Chapter III

by Theodore Dreiser

　　WEE QUESTION OF FORTUNE--FOUR-FIFTY A WEEKOnce across the river and into the wholesale district, sheglanced about her for some likely door at which to apply. As shecontemplated the wide windows and imposing signs, she becameconscious of being gazed upon and understood for what she was--awage-seeker. She had never done this thing before, and lackedcourage. To avoid a certain indefinable shame she felt at beingcaught spying about for a position, she quickened her steps andassumed an air of indifference supposedly common to one upon anerrand. In this way she passed many manufacturing and wholesalehouses without once glancing in. At last, after several blocksof walking, she felt that this would not do, and began to lookabout again, though without relaxing her pace. A little way onshe saw a great door which, for some reason, attracted herattention. It was ornamented by a small brass sign, and seemedto be the entrance to a vast hive of six or seven floors."Perhaps," she thought, "they may want some one," and crossedover to enter. When she came within a score of feet of thedesired goal, she saw through the window a young man in a greychecked suit. That he had anything to do with the concern, shecould not tell, but because he happened to be looking in herdirection her weakening heart misgave her and she hurried by, tooovercome with shame to enter. Over the way stood a great six-story structure, labelled Storm and King, which she viewed withrising hope. It was a wholesale dry goods concern and employedwomen. She could see them moving about now and then upon theupper floors. This place she decided to enter, no matter what.She crossed over and walked directly toward the entrance. As shedid so, two men came out and paused in the door. A telegraphmessenger in blue dashed past her and up the few steps that ledto the entrance and disappeared. Several pedestrians out of thehurrying throng which filled the sidewalks passed about her asshe paused, hesitating. She looked helplessly around, and then,seeing herself observed, retreated. It was too difficult a task.She could not go past them.So severe a defeat told sadly upon her nerves. Her feet carriedher mechanically forward, every foot of her progress being asatisfactory portion of a flight which she gladly made. Blockafter block passed by. Upon streetlamps at the various cornersshe read names such as Madison, Monroe, La Salle, Clark,Dearborn, State, and still she went, her feet beginning to tireupon the broad stone flagging. She was pleased in part that thestreets were bright and clean. The morning sun, shining downwith steadily increasing warmth, made the shady side of thestreets pleasantly cool. She looked at the blue sky overhead withmore realisation of its charm than had ever come to her before.Her cowardice began to trouble her in a way. She turned back,resolving to hunt up Storm and King and enter. On the way, sheencountered a great wholesale shoe company, through the broadplate windows of which she saw an enclosed executive department,hidden by frosted glass. Without this enclosure, but just withinthe street entrance, sat a grey-haired gentleman at a smalltable, with a large open ledger before him. She walked by thisinstitution several times hesitating, but, finding herselfunobserved, faltered past the screen door and stood humblewaiting."Well, young lady," observed the old gentleman, looking at hersomewhat kindly, "what is it you wish?""I am, that is, do you--I mean, do you need any help?" shestammered."Not just at present," he answered smiling. "Not just atpresent. Come in some time next week. Occasionally we need someone."She received the answer in silence and backed awkwardly out. Thepleasant nature of her reception rather astonished her. She hadexpected that it would be more difficult, that something cold andharsh would be said--she knew not what. That she had not beenput to shame and made to feel her unfortunate position, seemedremarkable.Somewhat encouraged, she ventured into another large structure.It was a clothing company, and more people were in evidence--well-dressed men of forty and more, surrounded by brass railings.An office boy approached her."Who is it you wish to see?" he asked."I want to see the manager," she said.He ran away and spoke to one of a group of three men who wereconferring together. One of these came towards her."Well?" he said coldly. The greeting drove all courage from herat once."Do you need any help?" she stammered."No," he replied abruptly, and turned upon his heel.She went foolishly out, the office boy deferentially swinging thedoor for her, and gladly sank into the obscuring crowd. It was asevere setback to her recently pleased mental state.Now she walked quite aimlessly for a