 CHAPTER XIII. His credentials accepted, a babble of tongues. It was not quite two days after the scene between Carrie and Hearstwood in the Ogden Place parlor before he again put in his appearance. He had been thinking almost uninterruptedly of her. Her leniency had, in a way, inflamed his regard. He felt that he must succeed with her, and that speedily. The reason for his interest, not to say fascination, was deeper than mere desire. It was a flowering out of feelings which had been withering in dry and almost barren soil for many years. It is probable that Carrie represented a better order of woman than had ever attracted him before. He had had no love affair since that which culminated in his marriage, and since then time in the world had taught him how raw and erroneous was his original judgment. Whenever he thought of it, he told himself that, if he had it to do over again, he would never marry such a woman. At the same time, his experience with women in general had lessened his respect for the sex. He maintained a cynical attitude, well grounded on numerous experiences. Which women as he had known were nearly of one type, selfish, ignorant, flashy. The wives of his friends were not inspiring to look upon. His own wife had developed a cold, common-place nature which to him was anything but pleasing. What he knew of that underworld where grovel the beast men of society, and he knew a great deal, had hardened his nature. He looked upon most women with suspicion, a single eye to the utility of beauty in dress. He followed them with a keen, suggestive glance. At the same time he was not so dull but that a good woman commanded his respect. Personally he did not attempt to analyze the marvel of a saintly woman. He would take off his hat and would silence the light-tongued and the vicious in her presence. Much as an iris-keeper of a bowery-hall would humble himself before a sister of mercy and pay toll to charity with a willing and reverent hand. But he would not think much upon the question of why he did so. A man in his situation who comes after a long round of worthless or hardening experiences upon a young, unsophisticated, innocent soul is apt either to hold a loof out of a sense of his own remoteness or to draw near and become fascinated and elated by his discovery. It is only by a roundabout process that such men ever do draw near such a girl. They have no method, no understanding of how to ingratiate themselves in youthful favor, save when they find virtue in the toils. If, unfortunately, the fly has got caught in the net, the spider can come forth and talk business upon its own terms. So when maidenhood has wandered into the moll of the city, when it is brought within the circle of the rounder and the roux, even though it may be at the outermost rim, they can come forth and use their alluring arts. Hearst would had gone at Jaret's invitation to meet a new baggage of fine clothes and pretty features. He entered, expecting to indulge in an evening of light-some frolic and then lose track of the new-cover for ever. Instead he found a woman whose youth and beauty attracted him. In the mild light of Carrie's eyes was nothing of the calculation of the mistress. In the diffident manner was nothing of the art of the courtesan. He saw at once that a mistake had been made, that some difficult conditions had pushed this troubled creature into his presence and his interest was enlisted. Here sympathy sprang to the rescue, but it was not unmixed with selfishness. He wanted to win Carrie, because he thought her fate mingled with his, was better than if it were united with Jaret's. He envied the drummer his conquest, as he had never envied any man in all the course of his experience. Carrie was certainly better than this man, as she was superior mentally to Jaret. She came fresh from the air of the village, the light of the country still in her eye. Here was neither guile nor rapacity. There were slight inherited traits of both in her, but they were rudimentary. She was too full of wonder and desire to be greedy. She still looked about her upon the maze of the city without understanding. Hurstwood felt the bloom and the youth. He picked her as he would the fresh fruit of a tree. He felt as fresh in her presence as one who was taken out of the flash of summer to the first cool breath of spring. Carrie left alone since the scening question, and having no one with whom to counsel, had at first wandered from one strange mental conclusion to another, until at last, tired out, she gave it up. She owed something to Jaret, she thought. It did not seem more than yesterday that he had aided her when she was worried and distressed. She had the kindliest feelings for him in every way. She gave him credit for his good looks, his generous feelings, and even, in fact, failed to recollect his egotism when he was absent. But she could not feel any binding influence keeping her for him against all others. In fact, such a thought had never had any grounding even in Jaret's desires. The truth is that this goodly drummer carried the doom of all enduring relationships in his own lightsome manner and unstable fancy. He went merrily on, assured that he was alluring all, that affection followed tenderly in his wake, that things would endure unchangingly for his pleasure. When he missed some old face or found some door finally shut to him, it did not grieve him deeply. He was too young, too successful. He would remain thus young in spirit until he was dead. As for Hearstwood, he was alive with thoughts and feelings concerning Carrie. He had no definite plans regarding her, but he was determined to make her confess an affection for him. He thought he saw in her drooping eye her unstable glance, her wavering manner, the symptoms of a budding passion. He wanted to stand near her and make her lay her hand in his. He wanted to find out what her next step would be, what the next sign of feeling for him would be. Such anxiety and enthusiasm had not affected him for years. He was a youth again in feeling, a cavalier in action. In his position, opportunity for taking his evenings out was excellent. He was the most faithful worker in general, and a man who commended the confidence of his employers insofar as the distribution of his time was concerned. He could take such hours off as he chose, for it was well known that he fulfilled his managerial duties successfully whatever time he might take. His grace, tact, and ornate appearance gave the place an air which was most essential, while at the same time his long experience made him an excellent judge of its stock necessities. Bartenders and assistants might come and go, singly or in groups, but so long as he was present the host of old-time customers would barely notice the change. He gave the place the atmosphere to which they were used. Consequently he arranged his hours very much to suit himself, taking now an afternoon, now an evening, but in variably returning between eleven and twelve to witness the last hour or two of the day's business and look after the closing details. You see that things are safe and all the employees are out when you go home, George, Moy had once remarked to him, and he never once, in all the period of his long service, neglected to do this. Neither of the owners had for years been in the resort after five in the afternoon, and yet their manager as faithfully fulfilled this request as if they had been there regularly to observe. On this Friday afternoon, scarcely two days after his previous visit, he made up his mind to see Carrie. He would not stay away longer. Evans, he said, addressing the head-barkeeper, if any one calls, I will be back between four and five. He hurried to Madison Street and boarded a horse-car, which carried him to Ogden Place in half an hour. Carrie had thought of going for a walk, and had put on a light gray woolen dress with a jaunty double-breasted jacket. She had out her hat and gloves, and was fastening a white-laced tie about her throat when the housemaid brought up the information that Mr. Hearst would wish to see her. She started slightly at the announcement, but told the girl to say that she would come down in a moment, and proceeded to hasten her dressing. Carrie could not have told herself at this moment whether she was glad or sorry that the impressive manager was awaiting her presence. She was slightly flurried and tingling in the cheeks, but it was more nervousness than either fear or favor. She did not try to conjecture what the drift of the conversation would be. She only felt that she must be careful, and that Hearst would had an indefinable fascination for her. Then she gave her tie its last touch with her fingers and went below. The deep-feeling manager was himself a little strained in the nerves by the thorough consciousness of his mission. He felt that he must make a strong play on this occasion, but now that the hour was come, and he heard Carrie's feet upon the stair, his nerve failed him. He sank a little in determination, for he was not so sure, overall, what her opinion might be. When she entered the room, however, her appearance gave him courage. She looked simple and charming enough to strengthen the daring of any lover. Her apparent nervousness dispelled his own. How are you? He said easily. I could not resist the temptation to come out this afternoon. It was so pleasant. Yes, said Carrie, halting before him. I was just preparing to go for a walk myself. Oh, were you? He said. Supposing then you get your hat, and we both go. They crossed the park and went along Washington Boulevard, beautiful with its broad, macadamized road and large frame houses set back from the sidewalks. It was a street where many of the more prosperous residents of the West Side lived, and Hurswood could not help feeling nervous over the publicity of it. They had gone but a few blocks when a livery stable sign in one of the side streets solved the difficulty for him. He would take her to drive along the new Boulevard. The Boulevard at that time was little more than a country road. The part he intended showing her was much farther out on this same West Side where there was scarcely a house. It connected Douglas Park with Washington or South Park, and was nothing more than a neatly made road running due south for some five miles over an open grassy prairie, and then due east over the same kind of prairie for the same distance. There was not a house to be encountered anywhere along the larger part of the route, and any conversation would be pleasantly free of interruption. At the stable he picked a gentle horse, and they were soon at a range of either public observation or hearing. "'Can you drive?' he asked after a time. "'I never tried,' said Carrie. He put the reins in her hand and folded his arms. "'You see, there's nothing much to it,' he said smilingly. "'Not when you have a gentle horse,' said Carrie. "'You can handle a horse as well as anyone after a little practice,' he added encouragingly. He had been looking for some time for a break in the conversation when he could give it a serious turn. Once or twice he had held his peace, hoping that in silence her thoughts would take the color of his own, but she had lightly continued the subject. Presently, however, his silence controlled the situation, the drift of his thoughts began to tell. He gazed fixedly at nothing in particular, as if he were thinking of something which concerned her not at all. His thoughts, however, spoke for themselves. She was very much aware that a climax was pending. "'Do you know,' he said, "'I have spent the happiest evenings in years since I've known you?' "'Have you,' she said, with assumed airiness, but still excited by the conviction which the tone of his voice carried. "'I was going to tell you the other evening,' he said, but somehow the opportunity slipped away.' Carrie was listening, without attempting to reply. She could think of nothing worthwhile to say. Despite