at all if she didn't care for me. This was his one resource against the depression which held him. He could extract little from the wording of the letter, but the spirit he thought he knew. There was really something exceedingly human, if not pathetic, in his being thus relieved by a clearly worded reproof. He, who had for so long, remained satisfied for himself, now looked outside of himself for comfort, and to such a source. The mystic chords of affection, how they bind us all. The color came to his cheeks. For the moment he forgot the letter from McGregor, James, and Hay. If he could only have Currie, perhaps he could get out of this whole entanglement. Perhaps it would not matter. He wouldn't care what his wife did with herself, if only he might not lose Currie. He stood up and walked about, dreaming his delightful dream of a life continued with this lovely possessor of his heart. It was not long, however, before the old worry was back for consideration, and with it what weariness. He thought of the morrow and the suit. He had done nothing, and here was the afternoon slipping away. It was now a quarter of four. At five the attorneys would have gone home. He still had the morrow until noon. Even as he thought the last fifteen minutes passed away and it was five, then he abandoned the thought of seeing them any more that day, and turned to Currie. It is to be observed that the man did not justify himself to himself. He was not troubling about that. His whole thought was the possibility of persuading Currie. Nothing was wrong in that. He loved her dearly. Their mutual happiness depended upon it. Would that Druah were only away? While he was thinking thus elatedly, he remembered that he wanted some clean linen in the morning. This he purchased together with a half-dozen ties, and went to the Palmer House. As he entered he thought he saw Druah ascending the stairs with the key. Surely not Druah! Then he thought perhaps they had changed their abode temporarily. He went straight up to the desk. Is Mr. Druah stopping here? He asked of the clerk. I think he is, said the latter, consulting his private registry list. Yes. Is that so? exclaimed Hearstwood, otherwise concealing his astonishment. Alone? he added. Yes, said the clerk. Hearstwood turned away and set his lips so as to best express and conceal his feelings. How's that? he thought. They've had a row. He hastened to his room with rising spirits and changed his linen. As he did so, he made up his mind that if Kerry was alone or if she had gone to another place it behooved him to find out. He decided to call at once. I know what I'll do, he thought. I'll go to the door and ask if Mr. Druah is at home. That will bring out whether he is there or not and where Kerry is. He was almost moved to some muscular display as he thought of it. He decided to go immediately after supper. On coming down from his room at six he looked carefully about to see if Druah was present and then went out to lunch. He could scarcely eat, however. He was so anxious to be about his errand. Before starting he thought it was well to discover where Druah would be and return to his hotel. Has Mr. Druah gone out? he asked of the clerk. No, answered the latter. He's in his room. Do you wish to send up a card? No, I'll call around later, answered Hearstwood and strolled out. He took a Madison car and went direct to Ogden Place, this time walking boldly up to the door. The chambermaid answered his knock. Is Mr. Druah in? said Hearstwood blandly. He is out of the city, said the girl, who had heard Kerry tell this to Mrs. Hale. Is Mrs. Druah in? No, she has gone to the theatre. Is that so? said Hearstwood, considerably taken back. Then as if burdened with something important, you don't know to which theatre. The girl really had no idea where she had gone, but not liking Hearstwood and wishing to cause him trouble, answered, Yes, Hoolies. Thank you, returned the manager, and tipping his hat slightly went away. I'll look in at Hoolies, thought he, but as a matter of fact he did not. Before he had reached the central portion of the city, he thought the whole matter over, and decided it would be useless. As much as he longed to see Kerry, he knew she would be with someone and did not wish to intrude with his plea there. A little later he might do so in the morning. Only in the morning he had the lawyer questioned before him. This little pilgrimage threw quite a wet blanket upon his rising spirits. He was soon down again to his old worry, and reached the resort anxious to find relief. Quite a company of gentlemen were making the place lively with their conversation. A group of Cook County politicians were conferring about a round cherrywood table in the rear portion of the room. Several young merry-makers were chattering at the bar before making a belated visit to the theater. A shabbily gentile individual with a red nose and an old high hat was sipping a quiet glass of ale alone at one end of the bar. Hurstwood nodded to the politicians and went into his office. About ten o'clock a friend of his, Mr. Frank L. Tainter, a local sport and racing man, dropped in, and seeing Hurstwood alone in his office, came to the door. Hello, George, he exclaimed. How are you, Frank, said Hurstwood, somewhat relieved by the sight of him. Sit down. Any motion to one of the chairs in the little room? What's the matter, George, asked Tainter? You look a little glum. Haven't lost at the track, have you? I'm not feeling very well tonight. I had a slight cold the other day. Take whiskey, George, said Tainter. You ought to know that. Hurstwood smiled. While they were still conferring there, several other of Hurstwood's friends entered, and not long after eleven the theatres being out, some actors began to drop in, among them some notabilities. Then began one of those pointless social conversations so common in America resorts, where the would-be gilded attempt to rub guilt from those who have it in abundance. If Hurstwood had one leaning, it was toward notabilities. He considered that, if anywhere, he belonged among them. He was too proud to toady, too keen not to strictly observe the plane he occupied when there were those present who did not appreciate him, but in situations like the present, where he could shine as a gentleman and be received without equivocation as a friend and equal among men of known ability, he was most delighted. It was on such occasions, if ever, that he would take something. When the social flavour was strong enough, he would even unbend to the extent of drinking glass for glass with his associates, punctiliously observing his turn to pay as if he were an outsider like the others. If he ever approached intoxication, or rather that ruddy warmth and comfortableness which precedes the more Slavin state, it was when individuals such as these were gathered about him when he was one of a circle of chatting celebrities. Tonight, disturbed as was his state, he was rather relieved to find company, and now that notabilities were gathered he laid aside his troubles for the nonce and joined in right heartily. It was not long before the imbibing began to tell, stories began to crop up, those ever-enduring, droll stories which formed the major portion of the conversation among American men under such circumstances. 