time, turning here andthere, seeing one great company after another, but finding nocourage to prosecute her single inquiry. High noon came, and withit hunger. She hunted out an unassuming restaurant and entered,but was disturbed to find that the prices were exorbitant for thesize of her purse. A bowl of soup was all that she could afford,and, with this quickly eaten, she went out again. It restoredher strength somewhat and made her moderately bold to pursue thesearch.In walking a few blocks to fix upon some probable place, sheagain encountered the firm of Storm and King, and this timemanaged to get in. Some gentlemen were conferring close at hand,but took no notice of her. She was left standing, gazingnervously upon the floor. When the limit of her distress hadbeen nearly reached, she was beckoned to by a man at one of themany desks within the near-by railing."Who is it you wish to see?" he required."Why, any one, if you please," she answered. "I am looking forsomething to do.""Oh, you want to see Mr. McManus," he returned. "Sit down," andhe pointed to a chair against the neighbouring wall. He went onleisurely writing, until after a time a short, stout gentlemancame in from the street."Mr. McManus," called the man at the desk, "this young womanwants to see you."The short gentleman turned about towards Carrie, and she aroseand came forward."What can I do for you, miss?" he inquired, surveying hercuriously."I want to know if I can get a position," she inquired."As what?" he asked."Not as anything in particular," she faltered."Have you ever had any experience in the wholesale dry goodsbusiness?" he questioned."No, sir," she replied."Are you a stenographer or typewriter?""No, sir.""Well, we haven't anything here," he said. "We employ onlyexperienced help."She began to step backward toward the door, when something abouther plaintive face attracted him."Have you ever worked at anything before?" he inquired."No, sir," she said."Well, now, it's hardly possible that you would get anything todo in a wholesale house of this kind. Have you tried thedepartment stores?"She acknowledged that she had not."Well, if I were you," he said, looking at her rather genially,"I would try the department stores. They often need young womenas clerks.""Thank you," she said, her whole nature relieved by this spark offriendly interest."Yes," he said, as she moved toward the door, "you try thedepartment stores," and off he went.At that time the department store was in its earliest form ofsuccessful operation, and there were not many. The first three inthe United States, established about 1884, were in Chicago.Carrie was familiar with the names of several through theadvertisements in the "Daily News," and now proceeded to seekthem. The words of Mr. McManus had somehow managed to restoreher courage, which had fallen low, and she dared to hope thatthis new line would offer her something. Some time she spent inwandering up and down, thinking to encounter the buildings bychance, so readily is the mind, bent upon prosecuting a hard butneedful errand, eased by that self-deception which the semblanceof search, without the reality, gives. At last she inquired of apolice officer, and was directed to proceed "two blocks up,"where she would find "The Fair."The nature of these vast retail combinations, should they everpermanently disappear, will form an interesting chapter in thecommercial history of our nation. Such a flowering out of amodest trade principle the world had never witnessed up to thattime. They were along the line of the most effective retailorganisation, with hundreds of stores coordinated into one andlaid out upon the most imposing and economic basis. They werehandsome, bustling, successful affairs, with a host of clerks anda swarm of patrons. Carrie passed along the busy aisles, muchaffected by the remarkable displays of trinkets, dress goods,stationery, and jewelry. Each separate counter was a show placeof dazzling interest and attraction. She could not help feelingthe claim of each trinket and valuable upon her personally, andyet she did not stop. There was nothing there which she couldnot have used--nothing which she did not long to own. The daintyslippers and stockings, the delicately frilled skirts andpetticoats, the laces, ribbons, hair-combs, purses, all touchedher with individual desire, and she felt keenly the fact that notany of these things were in the range of her purchase. She was awork-seeker, an outcast without employment, one whom the averageemployee could tell at a glance was poor and in need of asituation.It must not be thought that any one could have mistaken her for anervous, sensitive, high-strung nature, cast unduly upon a cold,calculating, and unpoetic world. Such certainly she was not. Butwomen are peculiarly