all the ideas concerning Wright which had troubled her vaguely since she had last seen him, she was now influenced again strongly in his favor. "'I came out here today,' he went on solemnly, "'to tell you just how I feel, to see if you wouldn't listen to me.' Her stood with something of a romanticist after his kind. He was capable of strong feelings, often poetic ones, and under a stress of desire such as the present he waxed eloquent. That is, his feelings and his voice were colored with that seeming repression and pathos which is the essence of eloquence. "'You know,' he said, putting his hand on her arm, and keeping a strange silence while he formulated words, "'that I love you?' Carrie did not stir at the words. She was bound up completely in the man's atmosphere. He would have church-like silence in order to express his feelings, and she kept it. She did not move her eyes from the flat, open scene before her. Herst would wait it for a few moments, and then repeated the words. "'You must not say that,' she said weakly. Her words were not convincing at all. They were the result of a feeble thought that something ought to be said. He paid no attention to them whatever. "'Carrie,' he said, using her first name with sympathetic familiarity, "'I want you to love me. You don't know how much I need someone to waste a little affection on me. I am practically alone. There is nothing in my life that is pleasant or delightful. It's all work and worry with people who are nothing to me.' As he said this, Herst would really imagine that his state was pitiful. He had the ability to get off at a distance and view himself objectively, of seeing what he wanted to see in the things that made up his existence. Now as he spoke, his voice trembled with that peculiar vibration which is the result of tenacity. It went ringing home to his companion's heart. "'Why, I should think,' she said, turning upon him large eyes which were full of sympathy and feeling, that you would be very happy. You know so much of the world.' "'That is it,' he said, his voice dropping to a soft minor, I know too much of the world. It was an important thing to her to hear one so well positioned and powerful, speaking in this manner. She could not help feeling the strangeness of her situation. How was it that, in so little a while, the narrow life of the country had fallen from her as a garment, and the city, with all its mystery, taken its place? Here was this greatest mystery, the man of money and affairs sitting beside her, appealing to her. Behold! He had ease and comfort. His strength was great, his position high, his clothing rich, and yet he was appealing to her. She could formulate no thought which would be just and right. She troubled herself no more upon the matter. She only basked in the warmth of his feeling, which was as a grateful blaze to one who is cold. Hearst would gloat with his own intensity, and the heat of his passion was already mounting the wax of his companion's scruples. You think, he said, I am happy, that I ought not to complain. If you were to meet all day with people who care absolutely nothing about you, if you went day after day to a place where there was nothing but show and indifference, if there was not one person in all those you knew to whom you could appeal for sympathy or talk to with pleasure, perhaps you would be unhappy too. He was striking a cord now which found sympathetic response in her own situation. She knew what it was to meet with people who were indifferent, to walk alone amid so many who cared absolutely nothing about you. Had not she? Was not she at this very moment quite alone? Who was there among all whom she knew to whom she could appeal for sympathy, not one? She was left to herself to brood and wonder. I could be content, went on Hearst would, if I had you to love me, if I had you to go to, you for a companion. As it is, I simply move about from place to place without any satisfaction. Time hangs heavily on my hands. Before you came I did nothing but idle and drift into anything that offered itself. Since you came, well, I've had you to think about. The old illusion that here was someone who needed her aid began to grow in Carrie's mind. She truly pityed this sad, lonely figure. To think that all his fine state should be so barren for want of her, that he needed to make such an appeal when she herself was lonely and without anchor, surely this was too bad. I am not very bad," he said apologetically, as if he owed it to her to explain on this score. You think, probably, that I roam around and get into all sorts of evil? I have been rather reckless, but I could easily come out of that. I need you to draw me back, if my life ever amounts to anything. Carrie looked at him with the tenderness which virtue ever feels in its hope of reclaiming vice. How could such a man need reclaiming? His errors, what were they, that she could correct? All they must be were all was so fine. At worst they were gilded affairs, and with what leniency are gilded errors viewed. He put himself in such a lonely light that she was deeply moved. Is it that way, she mused? He slipped his arm about her waist, and she could not find the heart to draw away. With his free hand he seized upon her fingers. A breath of soft spring wind went bounding over the road, rolling some brown twigs of the previous autumn before it. The horse paced leisurely on, unguided. Tell me, he said softly, that you love me. Her eyes fell consciously. Own to it, dear, he said feelingly, you do, don't you? She made no answer, but he felt his victory. Tell me, he said richly, drawing her so close that their lips were near together. He pressed her hand warmly, and then released it to touch her cheek. You do? He said pressing his lips to her own. For answer, her lips replied. Now, he said joyously, his fine eyes ablaze, you're my own girl, aren't you? By way of further conclusion, her head lay softly upon his shoulder. End of CHAPTER XIII. CHAPTER XIV OF SISTER CARRY. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. CHAPTER XIV. With eyes and not seeing, one influence wanes. Carrie in her rooms that evening was in a fine glow, physically and mentally. She was deeply rejoicing in her affection for Hearstwood and his love, and looked forward with fine fancy to their next meeting Sunday night. They had agreed, without any feeling of enforced secrecy, that she should come down town and meet him, though after all the need of it was the cause. Mrs. Hale from her upper window saw her come in. Hmm! She thought to herself. She goes riding with another man when her husband is out of the city. He had better keep an eye on her. The truth is, Mrs. Hale was not the only one who had a thought on this score. The housemaid who had welcomed Hearstwood had her opinion also. She had no particular regard for Carrie, whom she took to be cold and disagreeable. At the same time she had a fancy for the merry and easy manner duet, who threw her a pleasant remark now and then, and in other ways extended her the evidence of that regard which he had for all members of the sex. Hearstwood was more reserved and critical in his manner. He did not appeal to this bodice-functionary in the same pleasant way. She wondered that he came so frequently that Mrs. duet should go out with him this afternoon when Mr. duet was absent. She gave vent to her opinions in the kitchen where the cook was. As a result a hum of gossip was sent going which moved about the house in that secret manner common to gossip. Carrie, now that she had yielded sufficiently to Hearstwood to confess her affection, no longer troubled about her attitude towards him. Temporarily she gave little thought to duet, thinking only of the dignity and grace of her lover and of his consuming affection for her. On the first evening she did little but go over the details of the afternoon. It was the first time her sympathies had ever been thoroughly aroused, and they threw a new light on her character. She had some power of initiative, latent before, which now began to exert itself. She looked more practically upon her state and began to see glimmerings of a way out. Hearstwood seemed a drag in the direction of honor. Her feelings were exceedingly credible in that they constructed out of these recent developments something which conquered freedom from dishonor. She had no idea what Hearstwood's next word would be. She only took his affection to be a fine thing and appended better, more generous results accordingly. As yet, Hearstwood had only a thought of pleasure without responsibility. He did not feel that he was doing anything to complicate his life. His position was secure. His home life, if not satisfactory, was at least undisturbed. His personal liberty rather untrammeled. Carrie's love added only so much added pleasure. He would enjoy this new gift over and above his ordinary allowance of pleasure. He would be happy with her, and his own affairs would go on as they had, undisturbed. On Sunday evening Carrie dined with him at a place he had selected in East Adams Street, and thereafter they took a cab to what was then a pleasant evening resort out on Cottage Grove Avenue near 39th Street. In the process of his declaration he soon realized that Carrie took his love upon a higher basis than he had anticipated. She kept him at a distance in a rather earnest way and submitted only to those tender tokens of affection which better become the inexperienced lover. Hearstwood saw that she was not to be possessed for the asking, and deferred pressing his suit too warmly. Since he feigned to believe in her married state he found that he had to carry out the part. His triumph, he saw, was still at a little distance. How far he could not guess. They were returning to Ogden Place in the cab when he asked, Will I see you again? I don't know, she answered, wondering herself. Why not come down to the fair, he suggested, next Tuesday? She shook her head. Not so soon, she answered. I'll tell you what I'll do. He said, I'll write you, care of this west side post-office. Could you call next Tuesday? Carrie assented. The cab stopped one door out of the way according to his call. Good night, he whispered as the cab rolled away. Unfortunately for the smooth progression of this affair, Druett returned. Hearstwood was sitting in his imposing little office the next afternoon when he saw Druett enter. Why, hello, Charles! He called affably, back again. Yes, smiled Druett, approaching and looking in at the door. Hearstwood arose. Well, he said, looking the drummer over. Rosie as ever, eh? They began talking of the people they knew and things that had happened. Been home yet? Finally asked Hearstwood. No, I'm going, though, said Druett. I remembered the little girl out there, said Hearstwood, and called once. Thought you wouldn't want her left quite alone. Right you are, agreed, Druett. How is she? Very well, said Hearstwood. Rather anxious about you, though, you'd better go out now and cheer her up. I will, said Druett, smilingly. Like to have you both come down and go to the show with me Wednesday, concluded Hearstwood at parting. Thanks, old man, said his friend. I'll see what the girl says and let you know. They separated in the most cordial manner. That's a nice fellow, Druett thought to himself, as he turned the quarter towards Madison. Druett is a good fellow, Hearstwood thought to himself, as he went back into his office, but he's no man for Carrie. The thought of the latter turned his mind into a most pleasant vein, and he wondered how he would get ahead of the drummer. When Druett entered Carrie's presence, he caught her in his arms as usual, but she responded to his kiss with a tremor of opposition. Well, he said, I had a great trip. Did you? How did you come out with that lacrosse man you were telling me about? Oh, fine. Sold him a complete line. There was another fellow there, representing Bernstein, a regular hook-nose sheenie, but he wasn't