12 o'clock arrived, the hour foreclosing, and with it the company took leave. Hurstwood shook hands with them most cordially. He was very roset physically. He had arrived at that state where his mind, though clear, was nevertheless warm in its fancies. He felt as if his troubles were not very serious. Going into his office he began to turn over certain accounts, awaiting the departure of the bartenders and the cashier who soon left. It was the manager's duty, as well as his custom, after all were gone, to see that everything was safely closed up for the night. As a rule no money except the cash taken in after banking hours was kept about the place, and that was locked in a safe by the cashier, who, with the owners, was joint-keeper of the secret combination. But nevertheless Hurstwood nightly took the precaution to try the cash drawers and the safe in order to see that they were tightly closed. Then he would lock his own little office and set the proper light burning near the safe, after which he would take his departure. Never in his experience had he found anything out of order, but tonight, after shutting down his desk, he came out and tried the safe. His way was to give a sharp pull. This time the door responded. He was slightly surprised at that, and, looking in, found the money cases as left for the day, apparently unprotected. His first thought was, of course, to inspect the drawers and shut the door. I'll speak to Mayhew about this tomorrow, he thought. The latter had certainly imagined upon going out a half-hour before that he had turned the knob on the door so as to spring the lock. He had never failed to do so before, but tonight Mayhew had other thoughts. He had been revolving the problem of a business of his own. I'll look in here, thought the manager, pulling out the money drawers. He did not know why he wished to look in there. It was quite a superfluous action, which another time might not have happened at all. As he did so, a layer of bills, in parcels of a thousand such as bank issues, caught his eye. He could not tell how much they represented, but paused to view them. Then he pulled out the second of the cash drawers, and that were the receipts of the day. I didn't know if Fitzgerald and Moy ever left any money this way, his mind said to itself, they must have forgotten it. He looked at the other drawer and paused again. Count them, said a voice in his ear. He put his hand into the first of the boxes and lifted the stack, letting the separate parcels fall. They were bills of fifty and one hundred dollars done in packages of a thousand. He thought he counted ten such. Why don't I shut the safe, his mind said to itself, lingering. What makes me pause here? For the answer there came the strangest words. Did you ever have $10,000 in ready money? Lo, the manager remembered that he had never had so much. All his property had been slowly accumulated, and now his wife owned that. He was worth more than forty thousand, all told, but she would get that. He puzzled as he thought of these things, then pushed in the drawers and closed the door, pausing with his hand up on the knob, which might so easily lock it beyond temptation. Still he paused. Finally he went to the windows and pulled down the curtains. Then he tried the door, which he had previously locked. What was this thing making him suspicious? Why did he wish to move about so quietly? He came back to the end of the counter as if to rest his arm and think. Then he went and unlocked his little office door and turned on the light. He also opened his desk, sitting down before it, only to think strange thoughts. The safe is open, said a voice. There is just the least little crack in it. The lock has not been sprung. The manager floundered among a jumble of thoughts. Now all the entanglement of the day came back. Also the thought that here was a solution, that money would do it. If he had that and carry, he rose up and stood stock still, looking at the floor. What about it, his mind asked. And for answer he put his hand slowly up and scratched his head. The manager was no fool to be led blindly away by such an errant proposition as this. But his situation was peculiar. Wine was in his veins. It had crept up into his head and given him a warm view of the situation. It also colored the possibilities of 10,000 for him. He could see great opportunities with that. He could get carry, oh yes he could. He could get rid of his wife. That letter too was waiting discussion tomorrow morning. He would not need to answer that. He went back to the safe and put his hand on the knob. Then he pulled the door open and took the drawer with the money quite out. With it once out and before him, it seemed a foolish thing to think about leaving it. Certainly it would. Why, he could live quietly with carry for years. Lord, what was that? For the first time he was tense, as if a stern hand had been laid upon his shoulder. He looked fearfully around. Not a soul was present, not a sound. Someone was shuffling by on the sidewalk. He took the box and the money and put it back in the safe. Then he partly closed the door again. To those who have never wavered in conscience, the predicament of the individual, whose mind is less strongly constituted, and who trembles in the balance between duty and desire, is scarcely appreciable and less graphically portrayed. Those who have never heard the solemn voice of the ghostly clock, which ticks with awful distinctness, thou shalt, thou shalt not, thou shalt, thou shalt not, are in no position to judge. Not alone, insensitive, highly organized natures is such a mental conflict possible. The dullest specimen of humanity, when drawn by desire toward evil, is recalled by a sense of right, which is proportionate in power and strength to his evil tendency. We must remember that it may not be a knowledge of right, for no knowledge of right is predicated of the animal's instinctive recoil at evil. Men are still led by instinct before they are regulated by knowledge. It is instinct which recalls the criminal. It is instinct where highly organized reasoning is absent, which gives the criminal his feeling of danger, his fear of wrong. At every first adventure, then, into some untried evil, the mind wavers. The clock of thought ticks out its wish and denial. To those who have never experienced such a mental dilemma, the following will appeal on the simple ground of revelation. When Hearst would put the money back, his nature again resumed its ease in daring. No one had observed him. He was quite alone. No one could tell what he wished to do. He could work this thing out for himself. The imbibation of the evening had not yet worn off. Moist as was his brow, tremble as did his hand once after the nameless fright, he was still flushed with the fumes of liquor. He scarcely noticed that the time was passing. He went over his situation once again, his eye always seeing the money in a lump, his mind always seeing what it would do. He strolled into his little room, then to the door, then to the safe again. He put his hand on the knob and opened it. There was the money. Surely no harm could come from looking at it. He took out the drawer again and lifted the bills. They were so smooth, so compact, so portable. How little they made after all. He decided he would take them. Yes, he would. He would put them in his pocket. Then he looked at that and saw they would not go there. His handsatchel, to be sure, his handsatchel. They would go in that. All of it would. No one would think anything of it, either. He went into the little office and took it from the shelf in the corner. Now he sat it upon his desk and went out toward the safe. For some reason he did not want to fill it out in the big room. First he brought the bills and the loose receipts of the day. He would take it all. He put the empty drawers back and pushed the iron door almost to, then stood beside it meditating. The wavering of a mind under such circumstances is an almost inexplicable thing. And yet it is absolutely true. Hurstwood could not bring himself to act definitely. He wanted to think about it, to ponder over it, to decide whether it were best. He was drawn by such a keen desire for Kerry, driven by such a state of turmoil in his own affairs, that he thought constantly it would be best. And yet he wavered. He did not know what evil might result from it to him, how soon he might come to grief. The true ethics of the situation never once occurred to him, and never would have under any circumstances. After he had all the money in the handbag, a revulsion of feeling seized him, he would not do it, no. Think of what a scandal it would make, the police, they would be after him. He would have to fly, and where? Oh, the terror of being a fugitive from justice. He took out the two boxes and put all the money back. In his excitement he forgot what he was doing, and put the sums in the wrong boxes. As he pushed the door to, he thought he remembered doing it wrong and opened the door again. There were the two boxes mixed. He took them out and straightened the matter, but now the terror had gone. Why be afraid? While the money was in his hand, the lock clicked. It had sprung. Did he do it? He grabbed at the knob and pulled vigorously. It had closed. Heavens, he was in for it now, sure enough. The moment he realized that the safe was locked for assurity, the sweat burst out upon his brow and he trembled violently. He looked around him and decided instantly, there was no delaying now. Supposing I do lay it on the top, he said, and go away. They'll know who took it. I'm the last to close up. Besides, other things will happen. At once he became the man of action. I must get out of this, he thought. He hurried into his little room, took down his light over coat and hat, locked his desk, and grabbed at this actual. Then he turned out all but one light and opened the door. He tried to put on his old, assured air, but it was almost gone. He was repenting rapidly. I wish I hadn't done that, he said. That was a mistake. He walked steadily down the street, greeting a night watchman whom he knew was trying doors. He must get out of the city, and that quickly. I wonder how the trains run, he thought. Instantly he pulled out his watch and looked. It was nearly half past one. At the first drug store he stopped, seeing a long distance telephone booth inside. It was a famous drug store and contained one of the first private telephone booths ever erected. I want to use your phone a minute, he said to the night clerk. The latter nodded. Give me 1643, he called the Central, after looking up the Michigan Central depot number. Soon he got the ticket agent. How do the trains leave here for Detroit, he asked. The man explained the hours. No more tonight? Nothing with a sleeper. Yes, there is, too, he added. There is a mail train out of here at three o'clock. All right, said Hurstwood. What time does that get to Detroit? He was thinking if he could only get there and cross the river into Canada, he could take his time about getting to Montreal. He was relieved to learn that it would reach there by noon. Mayhew won't open the safe till nine, he thought. They can't get on my track before noon. Then he thought of Carrie. With what speed he must get her if he got her at all, she would have to come along. He jumped into the nearest cab standing by. To Ogden Place, he said sharply, I'll give you a dollar more if you make good time. The cabbie beat his horse into a sort of imitation gallop, which was fairly fast, however. On the way, Hurstwood thought what to do. Reaching the number, he hurried up the steps and did not spare the bell in waking the servant. Is Mrs. Druah in, he asked. Yes, said the astonished girl. Tell her to dress and come to the door at once. Her husband is in the hospital injured and wants to see her. The servant girl hurried upstairs, convinced by the man strained and emphatic manner. What, said Carrie, lighting the gas and searching for her clothes. Mr. Druah is hurt and in the hospital. He wants to see you, the cabs downstairs. Carrie dressed very rapidly and soon appeared below, forgetting everything saved the necessities. Druah is hurt, said Hurstwood quickly. He wants to see you, come quickly. Carrie was so bewildered that she swallowed the whole story. Get in, said Hurstwood, helping her and jumping after. The cabbie began to turn the horse around. Michigan Central Depot, he said, standing up and speaking so low that Carrie could not hear, as fast as you can go. End of Chapter 27, recording by Carrie Bradfield, St. Louis, Missouri. Chapter 28 of Sister Carrie. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Bob Sage. Sister Carrie by Theodore Dreiser, Chapter 28. A pilgrim, an outlaw, the spirit detained. The cab had not traveled a short block before Carrie, settling herself and thoroughly waking in the night atmosphere, asked, what's the matter with him? Is he hurt badly? It isn't anything very serious, Hurstwood said solemnly. He was very much disturbed over his own situation. And now, that he had Carrie with him, he only wanted to get safely out of the reach of the law. Therefore he was in no mood for anything, save such words as would further his plans distinctly. Carrie did not forget that there was something to be settled between her and Hurstwood, but the thought was ignored in her agitation. For one thing, she was to finish this strange pilgrimage. Where is he? Way out on the south side, said Hurstwood. We'll have him take the train, it's the quickest way. Carrie said nothing, and the horse gambled on. The weirdness of the city by night held her attention. She looked at the long receding rows of lamps and studied the dark, silent houses. How did he hurt himself, she asked, meaning what was the nature of his injuries? Hurstwood understood. He hated to lie any more than necessary, and yet he wanted no protests until he was out of danger. I don't know exactly, he said. They just called me up to go and get you and bring you out. They said there wasn't any need for alarm, but that I shouldn't fail to bring you. The man's serious manner convinced Carrie, and she became silent, wondering. Hurstwood examined his watch and urged the man to hurry. For one and so delicate a position, he was exceedingly cool. He could only think of how needful it was to make the train and get quietly away. Carrie seemed quite tractable, and he congratulated himself. In due time they reached the depot, and after helping her out, he handed the man a $5 bill and hurried on. You wait here, he said to Carrie when they reached the waiting room, while I get the tickets. Have I much time to catch the train for Detroit? He asked the agent, four minutes, said the latter. He paid for two tickets as circumspectly as possible. Is it far, said Carrie, as he hurried back? Not very, he said, we must get right in. He pushed her before him at the gate, stood between her and the ticket man while the latter punched their tickets so that she could not see, and then hurried after. There was a long line of express and passenger cars and one or two common day coaches. As the train had only recently been made up and few passengers were expected, there were only one or two breakmen waiting. They entered the rear day coach and sat down. Almost immediately, all aboard, resounded faintly from the outside, and the train started. Carrie began to think it was a little bit curious, this going to a depot, but said nothing. The whole incident was so out of the natural that she did not attach too much weight to anything she imagined. How have you been? Asked Hurstwood gently, for he now breath easier. Very well, said Carrie, who was so disturbed that she could not bring a proper attitude to bear in the matter. She was still nervous to reach Druitt and see what could be the matter. Hurstwood contemplated her and felt this. He was not disturbed that it should be so. He did not trouble because she was moved sympathetically in the matter. It was one of the qualities in her which pleased him exceedingly. He was only thinking how he should explain. Even this was not the most serious thing in his mind, however, his own deed and present flight were the great shadows which weighed upon him. What a fool I was to do that, he said over and over. What a mistake. In his sober senses he could scarcely realize