in it. I made him look all nothing at all. As he undid his collar and unfastened his studs, preparatory to washing his face and changing his clothes, he dilated upon his trip. Carrie could not help listening with amusement to his animated descriptions. I tell you, he said, I surprised the people at the office. I've sold more goods this last quarter than any other man of our house on the road. I sold three thousand dollars worth in the lacrosse. He plunged his face into a basin of water, and puffed and blew as he rubbed his neck and ears with his hands, while Carrie gazed upon him with mingled thoughts of recollection and present judgment. He was still wiping his face when he continued, I'm going to strike for a raise in June. They can afford to pay it, as much business as I turn in. I'll get it, too. Don't you forget. I hope you do," said Carrie. And then if that little real estate deal I've got on goes through, we'll get married, he said, with a great show of earnestness. The while he took his place before the mirror and began brushing his hair. I don't believe you ever intend to marry me, Charlie. Carrie said ruefully. The recent protestations of Hurswood had given her courage to say this. Oh, yes, I do. Of course I do. Put that into your head. He had stopped his trifling before the mirror now and crossed over to her. For the first time Carrie felt as if she must move away from him. But you've been saying that so long," she said, looking with her pretty face upturned into his. Well, and I mean it, too, but it takes money to live as I want to. Now, when I get this increase I can come pretty near fixing things all right and I'll do it. Now don't you worry, girly. He patted her reassuringly upon the shoulder. But Carrie felt how really futile had been her hopes. She could clearly see that this easygoing soul intended no move in her behalf. He was simply letting things drift because he preferred the free round of his present state to any legal trammelings. In contrast, Hurswood appeared strong and sincere. He had no easy manner of putting her off. He sympathized with her and showed her what her true value was. He needed her while Druette did not care. Oh, no, she said remorsefully, her tone reflecting some of her own success and more of her helplessness. You never will. Well, you wait a little while and see, he concluded. I'll marry you all right. Carrie looked at him and felt justified. She was looking for something which would calm her conscience, and here it was, a light airy disregard of her claims upon his justice. He had faithfully promised to marry her, and this was the way he fulfilled his promise. Say, he said after he had, as he thought, pleasantly disposed of the marriage question, I saw Hurswood today and he wants us to go to the theater with him. Carrie started at the name, but recovered quickly enough to avoid notice. When, she asked with assumed indifference, Wednesday, we'll go, won't we? If you think so, she answered, her manner being so enforceedly reserved as to excite suspicion. Druette noticed something, but he thought it was due to her feelings concerning their talk about marriage. He called once, he said. Yes, said Carrie, he was out here Sunday evening. Was he, said Druette, I thought from what he said that he had called a week or so ago. So he did, answered Carrie, who was wholly unaware of what conversation her lovers might have held. She was all at sea mentally, and fearful of some entanglement which might ensue from what she would answer. Oh! Then he called twice, said Druette, the first shade of misunderstanding showing in his face. Yes, said Carrie innocently, feeling now, that Hurswood must have mentioned but one call. Druette imagined that he must have misunderstood his friend. He did not attach particular importance to the information, after all. What did he have to say, he queried, with slightly increasing curiosity. He said he came because he thought I might be lonely. You hadn't been in there so long, he wondered what had become of you. George is a fine fellow, said Druette, rather gratified by his conception of the manager's interests. Come on, and we'll go out to dinner. When Hurswood saw that Druette was back, he wrote at once to Carrie saying, I told him I called on you, dearest, when he was away. I did not say how often, but he probably thought once. Let me know of anything you may have said. Answer by special messenger when you get this. And darling, I must see you. Let me know if you can't meet me at Jackson and Throop Streets Wednesday afternoon at two o'clock. I want to speak with you before we meet at the theatre. Carrie received this Tuesday morning when she called at the west side branch of the post office, and answered at once. I said you called twice, she wrote. He didn't seem to mind. I will try and be at Throop Street if nothing interferes. I seem to be getting very bad. It's wrong to act as I do, I know. Hurswood, when he met her as agreed, reassured her on this score. You mustn't worry, sweetheart, he said. Just as soon as he goes on the road again, we will arrange something. We'll fix it, so you won't have to deceive anyone. Carrie imagined that he would marry her at once, though he had not directly said so, and her spirits rose. She proposed to make the best of the situation until Druette left again. Don't show any more interest in me than you ever have, Hurswood counseled concerning the evening at the theatre. You mustn't look at me steadily, then, she answered, mindful of the power of his eyes. I won't, he said, squeezing her hand at parting and giving the glance she had just cautioned against. There, she said playfully, pointing a finger at him. The show hasn't begun yet, he returned. He watched her walk from him with tender solicitation. Such youth and prettiness reacted upon him more subtly than wine. At the theatre things passed as they had in Hurswood's favour. If he had been pleasing to Carrie before, how much more so was he now? His grace was more permeating because it found her ready or medium. Carrie watched his every movement with pleasure. She almost forgot poor Druette, who babbled on as if he were the host. Hurswood was too clever to give the slightest indication of a change. He paid, if anything, more attention to his old friend than usual, and yet in no way held him up to that subtle ridicule which a lover in favour may so secretly practice before the mistress of his heart. If anything, he felt the injustice of the game as it stood, and was not cheap enough to add to it the slightest mental taunt. Only the play produced an ironical situation, and this was due to Druette alone. The scene was won in the Covenant in which the wife listened to the seductive voice of a lover in the absence of her husband. Served him right, said Druette afterwards, even in view of her keen expiation of her error. I haven't any pity for a man who would be such a chump as that. Well, you never can tell, returned Hurswood gently. He probably thought he was right. Well, a man ought to be more attentive than that to his wife if he wants to keep her. They had come out of the lobby, and made their way through the showy crush about the entrance way. Say, Mr.—said a voice at Hurswood's side. Would you mind giving me the price of a bed? Hurswood was interestingly remarking to Carrie. Honest to God, Mr.—I'm without a place to sleep. The plea was that of a gaunt-faced man of about thirty, who looked the picture of privation and wretchedness. Druette was the first to see. He handed over a dime with an upwelling feeling of pity in his heart. Hurswood scarcely noticed the incident. Carrie quickly forgot. End of Chapter 14 CHAPTER 15 OF SISTER CARY This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Voice of Andrea. Sister Carrie buys Theodore Dreischer, Chapter 15. The Urk of the Old Ties, The Magic of Youth. The complete ignoring by Hurswood of his own home came with the growth of his affection for Carrie. His actions, in all that related to his family, were of the most perfunctory kind. He sat at breakfast with his wife and children, absorbed in his own fancies, which reached far without the realm of their interests. He read his paper, which was heightened in interest by the shallowness of the themes discussed by his son and daughter. Between him and his wife ran a river of indifference. Now that Carrie had come, he was in a fair way to be blissful again. There was delight in going downtown evenings. When he walked forth in the short days, the street lamps had a merry twinkle. He began to experience the almost forgotten feeling, which hastens the lover's feet. When he looked at his fine clothes, he saw them with her eyes, and her eyes were young. Even in the flush of such feelings, he heard his wife's voice. When the insistent demands of matrimony recalled him from dreams to a stale practice, how it graded, he then knew that this was a chain which bound his feet. George, said Mrs. Hurswood, in that tone which had long since come to be associated in his mind with demands, we want you to get us a season ticket to the races. Do you want to go to all of them? He said, with a rising inflection. Yes, she answered. The races in question were soon to open at Washington Park on the south side, and were considered quite society affairs, among those who did not affect religious rectitude and conservatism. Mrs. Hurswood had never asked for a whole season ticket before, but this year certain considerations decided her to get a box. For one thing one of her neighbors, a certain Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey, who were possessors of money made out of the cold business, had done so. In the next place, her favorite physician, Dr. Beale, a gentleman inclined to horses and bedding, had talked with her concerning his intention to enter a two-year-old in the Derby. In the third place, she wished to exhibit Jessica, who was gaining immaturity and beauty, and whom she'd hoped to marry to a man of means. Her own desire to be about in such things and pervade among her acquaintances and the common throng, where as much an incentive is anything. Hurswood thought over the proposition a few moments without answering. They were in the sitting room on the second floor, waiting for supper. It was the evening of his engagement with Carrie and Drewett to see the Covenant, which had brought him home to make certain alterations in his dress. You're sure separate tickets won't do as well? He asked, hesitating to say anything more rugged. No. She replied impatiently. Well, he said, taking offense of their manner. You needn't get mad about it. I'm just asking you. I'm not mad, she snapped. I'm merely asking you for a season ticket. And I'm telling you, he returned, fixing a clear, steady eye on her, that it's no easy thing to get. I'm not sure whether the manager will give it to me. He had been thinking all the time of his pull with the racetrack magnets. We can buy it, then, she exclaimed sharply. You talk easy, he said. A season family ticket costs $150. I'll not argue with you, she replied with determination. I want the ticket, and that's all there is to it. She had risen and now walked angrily out of the room. Well, you get it, then, he said grimly, though in a modified tone of voice. As usual, the table was one short that evening. The next morning he had cooled down considerably, and later the ticket was duly secured, though it did not heal matters. He did not mind giving his family a fair share of all that he earned, but he did not like to be forced to provide against his will. Did you know, mother, said Jessica one day, the Spencer's are getting ready to go away? No, where I wonder. Europe, said Jessica. I met Georgine yesterday, and she told me. She just put on more airs about it. Did she say when? Monday, I think. They'll get a notice in the papers again. They always do. Never mind, said Mrs. Hurstwood consolingly. We'll go one of these days. Hurstwood moved his eyes over the