that the thing had been done. He could not begin to feel that he was a fugitive from justice. He had often read of such things and had thought they must be terrible but now that the thing was upon him, he only sat and looked into the past. The future was a thing which concerned the Canadian line. He wanted to reach that. As for the rest, he surveyed his actions for the evening and counted them parts of a great mistake. Still, he said, what could I have done? Then he would decide to make the best of it and would begin to do so by starting the whole inquiry over again. It was a fruitless, harassing round and left him in a queer mood to deal with the proposition he had in the presence of Carrie. The train clacked through the yards along the lakefront and ran rather slowly to 24th Street. Brakes and signals were visible without. The engine gave short calls with its whistle and frequently the bell rang. Several breakmen came through bearing lanterns. They were locking the vestibules and putting the cars in order for a long run. Presently it began to gain speed and Carrie saw the silent streets flashing by in rapid succession. The engine also began its whistle calls of four parts with which it signaled danger to important crossings. Is it very far? asked Carrie. Not so very, said Hirstwood. He could hardly repress a smile at her simplicity. He wanted to explain and conciliate her, but he also wanted to be well out of Chicago. In the lapse of another half hour it became apparent to Carrie that it was quite a run to wherever he was taking her anyhow. Is it in Chicago? she asked nervously. They were now far beyond the city limits and the train was scutting across the Indiana line at a great rate. No, he said. Not where we're going. There was something in the way he said this which aroused her in an instant. Her pretty brow began to contract. We are going to see Charlie, aren't we? she asked. He felt that the time was up. An explanation might as well come now as later. Therefore he shook his head in the most gentle negative. What? said Carrie. She was non-plus to the possibility of the errand being different from what she had thought. He only looked at her in the most kindly and mollifying way. Well, where are you taking me then? She asked, her voice showing the quality of fright. I'll tell you, Carrie, if you'll be quiet. I want you to come along with me to another city. Oh, said Carrie, her voice rising into a weak cry. Let me off. I don't want to go with you. She was quite appalled at the man's audacity. This was something which had never for a moment entered her head. Her one thought now was to get off and away. If only the flying train could be stopped, the terrible trick would be amended. She arose and tried to push out into the aisle, anywhere she knew she had to do something. Her first would lay a gentle hand on her. Sit down, Carrie. Sit still. It won't do you any good to get up here. Listen to me, and I'll tell you what I'll do. Wait a moment. She was pushing at his knees, but he only pulled her back. No one saw this little altercation. For very few persons were in the car, and they were attempting to doze. I won't, said Carrie, who was nevertheless complying against her will. Let me go, she said. How dare you! And large tears began to gather in her eyes. Hurstwood was now fully aroused to the immediate difficulty and ceased to think of his own situation. He must do something with this girl, or she would cause him trouble. He tried the art of persuasion with all his powers aroused. Look here now, Carrie. You mustn't act this way. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I don't want to do anything to make you feel bad. Oh, sob, Carrie. Oh, there, there, he said. You mustn't cry. Won't you listen to me? Listen to me a minute. And I'll tell you why I came to do this thing. I couldn't help it. I assure you I couldn't. Won't you listen? Her sobs disturbed him so that he was quite sure she did not hear a word he said. Won't you listen? He asked. No, I won't, said Carrie, flashing up. I want you to take me out of this, or I'll tell the conductor. I won't go with you. It's a shame. And again sobs a fright cut off her desire for expression. Hurstwood listened with some astonishment. He felt that she had just cause for feeling as she did. And yet he wished that he could straighten this thing out quickly. Shortly the conductor would come through for the tickets. He wanted no noise, no trouble of any kind. Before everything, he must make her quiet. You couldn't get out until the train stops again, said Hurst. It won't be very long until we reach another station. You can get out then if you want to. I won't stop you. All I want you to do is to listen a moment. You'll let me tell you, won't you? Carrie seemed not to listen. She only turned her head toward the window, where outside all was black. The train was speeding with steady grace across the fields and through the patches of wood. The long whistles came with sad, musical effect as the lonely woodland crossings were approached. Now the conductor entered the car and took up the one or two fares that had been added at Chicago. He approached Hurstwood, who handed out the tickets. Poised as she was to act, Carrie made no move. She did not look about. When the conductor had gone again, Hurstwood felt relieved. You're angry at me because I deceived you, he said. I didn't mean to, Carrie. As I live, I didn't. I couldn't help it. I couldn't stay away from you after the first time I saw you. He was ignoring the last deception as something that might go by the board. He wanted to convince her that his wife could no longer be a factor in their relationship. The money he had stolen, he tried to shut out of his mind. Don't talk to me, said Carrie. I hate you. I want you to go away from me. I am going to go out at the very next station. She was in a tremble of excitement and opposition as she spoke. All right, he said, but you'll hear me out, won't you? After all, you've said about loving me. You might hear me. I don't want to do you any harm. I'll give you the money to go back with when you go. I merely want to tell you, Carrie. You can't stop me from loving you, whatever you may think. He looked at her tenderly, but received no reply. You think I've deceived you badly, but I haven't. I didn't do it willingly. I'm through with my wife. She hasn't any claims on me. I'll never see her anymore. That's why I'm here tonight. That's why I came and got you. You said Charlie was hurt, said Carrie savagely. You deceived me. You've been deceiving me all the time, and now you want to force me to run away with you. She was so excited that she got up and tried to get by him again. He let her, and she took another seat. Then he followed. Don't run away from me, Carrie. He said gently, let me explain. If you will only hear me out, you'll see where I stand. I tell you my wife is nothing to me. She hasn't been anything for years, or I wouldn't have ever come near you. I'm going to get a divorce just as soon as I can. I'll never see her again. I'm done with all that. You're the only person I want. If I can have you, I won't ever think of another woman again. Carrie heard all this in a very ruffled state. It sounded sincere enough, however, despite all he had done. There was a tenseness in Hurstwood's voice and manner which could but have some effect. She did not want anything to do with him. He was married, he had deceived her once, and now again, and she thought him terrible. There is something in such daring and power which is fascinating to a woman, especially if she can be made to feel that it is all prompted by love for her. The progress of the train was having a great deal to do with the solution of this difficult situation. The speeding wheels and disappearing country put Chicago farther and farther behind. Carrie could feel that she was being born a long distance off, that the engine was making an almost through run to some distant city. She felt that times as if she could cry out and make such a row that someone would come to her aid. At other times, it seemed an almost useless thing. So far was she from any aid, no matter what she did. All the while, Hurstwood was endeavoring to formulate his plea in such a way that it would strike home and bring her into sympathy with him. I was simply put where I didn't know what else to do. Carrie deigned no suggestion of hearing this. When I saw you wouldn't come unless I could marry you, I decided to put everything else behind me and get you to come away with me. I'm going off now to another city. I want to go to Montreal for a while, and then anywhere you want. We'll go and live in New York, if you say. I'll not have anything to do with you, said Carrie. I want to get off this train. Where are we going? To Detroit, said Hurstwood. Oh, said Carrie in a burst of anguish. So distant and definite a point seemed to increase the difficulty. Won't you come along with me? He said, as if there was a great danger that she would not. You won't need to do anything but travel with me. I'll not trouble you in any way. You can see Montreal and New York. And then, if you don't want to stay, you can go back. It'll be better than trying to go back tonight. The first gleam of fairness shown in this proposition for Carrie, it seemed a plausible thing to do. Much as she feared his opposition if she tried to carry it out, Montreal and New York. Even now she was speeding toward those great, strange lands and could see them if she liked. She thought but made no sign. Hurstwood thought he saw a shade of compliance in this. He redoubled his ardor. Think, he said, what I've given up. I can't go back to Chicago anymore. I've got to stay away and live alone now. If you don't come with me, if you won't go back on me entirely, will you, Carrie? I don't want you to talk to me, she answered forcibly. Hurstwood kept silent for a while. Carrie felt the train to be slowing down. It was the moment to act if she was to act at all. She stirred uneasily. Don't think of going, Carrie, he said. If you've ever cared for me at all, come along and let's start over. I'll do whatever you say. I'll marry you or I'll let you go back. Give yourself time to think it over. I wouldn't have wanted you to come if I hadn't loved you. I tell you, Carrie, before God, I can't live without you. I won't. There was the tensety of fierceness in the man's plea which appealed deeply to her sympathies. It was a dissolving fire which was actuating him now. He was loving her too intensely to think of giving her up in this, his hour of distress. He clutched her hand nervously and pressed it with all the force of an appeal. The train was now all but stopped. It was running by some cars on a sidetrack. Everything outside was dark and dreary. A few sprinkles on the window began to indicate that it was raining. Carrie hung in a quandary, balancing between decision and helplessness. Now the train stopped and she was listening to his plea. The engine backed a few feet and all was still. She wavered, totally unable to make a move. Minute after minute slipped by and still she hesitated, he pleading. Will you let me come back if I want to? She asked, as if she now had the upper hand and her companion was utterly subdued. Of course, he answered, you know I will. Carrie only listened as one who has granted a temporary amnesty. She began to feel as if the matter were in her hands entirely. The train was again in rapid motion. Hurst would change the subject. Aren't you tired? He said. No, she answered. Won't you let me get you a birth in the sleeper? She shook her head. Though for all her distress and his trickery, she was beginning to notice what she had always felt, his thoughtfulness. Oh yes, he said, you will feel so much better. She shook her head. Let me fix my coat for you anyway. He arose and ranged his light coat in a comfortable position to receive her head. There, he said tenderly. Now, see if you can't rest a little. He could have kissed her for her compliance. He took his seat beside her and thought a moment. I believe we're in for a heavy rain, he said. So it looks, said Carrie, whose nerves were quieting under the sound of the raindrops, driven by a gusty wind, as the train swept on frantically through the shadow to a newer world. The fact that he had, in a measure, modified Carrie was a source of satisfaction to Hurstwood, but it furnished only the most temporary relief. Now that her opposition was out of the way, he had all of his time to devote to the consideration of his own error. His condition was bitter in the extreme, for he did not want the miserable sum he had stolen. He did not want to be a thief. That sum or any other could never compensate for the state which he had thus foolishly doffed. It could not give him back his host of friends, his name, his house and family, nor Carrie, as he had meant to have her. He was shut out from Chicago, from his easy, comfortable state. He had robbed himself of his dignity, his merry meetings, his pleasant evenings, and for what? The more he thought of it, the more unbearable it became. He began to think that he would try and restore himself to his old state. He would return the miserable feavings of the night and explain. Perhaps Moy would understand, perhaps they could forgive him and let him come back. By noontime the train rolled into Detroit and he began to feel exceedingly nervous. The police must be on his track by now. They had probably notified all the police of the big cities and detectives would be watching for him. He remembered instances in which defaultors had been captured. Consequently he breathed heavily and paled somewhat. His hands felt as if they must have something to do. He simulated interest in several scenes without which he did not feel. He repeatedly beat his foot upon the floor. Carrie noticed his agitation but said nothing. She had no idea what it meant or that it was important. He wondered now why he had not asked whether this train went on through to Montreal or some Canadian point. Perhaps he could have saved time. He jumped up and sought the conductor. Does any part of this train go to Montreal? He asked. Yes, the next sleeper back does. He would have been asked more but it did not seem wise. So he decided to inquire at the depot. The train rolled into the yards clanging and puffing. I think we'd better go right on through to Montreal. He said to Carrie, I'll see what the connections are when we get off. He was exceedingly nervous but did his best to put on a calm exterior. Carrie only looked at him with large troubled eyes. She was drifting mentally. Unable to say to herself what to do. The train stopped and Hearst would lead the way out. He looked warily around him pretending to look after Carrie. Seeing nothing that indicated studied observation, he made his way to the ticket office. The next train from Montreal leaves when? He asked. In 20 minutes said the man. He bought two tickets and Pullman births. Then he hastened back to Carrie. We go right out again. He said, scarcely noticing that Carrie looked tired and weary. I wish I was out of all this. She exclaimed gloomily, you'll feel better when we reach Montreal. He said, I haven't an earthly thing with me, said Carrie. Not even a handkerchief. You can buy all you want as soon as we get there, Dearest, he explained. You can call an address maker. Now the crier called the train ready and they got on. Hearst would breathe the sigh of relief as it started. There was a short run to the river and there they were ferried over. They had barely pulled the train off the ferry boat when he settled back with a sigh. It won't be very long now, he said, remembering her and his relief, we get there the first thing in the morning. Carrie scarcely