paper slowly, but said nothing. We sail for Liverpool from New York, Jessica exclaimed, mocking her acquaintance. Expect to see most of the summer in France, vain thing, as if it was anything to go to Europe. It must be if you envy her so much, put in Hurstwood. It graded upon him to see the feeling his daughter displayed. Don't worry over them, my dear, said Mrs. Hurstwood. Did George get off, asked Jessica of her mother another day, thus revealing something that Hurstwood had heard nothing about? Where is he gone, he asked, looking up. He had never before been kept in ignorance concerning departures. He was going to Wheaton, said Jessica, not noticing the slight put upon her father. What's out there, he asked, secretly irritated and chagrined to think that he should be made to pump for information in this manner. A tennis match, said Jessica. He didn't say anything to me, Hurstwood concluded, finding it difficult to refrain from a bitter tone. I guess he must have forgotten, exclaimed his wife blandly. In the past he had always commanded a certain amount of respect, which was a compound of appreciation and awe, the familiarity which in part still existed between himself and his daughter he had courted. As it was, it did not go beyond the light assumption of words. The tone was always modest. Whoever had been, however, had lacked affection, and now he saw that he was losing track of their doings. His knowledge was no longer intimate. He sometimes saw them at the table, and sometimes did not. He heard of their doings occasionally, more often not. Some days he found that he was all at sea as to what they were talking about, things they had arranged to do, or that they had done in his absence. More affecting was the feeling that there were little things going on of which he no longer heard. Jessica was beginning to feel that her affairs were her own. George Jr. flourished about as if he were a man entirely, and must needs have private matters. All this Hearstwood could see, and left a trace of feeling, for he was used to being considered, in his official position at least, and felt that his importance should not begin to wane here. To darken it all, he saw the same indifference and independence growing in his wife, while he looked on, and paid the bills, himself with the thought, however, that, after all, he was not without affection. Things might go as they would at his house, but he had carry outside of it. With his mind's eye he looked into her comfortable room in ogred place, where he had spent several such delightful evenings, and thought how charming it would be when druet was disposed of entirely, and she was waiting evenings in cozy little quarters for him. But no cause would come up whereby Dora would be led to inform Cary. Concerning his married state he felt hopeful. Things were going so smoothly that he believed they would not change. Shortly now he would persuade Cary, and all would be satisfactory. The day after their theatre visit he began writing her regularly, a letter every morning, and begging her to do as much for him. He was not literary by any means, but experience of the world and his growing affection gave him somewhat of a style. Thus he exercised at his office desk, with perfect deliberation. He purchased a box of delicately collared and scented writing paper and monogram, which he kept locked in one of the drawers. His friends now wondered at the cleric and very official looking nature of his position. The five bartenders viewed with respect the duties, which would call a man to do so much desk work and penmanship. First Wood surprised himself with his fluency. By the natural law which governs all effort, what he wrote reacted upon him. He began to feel those subtleties which he could find words to express. With every expression came increased conception. Those inmost breathings, which there found words, took bold upon him. He thought Cary were worthy of all the affection he could there express. Cary was indeed worth loving. If ever youth and grace are to command that token of acknowledgement from life in their bloom, experience had not yet taken away that freshness of the spirit which is the charm of the body. Her soft eyes contained in their liquid luster no suggestion of the knowledge of disappointment. She had been troubled in a way, by doubt and longing, but these had made no deeper impression than could be traced in a certain open wistfulness of glance and speech. The mouth had the expression at times, in talking and in repose, of one who might be upon the verge of tears. It was not that grief was thus ever present. The pronunciation of certain syllables gave her lips this peculiarity of formation, a formation as suggestive and moving as pathos itself. There was nothing bold in her manner. Life had not taught her domination, super-sillusness of grace, which is the lordly power of some women. Her longing for consideration was not sufficiently powerful to move her to demanded. Even now she lacked self-assurance. But there was that in what she had already experienced, which left her a little less than timid. She wanted pleasure, she wanted position, and yet she was confused as to what these things might be. Every hour the kaleidoscope of human affairs threw a new luster upon something, and there were that became for her the desired, the all. Another shift of the box, and some other had become the beautiful, the perfect. On her spiritual side also she was rich in feeling, as such a nature well might be. Sorrow in her was aroused by many a spectacle, an uncritical upwelling of grief for the weak and the helpless. She was constantly pained by the sight of the white-faced, ragged men who slapped desperately by her in a sort of wretched mental stupor. The poorly clad girls who went blowing by her window evenings, hurrying home from some sort of shops of the west side. She pitied from the depths of her heart. She would stand and bite her lips as they passed, shaking her little head and wondering. They had so little, she thought, he was so sad to be ragged and poor. The hang of faded clothes paint her eyes. And they have to work so hard was her only comment. On the street sometimes she would see men working, Irishmen with picks, coal heavers with great loads to shovel, Americans busy about some work which was a mere matter of strength. And they touched her fancy, toil, now that she was free of it, seemed even a more desolate thing than when she was part of it. She saw it through a mist of fancy, a pale, somber half-light, which was the essence of poetic feeling. Her old father in his flower-dusted miller suit sometimes returned to her in a memory, revived by a face in a window, a shoemaker pegging at his last, a blastman seen through a narrow window in some basement where iron was being melted, a bench-worker seen high aloft in some window, his coat off, his sleeves rolled up. These took her back in fancy to the details of the mill. She felt, though she seldom expressed them, sad thoughts upon this score. Her sympathies were ever with that underworld of toil from which she had so recently sprung and which she best understood, though Hearstwood did not know it, he was dealing with one of those feelings, were as tender and as delicate as this. He did not know, but it was this in her, after all, which attracted him. He never attempted to analyze the nature of his affection. It was sufficient that there was tenderness in her eye, weakness in her manner, good nature and hope in her thoughts. He drew near this lily, which had sucked its wax and beauty and perfume from below a depth of waters which he had never penetrated and out of ooze and mold which he could not understand. He drew near because it was waxing and fresh. It lightened his feelings for him. And it made the morning worthwhile. In a material way she was considerably improved. Her awkwardness had all but passed, leaving, if anything, a quaint residue which was as pleasing as perfect grace. Her little shoes now fitted her smartly and had high heels. She had learned much about laces and those little neck pieces which had so much to a woman's appearance. Her form had filled out until it was admirably plump and well-rounded. Hurstwood wrote her one morning, asking her to meet him in Jefferson Park, Monroe Street. He did not consider it policy to call any more, even when Dora was at home. The next afternoon he was in the pretty little park by one and had found a rustic bench beneath the green leaves of a lilac bush which bordered one of the paths. It was at that season of the year when the fullness of spring had not yet worn quite away. At a little pond nearby some cleanly dressed children were sailing white canvas boats. In the shade of a green pagoda a bebuttoned officer of the law was resting, his arms folded, his club at rest in his belt. An old gardener was upon the lawn with a pair of pruning shears looking after some bushes. High overhead was the clear blue sky of the new summer and in the thickness of the shiny green leaves of the trees hopped and twittered the busy sparrows. Hurstwood had come out of his own home that morning feeling much of the same old annoyance. At his door he had idled. There being no need to write. He had come away to this place with the lightness of heart which characterizes those who put weirdness behind. Now in the shade of this cool green bush he looked about him with the fancy of the lover. He heard the carts go lumbering by upon the neighboring streets, but they were far off and only buzzed upon his ear. The hum of the surrounding city was faint. The clang of an occasional bell was his music. He looked and dreamed a new dream of pleasure which concerned his present fixed condition not at all. He got back in fancy to the old Hurstwood who was neither married nor fixed in a solid position for life. He remembered the light spirit in which he once looked after the girls. How he had danced, escorted them home, hung over their gates. He almost wished he was back there again. Here in this pleasant scene he felt as if he were wholly free. At two Carrie came tripping along the walk toward him, rosy and clean. She had just recently donned a sailor hat for the season with a hand of pretty white dotted blue silk. Her skirt was of a rich blue material and her shirt waist matched it with a thin stripe of blue upon a snow white ground, stripes that were as fine as hairs. Her brown shoes peeped occasionally from beneath her skirt. She carried her gloves in her hand. Hurstwood looked up at her with delight. "'You came, dearest,' he said eagerly, standing to meet her and taking her hand. "'Of course,' she said, smiling. "'Did you think I wouldn't?' "'I didn't know,' he replied. He looked at her forehead, which was moist from her brisk walk. Then he took out one of his own soft, scented silk handkerchiefs and touched her face here and there. "'Now,' he said affectionately, "'you're all right.' They were happy in being near one another, in looking into each other's eyes. Suddenly when the long flush of delight had subsided, he said, "'When is Charlie going away again?' "'I don't know,' she answered. He says he has some things to do for the house here now.' Hurstwood grew serious, and he lapsed into a quiet thought. He looked up after a time to say, "'Come away and leave him.' He turned his eyes to the boys with the boats, as if the requests were of little importance. "'Where would we go?' she asked in much the same manner, rolling her gloves and looking into a neighboring tree. "'Where do you want to go?' he inquired. There was something in the tone in which he had said this which made her feel as if she must record her feelings against any local habitation. "'We can't stay in Chicago,' she replied. He had no thought that this was in her mind, that any removal would be suggested. "'Why not?' he asked softly. "'Oh, because,' she said, "'I wouldn't want to.' He listened to this with but dull perception of what it meant. It had no serious ring to it. The question was not up for immediate decision. "'I would have to give up my position,' he said. The tone he used made it seem as if the matter deserved only slight consideration. Harry thought a little, the while enjoying the pretty scene. "'I wouldn't like to live in Chicago,' and him here,' she said, thinking of Druett. "'It's a big town, dearest,' Hirst would answer. "'It would be as good as moving to another part of the country to move to the south side. He had fixed upon that region as an objective point. "'Anyhow,' said Carrie, "'I shouldn't want to get married as long as he is here. I wouldn't want to run away.' The suggestion of marriage struck Hirst would forcibly. He saw clearly that this was her idea. He felt that it was not to be gotten over easily.' Bigamy lightened the horizon of his shadowy thoughts for a moment. He wondered for the life of him how it would all come out. He could not see that he was making any progress save in her regard. When he looked at her now he thought her beautiful. What a thing it was to have her love him, even if it be entangling. She increased in value in his eyes because of her objection. She was something to struggle for. And that was everything. How different from the women who yielded willingly. He swept the thought of them from his mind. "'And you don't know when he'll go away?' asked Hirst would quietly. She shook her head. He sighed. "'You're a determined little miss, aren't you?' he said, after a few moments, looking up into her eyes. She felt a wave of feeling sweep over her at this. It was pride at what seemed his admiration. Afection for the man who could feel this concerning her. "'No,' she said coyly, "'but what can I do?' Again he folded his hands and looked away over the lawn into the street. "'I wish,' he said pathetically, "'you would come to me. I don't like to be away from you this way. What good is there in waiting? You're not any happier, are you?' "'Happier,' she exclaimed softly. "'You know better than that.' "'Here we are, then,' he went on in the same tone. "'Wasting our days. If you are not happy, do you think I am?' "'I sit and write to you the biggest part of the time. "'I'll tell you what carry,' he exclaimed, throwing sudden force of expression into his voice and fixing her with his eyes. "'I can't live without you, and that's all there is to it.' "'Now,' he concluded, showing a palm of one of his white hands in a sort of addonant, helpless expression, "'what shall I do?' This shifting of the burden to her appealed to carry. The semblance of the load, without the weight, touched the woman's heart. "'Can't you wait a little while yet?' she said tenderly. "'I'll try and find out when he's going.' "'What good will it do?' he asked, holding the same strain of feeling. "'Well, perhaps we can arrange to go somewhere.' She really did not see anything clearer than before, but she was getting into their frame of mind where, out of sympathy, a woman yields. Hurstwood did not understand. He was wondering how she was to be persuaded. What appeal would move her to forsake Druitt? He began to wonder how far her affection for him would carry her. He was thinking of some question which would make her tell. Finally he hid upon one of those problematic propositions which often disguised our own desires, when leading us to an understanding of the difficulties which others make for us, and so discover for us away. It had not the slightest connection with anything intended on his part, and was spoken at random before he had given it a moment's serious thought. "'Cary,' he said, looking into her face, and assuming a serious look which he did not feel. "'Suppose I were to come to you next week, or this week for that matter. Tonight, say, and tell you that I had to go away, that I couldn't stay another minute and wasn't coming back any more. Would you come with me?' His sweetheart viewed him with the most affectionate glance. Her answer ready before the words were out of his mouth. "'Yes,' she said. "'You wouldn't stop to argue or arrange? Not if you couldn't wait.' He smiled when he saw that she took him seriously, and he thought, what a chance it would afford for a possible junket of a week or two. He had a notion to tell her that he was joking, and so brush away her sweet seriousness. But the effect of it was too delightful. He let it stand. "'Suppose we didn't have time to get married here,' he added, and after thought striking him. "'If we got married, as soon as we got to the other end of the journey, it would be all right.' "'I meant that,' he said. "'Yes.' The morning seemed peculiarly bright to him now. He wondered whatever could have put such a thought into his head. Impassable as it was. He could not help smiling at its cleverness. It showed him how she loved him. There was no doubt in his mind now, and he would find a way to win her. "'Well,' he said jokingly, "'I'll come and get you one of these evenings.' And then he laughed. "'I wouldn't stay with you, though, if you didn't marry me,' Carrie added reflectively. "'I don't want you to,' he said tenderly, taking her hand. She was extremely happy now that she understood. She loved him the more, for thinking that he would rescue herself. As for him, the marriage clause did not dwell in his mind. He was thinking that with such affection there could be no bar to his eventual happiness. "'Let's stroll about,' he said gaily, rising and surveying all the lovely park. "'All right,' said Carrie. They passed the young Irishmen, who looked after them with envious eyes. "'Tis a foined couple,' he observed to himself. They must be rich." CHAPTER XVI 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 XVI. A Witless Aladdin, The Gate to the World In the course of his present stay in Chicago, Druitt paid some slight attention to the secret order to which he belonged. During his last trip he had received a new light on its importance. "'I tell you,' said another drummer to him, "'it's a great thing. Look at Hasenstab. He isn't so deuced clever. Of course he's got a good house behind him, but that won't do alone. I tell you it's his degree. He's a way up Mason, and that goes a long way. He's got a secret sign that stands for something.' Druitt resolved then and there that he would take more interest in such matters. So when he got back to Chicago he repaired to his local lodge headquarters. "'I say, Druitt,' said Mr. Harry Kinsel, an individual who was very prominent in this local branch of the Elks, "'you're the man who can help us out.' It was after the business meeting and things were going socially with a hum. Druitt was bobbing around, chatting and joking with a score of individuals whom he knew. "'What are you up to?' he inquired genially, turning a smiling face upon his secret brother. "'We're trying to get up some theatricals for two weeks from today. And we want to know if you don't know some young lady who could take a part. It's an easy part.' "'Sure,' said Druitt, "'what is it?' He did not trouble to remember that he knew no one to whom he could appeal on this score. His innate good nature, however, dictated a favorable reply. "'Well, now, I'll tell you what we're trying to do,' went on Mr. Kinsel. "'We are trying to get a new set of furniture for the lodge. There isn't enough money in the treasury at the present time, and we thought we would raise it by a little entertainment. "'Sure,' interrupted Druitt. "'That's a good idea. Several of the boys around here have got talent. There's Harry Burbeck. He does a fine blackface turn. McLouis is all right at heavy dramatics. Did you ever hear him recite over the hills? Never did. Well, I tell you, he does it fine. "'And you want me to get some woman to take the part?' questioned Druitt, anxious to terminate the subject and get on to something else. "'What are you going to play?' "'Under the gaslight,' said Mr. Kinsel, mentioning Augustine Daley's famous production, which had worn from a great public success down to an amateur theatrical favorite. With many of the troublesome accessories cut out, and the dramatist's personae reduced to the smallest possible number. Druitt had seen this play some time in the past. "'Oh, that's fine,' he said. "'That's a fine play. It'll go all right. You ought to make a lot of money out of that.' "'We think we'll do very well,' Mr. Kinsel replied. "'Don't forget now,' he concluded. Druitt showing signs of restlessness. Some young woman to take the part of Laura. "'Sure, I'll attend to it.' He moved away, forgetting almost all about it at the moment Mr. Kinsel had ceased talking. He had not even thought to ask the time or place. Druitt was reminded of his promise a day or two later by the receipt of a letter announcing that the first rehearsal was set for the following Friday evening and urging him to kindly forward the young lady's address at once in order that the part might be delivered to her. "'Now, who the deuce to I know?' asked the drummer reflectively, scratching his rosy ear. "'I don't know anyone that knows anything about amateur theatricals.' He went over in memory the names of a number of women he knew and finally fixed on one largely because of the convenient location of her home on the west side and promised himself that as he came out that evening he would see her. When, however, he started west on the car, he forgot and was only reminded of his delinquency by an item on the evening news, a small three-line affair under the head of secret society notes, which stated the Custer Lodge of the Order of Elks would give a theatrical performance in Avery Hall on the 16th when, under the gaslight, would be produced. "'George!' exclaimed Druitt. "'I forgot that.' "'What?' inquired Carrie. "'They were at their little table in the room which might have been used for a kitchen where Carrie occasionally served a meal. "'Tonight the fancy had caught her and the little table was spread with a pleasing repast. "'Why, my Lodge entertainment, they're going to give a play "'and they wanted me to get them some young lady "'to take a part. "'What is it they're going to play under the gaslight? "'When?' on the 16th. "'Well, why don't you?' asked Carrie. "'I don't know anyone,' he replied. "'Suddenly he looked up. "'Say,' he said. "'How would you like to take the part?' "'Me,' said Carrie. "'I can't act. "'How do you know?' questioned Druitt reflectively. "'Because,' answered Carrie, "'I never did. "'Nevertheless she was pleased to think he would ask. "'Her eyes brightened for if there was anything "'that enlisted her sympathies, "'it was the art of the stage. "'True to his nature, Druitt clung to this idea "'as an easy way out. "'That's nothing. "'You can act all you have to down there.' "'No, I can't,' said Carrie weakly, "'very much drawn toward the proposition and yet fearful. "'Yes, you can. "'Now, why don't you do it? "'They need someone and it'll be lots of fun for you.' "'Oh, no it won't,' said Carrie seriously. "'You'd like that. "'I know you would. "'I've seen you dancing around here "'and giving imitations, and that's why I asked you. "'You're clever enough, all right.' "'No, I'm not,' said Carrie. "'Now, I'll tell you what to do. "'You go down and see about it. "'It'll be fun for you. "'The rest of the company isn't going to be any good. "'They haven't any experience. "'What do they know about theatricals?' "'He frowned as he thought of their ignorance. "'Hand me the coffee,' he added. "'I don't believe I could act, Charlie.' "'Carrie went on pettishly. "'You don't think I could, do you? "'Sure, out of sight. "'I bet you make a hit. "'Now, you want to go. "'I know you do, and I knew it when I came home. "'That's why I asked you.' "'What is this play, did you say, under the gaslight? "'What part would they want me to take? "'Oh, one of the heroines, I don't know. "'What sort of play is it?' "'Well,' said Druitt, whose memory for such things "'was not the best. "'It's about a girl who gets