deigned to reply. I'll see if there's a dining car, he added. I'm hungry. End of Chapter 28 Recording by Bob Sage Chapter 29 of Sister Carrie This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Bob Sage Sister Carrie by Theodore Dreiser Chapter 29 The Solace of Travel The Boats of the Sea To the untraveled territory other than their own familiar heath is invariably fascinating. Next to love it is the one thing which solaces and delights. Things in you are too important to be neglected and mined, which is a mere reflection of sensory impressions, succumbs to the flood of objects. Thus lovers are forgotten, sorrows laid aside, death hidden from view. There is a world of accumulated feelings back of the trite dramatic expression I am going away. As Carrie looked out upon the flying scenery she almost forgot that she had been tricked into this long journey against her will and that she was without the necessary apparel for traveling. She quite forgot Hearstwood's presence at times and looked away to homely farmhouses and cozy cottages and villages with wondering eyes. It was an interesting world to her. Her life had just begun. She did not feel herself defeated at all. Neither was she blasted in hope. The great city held much. Possibly she would come out of bondage into freedom, who knows. Perhaps she would be happy. These thoughts raised her above the level of erring. She was saved in that she was hopeful. The following morning the train pulled safely into Montreal and they stepped down. Hearstwood, glad to be out of danger, Carrie wondering at the novel atmosphere of the northern city. Long before Hearstwood had been here and now he remembered the name of the hotel at which he had stopped. As they came out of the main entrance of the depot, he heard it called anew by a busman. We'll go right there and get rooms, he said. At the clerk's office, Hearstwood swung the register about while the clerk came forward. He was thinking what name he would put down. With the latter before him he found no time for hesitation. A name he had seen out of the car window came swiftly to him. It was pleasing enough. With his easy hand he wrote, G. W. Murdock and wife. It was the largest concession to necessity he felt like making. His initials he could not spare. When they were shown to their room, Carrie saw at once that he had secured her a lovely chamber. You have a bath here, he said. Now you can clean up when you're ready. Carrie went over and looked out the window. While Hearstwood looked at himself in the glass, he felt dusty and unclean. He had no trunk, no change of linen, not even a hairbrush. I'll ring for soap and towels, he said, and send you a hairbrush. Then you can bathe and get ready for breakfast. I'll go for a shave and come back and get you. And then we'll go out and look for some clothes. He smiled good-naturedly, as he said this. All right, said Carrie. She sat down in one of the rocking chairs while Hearstwood waited for the boy who soon knocked. Soap, towels, and a pitcher of ice water. Yes, sir. I'll go now, he said to Carrie, coming toward her and holding out his hands. But she did not move to take them. You're not mad at me, are you? He asked softly. Oh, no, she answered rather indifferently. Don't you care for me at all? She made no answer, but looked steadily toward the window. Don't you think it loved me a little? He pleaded, taking one of her hands, which she endeavored to draw away. You once said you did. What made you deceive me so? Asked Carrie. I couldn't help it, he said. I wanted you so much. You didn't have any right to want me, she answered, striking cleanly home. Oh, well, Carrie, he answered. Here I am. Wait now. Won't you try and care for me a little? He looked rather worsted and thought as he stood before her. She shook her head negatively. Let me start all over again. Be my wife from today on. Carrie rose up as if to step away, he holding her hands. Now he slipped his arm about her and she struggled, but in vain. He held her quite close. Suddenly there flamed up in his body the all-compelling desire. His affection took an ardent form. Let me go! said Carrie, who was folded close to him. Won't you love me? he said. Won't you be mine from now on? Carrie had never been ill-disposed toward him. Only a moment before she had been listening with some complacency, remembering her old affection for him. He was so handsome, so daring. Now, however, this feeling had changed to one of opposition which rose feebly. It mastered her for a moment and then, held close as she was, began to wane. Something else in her spoke. This man, to whose bosom she was being pressed, was strong. He was passionate. He loved her and she was alone. If she did not turn to him, except of his love, where else might she go? Her resistance, half dissolved in the flood of his strong feeling. She found him lifting her head and looking into her eyes, what magnetism there was she could never know. His many sins, however, were, for the moment, all forgotten. He pressed her closer and kissed her and she felt that further opposition was useless. Will you marry me? she asked, forgetting how. This very day, he said, with all delight. Now the whole boy pounded on the door and he released his hold upon her, regretfully. You get ready now, will you? He said, at once. Yes, she answered. I'll be back in three-quarters of an hour. Carrie flushed and excited, moved away as he admitted the boy. Below stairs he halted in the lobby to look for a barbershop. For the moment he was in fine feather. His recent victory over Carrie seemed to atone for much he had endured during the last few days. Life seemed worth fighting for. This eastward flight from all things customary and attached seemed as if it might have happiness in store. The storm showed a rainbow at the end of which might be a pot of gold. He was about to cross to a little red-and-white striped bar which was fastened up beside a door and the voice greeted him familiarly. Instantly his heart sank. Why, hello there, George, old man, said the voice. What are you doing here? Hurstwood was already confronted and recognized his friend Kenny, the stockbroker. Just attending to a little private matter he answered, his mind working like a keyboard of a telephone station. This man evidently did not know. He had not read the papers. Well, it seems strange to see you way up here, said Mr. Kenny Genially. Stopping here? Yes, said Hurstwood uneasily, thinking of his handwriting on the register, going to be in town long, now only a day or so. Is that so? Had your breakfast? Yes, said Hurstwood lying blandly. I'm just going for a shave. Won't you come for a drink? Not until afterwards, said the ex-manager. I'll see you later. Are you stopping here? Yes, said Mr. Kenny, and then turning the word again added, how are things out in Chicago? About the same as usual, said Hurstwood smiling genially, wife with you? No. Well, I must see more of you today. I'm just going in here for breakfast. Come in when you're through. I will, said Hurstwood moving away. The whole conversation was a trial to him. It seemed to add complications with every word this man called up a thousand memories. He represented everything he had left. Chicago, his wife, the elegant resort, all these were in his greeting and inquiries. And here he was in the same hotel expecting to confer with him, unquestionably waiting to have a good time with him. All at once the Chicago papers would arrive. The local papers would have accounts in them this very day. He forgot his triumph with Carrie in the possibility of soon being known for what he was in this man's eyes, a safe breaker. He could have grown as he went into the barbershop. He decided to escape and seek a more secluded hotel. Accordingly, when he came out he was glad to see the lobby clear and hastened toward the stairs. They would get Carrie and go out by