kidnapped "'by a couple of crooks, a man and a woman "'that live in the slums. "'She had some money or something, "'and they wanted to get it. "'I don't know how it did go, exactly. "'Don't you know what part I would have to take? "'No, I don't, to tell you the truth,' "'he thought a moment. "'Yes, I do. "'Laura, that's the thing. "'You're to be Laura. "'And you can't remember what the part is like? "'To save me, Cad, I can't,' he answered. "'I ought to, too. "'I've seen the play enough. "'There's a girl in it that was stolen "'when she was an infant. "'Was picked off the street or something, "'and she's the one that's hounded "'by the two old criminals I was telling you about.' "'He stopped with a mouthful of pie "'poised on a fork before his face. "'She comes very near getting drowned. "'No, that's not it. "'I'll tell you what I'll do,' he concluded hopelessly. "'I'll get you the book. "'I can't remember now for the life of me.'" "'Well, I don't know,' said Carrie, "'when he had concluded her interest and desire "'to shine dramatically struggling "'with her timidity for the mastery. "'I might go if you thought I'd do all right. "'Of course you'll do,' said Truett, "'who, in his efforts to enthuse Carrie, "'had interested himself. "'Do you think I'd come home here "'and urge you to do something "'that I didn't think you'd make a success of? "'You can act all right. "'It'll be good for you.' "'When must I go?' said Carrie, reflectively. "'The first rehearsal is Friday night. "'I'll get the part for you tonight.' "'All right,' said Carrie, residedly, "'I'll do it, but if I make a failure now, "'it's your fault. "'You won't fail,' assured Truett. "'Just act as you do around here. "'Be natural. "'You're all right. "'I've often thought you'd make a corking good actress.' "'Do you really?' asked Carrie. "'That's right,' said the drummer. "'He little knew, as he went out of the door that night, "'what a secret flame he had kindled "'in the bosom of the girl he left behind. "'Carrie was possessed of that sympathetic, "'impressionable nature which, "'ever in the most developed form, "'has been the glory of the drama. "'She was created with that passivity of soul "'which is always the mirror of the active world. "'She possessed an innate taste for imitation "'and no small ability. "'Even without practice, "'she could sometimes restore dramatic situations "'she had witnessed by recreating before her mirror "'the expressions of the various faces "'taking part in the scene. "'She loved to modulate her voice "'after the conventional manner of the distressed heroine "'and repeat such pathetic fragments "'as appealed most to her sympathies. "'Of late, seeing the airy grace of the ingenue "'in several well-constructed plays, "'she had been moved to secretly imitate it "'and many were the little movements "'and expressions of the body "'in which she indulged from time to time "'in the privacy of her chamber. "'On several occasions, "'when Druitt had caught her admiring herself, "'as he imagined, in the mirror, "'she was doing nothing more "'than recalling some little grace of the mouth "'or the eyes which she had witnessed in another. "'Under his airy accusation, "'she mistook this vervannity "'and accepted the blame with a faint sense of error. "'Though, as a matter of fact, "'it was nothing more than the first subtle outcroppings "'of an artistic nature, "'endevering to recreate the perfect likeness "'of some phase of beauty which appealed to her. "'In such feeble tendencies, be it known, "'such outworking of desire to reproduce life "'lies the basis of all dramatic art. "'Now, when Carrie Hurd drew its laudatory opinion "'of her dramatic ability, "'her body tingled with satisfaction. "'Like the flame which welds the loosened particles "'into a solid mass, "'his words united those floating wisps of feeling "'which she had felt, "'but never believed concerning her possible ability "'and made them into a gory shred of hope. "'Like all human beings, she had a touch of vanity. "'She felt that she could do things "'if only she had the chance. "'How often had she looked at the well-dressed actresses "'on the stage and wondered how she would look, "'how delightful she would feel "'if only she were in their place? "'The glamour, the tense situation, "'the fine clothes, the applause, "'these had lured her until she felt that she too could act, "'that she too could compel acknowledgement of power. "'Now, she was told that she really could, "'that little things she had done about the house "'had made him feel her power. "'It was a delightful sensation while it lasted. "'When Druitt was gone, "'she sat down in her rocking chair "'by the window to think about it. "'As usual, imagination exaggerated "'the possibilities for her. "'It was as if he had put 50 cents in her hand "'and she had exorcised the thoughts of $1,000. "'She saw herself in a score of pathetic situations "'in which she assumed a tremulous voice "'and suffering manner. "'Her mind delighted itself "'with scenes of luxury and refinement, "'situations in which she was the sinister "'of all eyes, the arbiter of all fates. "'As she rocked to and fro, "'she felt the density of woe in abandonment, "'magnificence of wrath after deception, "'the languor of sorrow after defeat. "'Thoughts of all the charming women "'she had seen in plays, every fancy, "'every illusion which she had concerning the stage "'now came back as a returning tide after the ebb. "'She built up feelings in a determination "'which the occasion did not warrant.' "'Drewett dropped in at the lodge "'when he went downtown and swashed around "'with a great air as Kinsel met him. "'Where is that young lady you were going to get us?' "'Ask the latter.' "'I've got her,' said Drewett. "'Have you?' said Kinsel, "'rather surprised by his promptness. "'That's good. "'What's her address?' "'And he pulled out his notebook "'in order to be able to send her part to her. "'You want to send her her part?' asked the drummer. "'Yes.' "'Well, I'll take it. "'I'm going right by her house in the morning.' "'What did you say her address was? "'We only want it in case we have any information to send her.' "'29, Ogden Place. "'And her name?' "'Carrie Madenda,' said the drummer, firing at random. "'The Lodge members knew him to be single. "'That sounds like somebody that can act, doesn't it?' "'Sid Kinsel. "'Yes, it does.' "'He took the part home to Carrie "'and handed it to her with the manner of one who does a favor. "'He says that's the best part. "'Do you think you can do it? "'I don't know until I look it over. "'You know, I'm afraid, now that I've said I would. "'Ah, go on. "'What have you to be afraid of? "'It's a cheap company. "'The rest of them aren't as good as you are.' "'Well, I'll see,' said Carrie, "'pleased to have the part for all her misgivings. "'He sidled around, dressing and fidgeting, "'before he arranged to make his next remark. "'They were getting ready to print the programs,' he said, "'and I gave him the name of Carrie Madenda. "'Was that all right?' "'Yes, I guess so,' said his companion, "'looking up at him. "'She was thinking it was slightly strange. "'If you didn't make a hit, you know,' he went on. "'Oh, yes,' she answered, "'rather pleased now with his caution. "'It was clever for Druitt. "'I didn't want to introduce you as my wife "'because you'd feel worse then if you didn't go. "'They all know me so well. "'But you'll go all right anyhow. "'You'll probably never meet any of them again.' "'Oh, I don't care,' said Carrie desperately. "'She was determined now to have a try "'at the fascinating game.' Druitt breathed a sigh of relief. "'He had been afraid that he was about "'to precipitate another conversation "'upon the marriage question. "'The part of Laura, as Carrie found out "'when she began to examine it, "'was one of suffering and tears. "'As delineated by Mr. Daley, "'it was true to the most sacred traditions of melodrama "'as he found it when he began his career. "'The sorrowful demeanor, the tremolo music, "'the long explanatory cumulative addresses "'all were there. "'Poor fellow,' read Carrie, consulting the text "'and drawing her voice out pathetically, "'Martin, be sure and give him a glass of wine "'before he goes.' "'She was surprised at the briefness of the entire part, "'not knowing that she must be on stage "'while others were talking and not only be there, "'but also keep herself in harmony "'with the dramatic movement of the scenes. "'I think I can do that, though,' she concluded. "'When Druid came the next night, "'she was very much satisfied with her day's study. "'Well, how goes it, Catty?' he asked. "'All right,' she laughed. "'I think I haven't memorized nearly. "'That's good,' he said. "'Let's hear some of it.' "'Oh, I don't know whether I can get up "'and say it off here,' she said bashfully. "'Well, I don't know why you shouldn't. "'It'll be easier here than it will be there. "'I don't know about that,' she answered. "'Eventually, she took off the ballroom episode "'with considerable feeling, forgetting, "'as she got deeper in the scene, all about Druid, "'and letting herself rise to a fine state of feeling. "'Good,' said Druid, "'fine, out of sight. "'You're all right, Catty, I tell ya.' "'He was really moved by her excellent representation "'and the general appearance of the pathetic little figure "'as it swayed and finally fainted to the floor. "'He had bound it up to catch her "'and now held her laughing in his arms. "'Ain't ya afraid, ya'll hurt yourself?' "'He asked, not a bit. "'Well, you're a wonder. "'Say, I never knew you could do anything like that. "'I never did either,' said Carrie Merrily, "'her face flushed with delight. "'Well, you can bet that you're all right,' said Druid. "'You can take my word for that. "'You won't fail.'" End of chapter 16, recording by Bob Sage. Chapter 17 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 17, a glimpse through the gateway. Hope lightens the eye. The, to Carrie, very important theatrical performance was to take place at the Avery on conditions which were to make it more noteworthy than was first anticipated. The little dramatic student had written to Hearstwood the very morning her part was brought her, that she was going to take part in a play. "'I really am,' she wrote, feeling that he might take it as a jest. "'I have my part now, honest, truly.' Hearstwood smiled in an indulgent way as he read this. "'I wonder what it's going to be. "'I must see that.'" He answered at once, making a pleasant reference to her ability. "'I haven't the slightest doubt you will make a success. "'You must come to the park tomorrow morning "'and tell me all about it.'" Carrie gladly complied and revealed all the details of the undertaking as she understood it. "'Well,' he said, "'that's fine. "'I'm glad to hear it. "'Of course, you will do well. "'You're so clever.'" He had truly never seen so much spirit in the girl before. Her tendency to discover a touch of sadness had for the knots disappeared. As she spoke, her eyes were bright, her cheeks red. She radiated much of the pleasure which her undertakings gave her for all her misgivings and they were as plentiful as the moments of the day. She was still happy. She could not suppress her delight in doing this little thing which, to an ordinary observer, had no importance at all. Hurstwood was charmed by the development of the fact that the girl had capabilities. There is nothing so inspiring in life as the sight of a legitimate ambition no matter how incipient. It gives color, force, and beauty to the possessor. Carrie was now lightened by a touch of this divine aflatus. She drew to herself commendation from her two admirers which she had not earned. Their affection for her naturally heightened their perception of what she was trying to do and their approval of what she did. Her inexperience conserved her own exuberant fancy which ran riot with every straw of opportunity making of it a golden divining rod whereby the treasure of life was to be discovered. Let's see, said Hurstwood. I want to know some of the boys in the lodge. I'm an elk myself. Oh, you mustn't let him know I told you. That's so, said the manager. I'd like for you to be there if you want to come but I don't see how you can unless he asks you. I'll be there, said Hurstwood affectionately. I can fix it so he won't know you told me. You leave it to me. This interest of the manager was a large thing in itself for the performance. For his standing among the elks was something worth talking about. Already he was thinking of a box with some friends and flowers for Carrie. He would make it a dress suit affair and give the little girl a chance. Within a day or two, Druett dropped into the Adam Street Resort and he was at once spied by Hurstwood. It was at five in the afternoon and the place was crowded with merchants, actors, managers, politicians, a goodly company of rotund, rosy figures, silk-hatted, starchy bosomed, be ringed and be scarf pinned to the queen's taste. John L. Sullivan, the pugilist, was at one end of the glittering bar, surrounded by a company of loudly dressed sports who were holding a most animated conversation. Druett came across the floor with a festive stride, a new pair of tan shoes squeaking audibly at his progress. Well, sir, said Hurstwood, I was wondering what had become of you. I thought you'd gone out of town again, Druett laughed. If you don't report more regularly, we'll have to cut you off the list. Couldn't help it, said the drummer. I've been busy. They strolled over toward the bar amid the noisy shifting company of notables. The dressy manager was shaken by the hand three times in as many minutes. I hear your lodge is giving a performance, observed Hurstwood, in the most offhand manner. Yes, who told you? Oh, no one, said Hurstwood. They just sent me a couple of tickets, which I have for two dollars. Is it gonna be any good? I don't know, replied the drummer. They've been trying to get me to get some woman to take a part. I wasn't intending to go, said the manager easily. I'll subscribe, of course. How are things over there? All right, they're gonna fit things up out of the proceeds. Well, said the manager. I hope they make a success of it. Have another? He did not intend to say any more. Now, if he should appear on the scene with a few friends, he could say that he had been urged to come along. Druett had a desire to wipe out the possibility of confusion. I think the girl is gonna take a part in it, he said abruptly after thinking it over. You don't say so. How did that happen? Well, they were short and wanted me to find them someone. I told Carrie, and she seems to wanna try. Good for her, said the manager. It'll be a real nice affair. Do her good, too. Has she ever had any experience? Not a bit. Well, it isn't anything very serious. She's clever, though, said Druett, casting off any imputation against Carrie's ability. She picks up her part quick enough. You don't say so, said the manager. Yes, sir. She surprised me the other night by George if she didn't. You must give her a nice little send off, said the manager. I'll look after the flowers. Druett smiled at his good nature. After the show, you must come with me and we'll have a little supper. I think she'll do all right, said Druett. I wanna see her. She's got to do all right. We'll make her, and the manager gave one of his quick, steely, half smiles, which was a compound of good nature and shrewdness. Carrie, meanwhile, attended the first rehearsal. At this performance, Mr. Kinsel presided, aided by Mr. Millis, a young man who had some qualifications of past experience, which were not exactly understood by anyone. He was so experienced and so businesslike, however, that he came very near to being rude. Failing to remember as he did that the individuals he was trying to instruct were volunteer players and not salaried underlings. Now, Mrs. Modenda, he said, addressing Carrie, who stood in one part uncertain as to what move to make. You don't wanna stand like that. Put expression on your face. Remember, you're troubled over the intrusion of the stranger, walk so, and he struck out across the Avery stage in a most drooping manner. Carrie did not exactly fancy the suggestion, but the novelty of the situation, the presence of strangers, all more or less nervous, and the desire to do anything rather than make a failure made her timid. She walked in imitation of her mentor as requested, inwardly feeling that there was something strangely lacking. Now, Mrs. Morgan, said the director to one young married woman who was to take the part of Pearl, you sit here. Now, Mr. Bamberger, you stand here. So, now, what is it you say? Explain, said Mr. Bamberger, feebly. He had the part of Ray, Laura's lover, the society individual who was to waver in his thoughts of marrying her upon finding that she was a waif and a nobody by birth. How is that? What does your text say? Explain, repeated Mr. Bamberger, looking intently at his part. Yes, but it also says, the director remarked, that you are to look shocked now. Say it again and see if you can't look shocked. Explain, demanded Mr. Bamberger vigorously. No, no, that won't do. Say it this way. Explain. Explain, said Mr. Bamberger, giving a modified imitation. That's better now. Go on. One night, resumed Mrs. Morgan, whose lines came next. Father and mother were going to the opera. When they were crossing Broadway, the usual crowd of children accosted them for alms. Hold on, said the director, rushing forward, his arm extended, put more feeling into what you're saying. Mrs. Morgan looked at him as if she feared a personal assault. Her eye lightened with resentment. Remember, Mrs. Morgan, he added, ignoring the gleam, but modifying his manner, that you're telling a pathetic story. You are now supposed to be telling something that is a grief to you. It requires feeling, repression, thus, the usual crowd of children accosted them for alms. All right, said Mrs. Morgan, now, go on. As the mother felt in her pocket for some change, her fingers touched a cold and trembling hand, which had clutched her purse. Very good, interrupted director, nodding his head significantly. A pickpocket, well, exclaimed Mr. Bamberger, speaking the lines that here fell to him. No, no, Mr. Bamberger, said the director, approaching, not that way, a pickpocket. Well, so, that's the idea. Don't you think, said Carrie Weakley, noticing that it had not been proved yet whether the members of the company knew their lines, let alone the details of the expression, that it would be better if we just went through our lines once to see if we know them? We might pick up some points. A very good idea, Miss Modenda, said Mr. Kinsle, who sat at the side of the stage, looking serenely on and volunteering opinions which the director did not heed. All right, said the latter, somewhat abashed. It might be well to do it. Then, brightening with a show of authority, suppose we run it through, putting in as much expression as we can. Good, said Mr. Kinsle. This hand resumed Mrs. Morgan, glancing up at Mr. Bamberger and down at her book as the lines proceeded. My mother grasped in her own and so tight that a small, feeble voice uttered an exclamation of pain. Mother looked down and there beside her was a little ragged girl. Very good, observed the director, now hopelessly idle. The thief exclaimed Mr. Bamberger. Louder, put in the director, finding it almost impossible to keep his hands off. The thief! roared poor Bamberger. Yes, but a thief hardly six years old, with a face like an angel. Stop, said my mother. What are you doing? Trying to steal, said the child. Don't you know that it is wicked to do so? Asked my father. No, said the little girl, but it is dreadful to be hungry. Who told you to steal, asked my mother. She, there, said the child, pointing to a squalid woman in a doorway opposite, who fled suddenly down the street. That is old Judas, said the girl. Mrs. Morgan read this rather flatly and the director was in despair. He fidgeted around and then went over to Mr. Kinsell. What do you think of them? He asked. Oh, I guess we'll be able to whip him into shape, said the latter, with an air of strength under difficulties. I don't know, said the director. That fellow, Bamberger, strikes me as being a pretty poor shift for a lover. He's all we've got, said Kinsell, rolling up his eyes. Harrison went back on me at the last minute. Who else can we get? I don't know, said the director. I'm afraid he'll never pick up. At this moment, Bamberger was exclaiming, Pearl, you are joking with me. Look at that now, said the director, whispering behind his hand. My lord, what can you do with a man who draws out a sentence like that? Do the best you can, said Kinsell, consolingly. The rendition ran on in this wise until it came to where Carrie, as Laura, comes into the room to explain to Ray who, after hearing Pearl's statement about her birth, had written the letter repudiating her, which, however, he did not deliver. Bamberger was just concluding the words of Ray, I must go before she returns, her step, too late, and was cramming the letter in his pocket when she began sweetly with, Ray, Miss, Miss Cortland? Bamberger faltered weakly. Carrie looked at him a moment and forgot all about the company present. She began to feel the part and summoned an indifferent smile to her lips, turning as the lines directed and going to a window as if he were not present. She did it with a grace which was fascinating to look upon. Who is that woman, asked the director, watching Carrie and her little scene with Bamberger? Miss Modenda, said Kinsell. I know her name, said the director, but what does she do? I don't know, said Kinsell. She's a friend of one of our members. Well, she's got more gumption than anyone I've seen here so far. Seems to take an interest in what she's doing. Pretty too, isn't she? Said Kinsell. The director strolled away without answering. In the second scene, where she was supposed to face the company in the ballroom, she did even better, winning the smile of the director who volunteered because of her fascination for him to come over and speak with her. Were you ever on the stage? He asked insinuatingly. No, said Carrie. You do so well. I thought you might have had some experience. Carrie only smiled consciously. He walked away to listen to Bamberger who was feebly spouting some ardent line. Mrs. Morgan saw the drift of things and gleamed at Carrie with envious and snapping black eyes. She's some cheap professional. She gave herself the satisfaction of thinking and scorned and hated her accordingly. The rehearsal ended for one day and Carrie went home feeling that she had acquitted herself satisfactorily. The words of the director were ringing in her ears and she longed for an opportunity to tell Hearstwood. She wanted him to know just how well she was doing. Druett, too, was an object for her confidences. She could hardly wait until he should ask her and yet she did not have the vanity to bring it up. The drummer, however, had another line of thought tonight and her little experience did not appeal to him as important. He let the conversation drop, save for what she chose to recite without solicitation and Carrie was not good at that. He took it for granted that she was doing very well and he was relieved of further worry. Consequently, he threw Carrie into repression which was irritating. She felt his indifference keenly and longed to see Hearstwood. It was as if he were here now and the only friend she had on earth. The next morning Druett was interested again but the damage had been done. She got a pretty letter from the manager saying that by the time she got it he would be waiting for her in the park. When she came he shone upon her as the morning sun. Well, my dear, he asked, how did you come out? Well, enough, she said, still somewhat reduced after Druett. Now, tell