the lady's entrance. They would have breakfast in some more inconspicuous place. Across the lobby, however, another individual was surveying him. He was of a commonplace Irish type, small of stature, cheaply dressed, and with a head that seemed a smaller addition of some huge ward politicians. This individual had evidently been talking with the clerk, he surveyed the ex-manager keenly. Hearst would felt the long-range examination and recognize the type. Instinctively he felt that the man was a detective, that he was being watched. He hurried across pretending not to notice, but in his mind was a world of thoughts. What would happen now? What could these people do? He began to trouble concerning the extradition laws. I understand them absolutely. Perhaps he could be arrested. Oh, if Carrie should find out. Montreal was too warm for him. He began to long to be out of it. Carrie had bathed and was waiting when he arrived. She looked refreshed, more delightful than ever, but reserved. Since he had gone, she had resumed somewhat of her cold attitude towards him. Love was not blazing in her heart. She seemed increased. He could not take her in his arms. He did not even try. Something about her forbade it. In part, his opinion was the result of his own experiences and reflections below stairs. You're ready, are you? He said kindly. Yes, she answered. We'll go out for breakfast. This place down here doesn't appeal to me very much. All right, said Carrie. They went out at the corner and the next person to the house was standing, eyeing him. Hurstwood scarcely refrained from showing that he knew of this chap's presence. The insolence in the fellow's eye was galling. Still they passed and he explained to Carrie concerning the city. Another restaurant was not long in showing itself and here they entered. What a queer town this is, said Carrie, who marveled at it solely because it was not like Chicago. It isn't as lively as Chicago, said Hurstwood. Don't you like it? No, said Carrie, whose feelings were already localized in the great western city. Well, it isn't as interesting, said Hurstwood. What's here, asked Carrie, wondering at his choosing to visit this town? Nothing much. Returned Hurstwood. It's quite a resort. There's some pretty scenery about here. Carrie listened but with a feeling of unrest. There was much about her situation and she enjoyed the possibility of appreciation. We won't stay here long, said Hurstwood, who was now really glad to note her dissatisfaction. You pick out your clothes as soon as breakfast is over and we'll run down to New York soon. You'll like that. It's a lot more like a city than any place outside Chicago. He was really planning to slip out in a way. He would see what these detectives would do, what move his employers at Chicago would make, and slip away down to New York where it was easy to hide. He knew enough about that city to know that its mysteries and possibilities of mystification were infinite. The more he thought, however, the more wretched his situation became. He saw that getting here did not exactly clear up the ground. The firm would probably employ detectives to watch him, Pinkerton men, or agents of Mooney and Beland. He addressed him the moment he tried to leave Canada. So he might be compelled to remain here months. And in what a state! Back at the hotel, Hurstwood was anxious and yet fearful to see the morning papers. He wanted to know how far the news of his criminal deed had spread. So he told Carrie he would be up in a few moments and went to secure and scan the dailies. No familiar or suspicious faces were about. And yet he did not like reading in the lobby. So he sought the main parlor on the floor above, and seated by a window there, looked them over. Very little was given to his crime, but it was there, several sticks in all. Among all the riff-raff of telegraphed murders, accidents, marriages, and other news, he wished, half sadly, that he could undo it all. Every moment of his time in this far-off abode of safety that he had made a great mistake. There could have been an easier way out if he had only known. He left the papers before going to the room, thinking thus to keep them out of the hands of Carrie. Well, how are you feeling? He asked her. She was engaged in looking out the window. Oh, all right. She answered. He came over and was about to begin a conversation with her when a knock came at the door. The girls, said Carrie. Hurstwood opened the door, outside of which stood the individual whom he had so thoroughly suspected. You are Mr. Hurstwood, are you? Said the latter, with a volume of affected shrewdness and assurance. Yes, said Hurstwood calmly. He knew the type so thoroughly that some of his old familiar indifference to it returned. Such men as these were the lowest stratum of the resort. He stepped out and closed the door. Well, you know what I'm here for, don't you? Said the man, confidentially. I can guess. Said Hurstwood softly. Well, uh, do you intend to try and keep the money? That's my affair. Said Hurstwood grimly. You can't do it, you know. Said the detective, eyeing him coolly. Look here, my man. Said Hurstwood authoritatively. You don't understand anything about this case. And I can't explain it to you. Whatever I intend to do, I'll do without advice from the outside. You'll have to excuse me. Well, uh, now there's no use of your talking that way, said the man. When you're in the hands of the police, we can make a lot of trouble for you if we want to. You're not registered right in this house. You haven't got your wife with you. And the newspapers don't know you're here yet. You might as well be reasonable. What do you want to know? Asked Hurstwood. Whether you're gonna send the money back or not. Hurstwood paused and studied the floor. There's no use explaining to you about this, he said at last. There's no use of your asking me. I'm no fool, you know. I know just what you can do and what you can't. You can create a lot of trouble if you want to. I know that all right, but it won't help you get the money. Now, I've made up my mind what to do. I've already written Fitzgerald and Moy so there's nothing I can say. You wait until you hear from them. All the time he had been talking he had been moving away from the door down the corridor out of the hearing of Carrie. And now near the end where the corridor opened into a large general parlor. You won't give up, said the man. The words irritated Hurstwood greatly. Hot blood poured into his brain. Many thoughts formulated themselves. He was no thief. He didn't want the money. If he could only explain Fitzgerald and Moy maybe it would be all right again. See here, he said. I'm not talking about this at all. I respect your power all right but I'll have to deal with the people who know. Well, uh, you can't get out of Canada with it, said the man. I don't want to get out, said Hurstwood. When I get ready there'll be nothing to stop me. He turned back and the detective watched him closely. It seemed an intolerable thing. Still he went on and into the room. Who was it? said Carrie. A friend of mine from Chicago. The whole of this conversation was such a shock that coming as it did after all the other worry of the past week it sufficed to induce a deep gloom and moral revulsion in Hurstwood. What hurt him most was the fact that he was being pursued as a thief. He began to see the nature of that social injustice which sees but one side, often but a single point of long tragedy. All the newspapers noted but one thing, his taking the money, how and wherefore were but indifferently dealt with. All the complications which led up to it were unknown. He was accused without being understood. Sitting in his room with Carrie the same day he decided to send the money back. He would write Fitzgerald and Moy, explain all, and then send it to the police. Maybe they would forgive him. Perhaps