me just what you did. Was it pleasant? Carrie related the incidents of the rehearsal, warming up as she proceeded. Well, that's delightful, said Hearstwood. I'm so glad, I must get over there to see you. When is the next rehearsal? Tuesday, said Carrie, but they don't allow visitors. I imagine I could get in, said Hearstwood significantly. She was completely restored and delighted by his consideration but she made him promise not to come around. Now, you must do your best to please me, he said encouragingly. Just remember that I want you to succeed. We'll make the performance worthwhile. You do that now. I'll try, said Carrie, brimming with affection and enthusiasm. That's the girl, said Hearstwood fondly. Now, remember, shaking an affectionate finger at her, you're best. I will, she answered, looking back. The whole earth was brimming sunshine that morning. She tripped along, the clear sky pouring liquid blue into her soul. Oh, blessed are the children of endeavor in this, that they try and are hopeful. And blessed also are they who, knowing, smile and approve. End of chapter 17, recording by Bob Sage. Chapter 18 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 18, just over the border, a hail and farewell. By the evening of the 16th, the subtle hand of Hearstwood had made itself apparent. He had given the word among his friends, and they were many an influential, that here was something which they ought to attend. And as a consequence, the sale of tickets by Mr. Kinsell, acting for the lodge, had been large. Small, four-line notes had appeared in all the daily newspapers. These he had arranged for by the aid of one of his newspaper friends on the times, Mr. Harry McGarran, the managing editor. Say, Harry, Hearstwood said to him one evening, as the latter stood at the bar drinking before wending his belated way homeward. You can help the boys out, I guess. What is it? Said Mr. McGarran, pleased to be consulted by the opulent manager. The Custer Lodge is getting up a little entertainment for their own good. And they'd like a little newspaper notice. You know what I mean, a squib or two saying that it's gonna take place. Certainly, said McGarran, I can fix that for you, George. At the same time, Hearstwood kept himself wholly in the background. The members of Custer Lodge could scarcely understand why their little affair was taking off so well. Mr. Harry Kinsell was looked upon as quite a star for this sort of work. By the time the 16th had arrived, Hearstwood's friends had rallied like Romans to a senator's call. A well-dressed, good-natured, flatteringly inclined audience was assured from the moment he thought of assisting Carrie. That little student had mastered her part to her own satisfaction, much as she trembled for her fate when she should once face the gathered throng behind the glare of the footlights. She tried to console herself with the thought that a score of other persons, men and women, were equally tremulous concerning the outcome of their efforts, but she could not dissociate the general danger from her own individual liability. She feared that she would forget her lines, that she might be unable to master the feeling which she now felt concerning her own movements in the play. At times, she wished that she had never gone into the affair. At others, she trembled lest she should be paralyzed with fear and stand white and gasping, not knowing what to say and spoiling the entire performance. In the matter of the company, Mr. Bamberger had disappeared. That hopeless example had fallen under the lance of the director's criticism. Mrs. Morgan was still present, but envious and determined, if for nothing more than spite, to do as well as carry, at least. A loafing professional had been called in to assume the role of Ray. And while he was a poor stick of his kind, he was not troubled by any of those qualms which attacked the spirit of those who have never faced an audience. He swashed about, cautioned, though he was to maintain silence concerning his past theatrical relationships in such a self-confident manner that he was like to convince everyone of his identity by mere matter of circumstantial evidence. It's so easy, he said to Mrs. Morgan in the usual affected stage voice. An audience would be the last thing to trouble me. It's the spirit of the part, you know, that is difficult. Gary disliked his appearance, but she was too much the actress not to swallow his qualities with complacence, seeing that she must suffer his fictitious love for the evening. At six, she was ready to go. Theatrical paraphernalia had been provided over and above her care. She had practiced her makeup in the morning, had rehearsed, and arranged her material for the evening by one o'clock, and had gone home to have a final look at her part, waiting for the evening to come. On this occasion, the lodge sent a carriage, drew it, rode with her as far as the door, and then went about the neighboring stores looking for some good cigars. The little actress marched nervously into her dressing room and began that painfully anticipated matter of makeup, which was to transform her, a simple maiden, to Laura, the bell of society. The flare of the gas jets, the open trunks, suggestive of travel and display, the scattered contents of the makeup box, rouge, pearl powder, whiting, burnt cork, India ink, pencils for the eyelids, wigs, scissors, looking glasses, drapery, in short, all the nameless paraphernalia of disguise have a remarkable atmosphere of their own. Since her arrival in the city, many things had influenced her, but always in a far-removed manner. This new atmosphere was more friendly. It was wholly unlike the great, brilliant mansions which waved her coldly away, permitting her only awe and distant wonder. This took her by the hand kindly as one who says, my dear, come in. It opened for her as if for its own. She had wondered at the greatness of the names upon the billboards, the marvel of the long notices in the paper, the beauty of the dresses upon the stage, the atmosphere of carriages, flowers, refinement. Here was no illusion. Here was an open door to see all of that. She had come upon it as one who stumbles upon a secret passage and behold, she was in the chamber of diamonds and delight. As she dressed with a flutter in her little stage room, hearing the voices outside, seeing Mr. Kinsel hurrying here and there, noting Mrs. Morgan and Mrs. Hogan at their nervous work of preparation. Seeing all the 20 members of the cast moving about and worrying over what the result would be, she could not help thinking what a delight this would be if it would endure. How perfect a state if she could only do well now and then sometime get a place as a real actress. The thought had taken a mighty hold upon her. It hummed in her ears as the melody of an old song. Outside in the little lobby, another scene was being enacted. Without the interest of Hearstwood, the little hall would probably have been comfortably filled for the members of the lodge were moderately interested in its welfare. Hearstwood's word, however, had gone the rounds. It was to be a full dress affair. The four boxes had been taken. Dr. Norman McNeil Hale and his wife were to occupy one. This was quite a card. C. R. Walker, Drywood's merchant and possessor of at least $200,000, had taken another. A well-known coal merchant had been induced to take the third and Hearstwood and his friends had the fourth. Among the latter was Druitt. The people who were now pouring here were not celebrities nor even local notabilities in a general sense. They were the lights of a certain circle, the circle of small fortunes and secret order distinctions. These gentlemen elks knew the standing of one another. They had regard for the ability which could amass a small fortune, own a nice home, keep a barouche or carriage, perhaps wear fine clothes and maintain a good mercantile position. Naturally, Hearstwood, who was a little above the order of mind which accepted this standard as perfect, who had shrewdness and much assumption of dignity, who held an imposing and authoritative position and commanded friendship by intuitive tact in handling people was quite a figure. He was more generally known than most others in the same circle and was looked upon as someone whose reserve covered a mine of influence and a solid financial prosperity. Tonight, he was in his element. He came with several friends, directly from rectors and a carriage. In the lobby, he met Druitt, who was just returning from a trip for more cigars. All five now joined in an animated conversation concerning the company present and the general drift of lodge affairs. Who's here? Said Hearstwood, passing into the theater proper where the lights were turned up and a company of gentlemen were laughing and talking in the open space back of the seats. Why, how do you do, Mr. Hearstwood? Came from the first individual recognized. Glad to see you, said the latter grasping his hand lightly. Looks like quite an affair, doesn't it? Yes, indeed, said the manager. Custer seems to have the backing of its members, observed the friend. So it should have, said the knowing manager. I'm glad to see it. Well, George, said another rotund citizen whose avoir du pois made necessary and almost alarming display of starch shirt bosom. How goes it with you? Excellent, said the manager. What brings you over here? You are not a member of Custer. Good nature, returned the manager. Like to see the boys, you know. Wife here? She couldn't come tonight. She's not well. Oh, sorry to hear that. Nothing serious, I hope. No, just feeling a little ill. I remember Mrs. Hearstwood when she was traveling once with you over at St. Joe. And here the newcomer launched off in a trivial recollection, which was terminated by the arrival of more friends. Why, George, how are you? Said another genial West Side politician and lodge member. My, but I'm glad to see you again. How are things, anyhow? Very well. I see you got the nomination for Alderman. Yes, we whipped them out over there without much trouble. What do you suppose Hennessy will do now? Now, he'll go back to his brick business. He has a brickyard, you know. I didn't know that, said the manager. Felt pretty sore, I suppose, over his defeat. Perhaps, said the other, winking shrewdly. Some of the more favored of his friends, whom he had invited, began to roll up in carriages now. They came shuffling in with great show, a finery and much evident feeling of content and importance. Here we are, said Hearstwood, turning to one from a group with whom he was talking. That's right, returned the newcomer, a gentleman of about 45, and say, he whispered jovially, pulling Hearstwood over by the shoulder so that he might whisper in his ears, if this isn't a good show, I'll punch your head. You ought to pay for seeing your old friends. Bother the show. To another who inquired, is it really something good? The manager replied, I don't know. I don't suppose so. Then, lifting his hand graciously, for the lodge. Lots of boys out, huh? Yes, look up Shanahan. He was just asking for you a moment ago. It was thus that the little theater resounded to a babble of successful voices. The creak of fine clothes. The commonplace of good nature, and all largely because of this man's bidding. Look at him any time within the half hour before the curtain was up. He was a member of an eminent group, a rounded company of five or more who stout figures, large white bosoms, and shining pins bespoke the character of their success. The gentleman who brought their wives called him out to shake hands, seats clicked, rushers bowed, while he looked blandly on. He was evidently a light among them, reflecting in his personality the ambitions of those who greeted him. He was acknowledged, fawned upon, in a way lionized. Through it all one could see the standing of the man. It was a greatness in a way, small as it was. CHAPTER XVIII RECORDING BY BOB SAGE