they would ask him back. He would make good the false statement he had made about writing them. Then he would leave this peculiar town. For an hour he thought about this plausible statement of the tangle. He wanted to tell them about his wife but couldn't. He finally narrowed it down to an assertion that he was lightheaded from entertaining friends, had found the safe open and the money out, had accidentally closed it. This act he regretted very much. He was sorry he had put them to so much trouble. He would undo what he could by sending the money back, the major portion of it. The remainder he would pay as soon as he could. Was there any possibility of his being restored? This he only hinted at. The troubled state of the man's mind may be judged by the very construction for the knots he forgot what a painful thing it would be to resume his old place even if it were given to him. He forgot that he had severed himself from the past as by a sword and that if he did manage to in some way reunite himself with it the jagged line of separation and reunion would always show. He was always forgetting something. His wife, Carrie, his need of money, present situation and so did not reason clearly. Nevertheless he sent the letter waiting a reply before sending the money. Meanwhile he accepted his present situation with Carrie getting with joy out of it that he could. Out came the sun by noon and poured a golden flood through their open windows. Sparrows were twittering. There were laughter and song in the air. Hurstwood could not keep his eyes from Carrie. One ray of sunshine in all his trouble. Oh, if she would only love him wholly, only throw her arms around him in the blissful spirit in which he had seen her in the little park in Chicago, how happy he would be. It would repay him, it would show him that he had not lost all. He would not care. Carrie, he said, getting up once and coming over to her, are you going to stay with me any longer? She looked at him quizzically but melted with sympathy as the value of the look upon his face forced itself upon her. It was love now, keen and strong, love enhanced by difficulty and worry. She could not help smiling. Let me be everything to you from now on, he said. Don't make me worry any more. I'll be true to you. That I'll go into business again and we'll be happy. Won't you be mine? Carrie listened quite solemnly. There was no great passion in her but the drift of things and this man's proximity created a semblance of affection. She felt rather sorry for him, a sorry born of what had only recently been a great admiration. True love she had never felt for him. She would have known as much if she could have analyzed her feelings. But this thing, which she now felt aroused by his great feeling broke down the barriers between them. You'll stay with me, won't you? He asked. Yes, she said nodding her head. He gathered her to himself imprinting kisses upon her lips and cheek. You must marry me though. She said, I'll get the license today. He answered. She asked, under a new name. He answered, I'll take a new name and live a new life. From now on I'm Murdock. Oh, don't take that name, said Carrie. Why not? He said, I don't like it. Well, what shall I take? He asked. Oh, anything, only don't take that. He thought a while, still keeping his arms about her and then said, how about Wheeler? That's all right, said Carrie. Well, then Wheeler, he said. I'll get the license this afternoon. They were married by a Baptist minister. The first divine they found convenient. At last the Chicago firm answered. It was by Mr. Moy's dictation. He was astonished that Hirstwood had done this. Very sorry that he had come about as it had. If the money were returned they would not trouble to prosecute him as they really bore him no ill will. As for his returning or their restoring him to his former position they had not quite decided what the effect of it would be. They would think it over and correspond with him later possibly after a little time and so on. The sum and substance of it was that there was no hope and they wanted the money with the least trouble possible. They decided to pay 9,500 to the agent whom they said they would send keeping 1,300 for his own use. He telegraphed his acquiescence explained to the representative who called at the hotel the same day took a certificate of payment and told Carrie to pack her trunk. He was slightly depressed over this newest move at the time he began to make it but eventually restored himself. He feared that even yet he might be seized and taken back so he tried to conceal his movements but it was scarcely possible. He ordered Carrie's trunk sent to the depot where he had it sent by express to New York. No one seemed to be observing him but he left at night. He was greatly agitated lest at the first station across the border or at the depot in New York there should be waiting for him an officer of the law. Carrie, ignorant of his theft and his fears, enjoyed the entry into the latter city in the morning. The round green hills sentanalling the broad expansive bosom of the Hudson held her attention by their beauty as the train followed the line of the stream. She had heard of the Hudson River the great city of New York and now she looked out filling her mind with the wonder of it. As the train turned east at spite and dival followed the east bank of the Harlem River Hearstwood nervously called her attention to the fact that they were on the edge of the city. After her experience with Chicago she expected a long line of cars, a great highway of tracks and noticed the difference. The sight of a few boats in the Harlem and more in the East River tickled her young heart. It was the first sign of the great sea. Next came a plain street brick flats, and then the train plunged into the tunnel. Grand Central Station called the trainman as after a few minutes of darkness and smoke daylight reappeared Hearstwood arose and gathered up his small grip. Grand Central Station called the trainman as after a few minutes of darkness and smoke daylight reappeared Hearstwood arose and gathered up his small grip. He was screwed up to the highest tension. With Cary he waited at the door and then dismounted. No one approached him. But he glanced furtively to and fro as he made for the street entrance. So excited was he that he forgot all about Cary, who fell behind, wondering at his self-absorption. As he passed through the depot proper, the strain reached its climax and began to wane. All at once he was on the sidewalk and none but cab men hailed him. He heaved a great breath and turned, remembering Cary. I thought you were going to run off and leave me, she said. I was trying to remember which car takes us to the gilsey, he answered. Cary hardly heard him. So interested was she in the busy scene. How large is New York? She asked. A million or more, said Herswood. He looked around and hailed the cab, but he did so in a changed way. For the first time in years the thought that he must count these little expenses flashed through his mind. It was a disagreeable thing. He decided he would lose no time living in hotels but would rent a flat. Accordingly he told Cary and she agreed. We'll look today if you want to, she said. Suddenly he thought of his experience in Montreal. At the more important hotels he would be certain to meet Chicagoans whom he knew. He stood up and spoke to the driver. Take me to the Bedford, he said, knowing it would be less frequented by those whom he knew. Then he sat down. Where is the residence part, said Cary, who did not take the tall five-story walls on either hand to be the abodes of families? Everywhere, said Herswood, who knew the city fairly well. There are no lawns in New York. All these are houses. Well, then, I don't like it, said Cary, who was coming to have a few opinions of her own. End of Chapter 29 Recording by Bob Sage