sensitive to their adornment.Not only did Carrie feel the drag of desire for all which was newand pleasing in apparel for women, but she noticed too, with atouch at the heart, the fine ladies who elbowed and ignored her,brushing past in utter disregard of her presence, themselveseagerly enlisted in the materials which the store contained.Carrie was not familiar with the appearance of her more fortunatesisters of the city. Neither had she before known the nature andappearance of the shop girls with whom she now compared poorly.They were pretty in the main, some even handsome, with an air ofindependence and indifference which added, in the case of themore favoured, a certain piquancy. Their clothes were neat, inmany instances fine, and wherever she encountered the eye of oneit was only to recognise in it a keen analysis of her ownposition--her individual shortcomings of dress and that shadow ofmanner which she thought must hang about her and make clear toall who and what she was. A flame of envy lighted in her heart.She realised in a dim way how much the city held--wealth,fashion, ease--every adornment for women, and she longed fordress and beauty with a whole heart.On the second floor were the managerial offices, to which, aftersome inquiry, she was now directed. There she found other girlsahead of her, applicants like herself, but with more of thatself-satisfied and independent air which experience of the citylends; girls who scrutinised her in a painful manner. After await of perhaps three-quarters of an hour, she was called inturn."Now," said a sharp, quick-mannered Jew, who was sitting at aroll-top desk near the window, "have you ever worked in any otherstore?""No, sir," said Carrie."Oh, you haven't," he said, eyeing her keenly."No, sir," she replied."Well, we prefer young women just now with some experience. Iguess we can't use you."Carrie stood waiting a moment, hardly certain whether theinterview had terminated."Don't wait!" he exclaimed. "Remember we are very busy here."Carrie began to move quickly to the door."Hold on," he said, calling her back. "Give me your name andaddress. We want girls occasionally."When she had gotten safely into the street, she could scarcelyrestrain the tears. It was not so much the particular rebuffwhich she had just experienced, but the whole abashing trend ofthe day. She was tired and nervous. She abandoned the thoughtof appealing to the other department stores and now wandered on,feeling a certain safety and relief in mingling with the crowd.In her indifferent wandering she turned into Jackson Street, notfar from the river, and was keeping her way along the south sideof that imposing thoroughfare, when a piece of wrapping paper,written on with marking ink and tacked up on the door, attractedher attention. It read, "Girls wanted--wrappers & stitchers."She hesitated a moment, then entered.The firm of Speigelheim & Co., makers of boys' caps, occupied onefloor of the building, fifty feet in width and some eighty feetin depth. It was a place rather dingily lighted, the darkestportions having incandescent lights, filled with machines andwork benches. At the latter laboured quite a company of girlsand some men. The former were drabby-looking creatures, stainedin face with oil and dust, clad in thin, shapeless, cottondresses and shod with more or less worn shoes. Many of them hadtheir sleeves rolled up, revealing bare arms, and in some cases,owing to the heat, their dresses were open at the neck. Theywere a fair type of nearly the lowest order of shop-girls--careless, slouchy, and more or less pale from confinement. Theywere not timid, however; were rich in curiosity, and strong indaring and slang.Carrie looked about her, very much disturbed and quite sure thatshe did not want to work here. Aside from making heruncomfortable by sidelong glances, no one paid her the leastattention. She waited until the whole department was aware ofher presence. Then some word was sent around, and a foreman, inan apron and shirt sleeves, the latter rolled up to hisshoulders, approached."Do you want to see me?" he asked."Do you need any help?" said Carrie, already learning directnessof address."Do you know how to stitch caps?" he returned."No, sir," she replied."Have you ever had any experience at this kind of work?" heinquired.She answered that she had not."Well," said the foreman, scratching his ear meditatively, "we doneed a stitcher. We like experienced help, though. We've hardlygot time to break people in." He paused and looked away out ofthe window. "We might, though, put you at finishing," heconcluded reflectively."How much do you pay a week?" ventured Carrie, emboldened by acertain softness in the man's manner and his simplicity ofaddress."Three and a half," he answered."Oh," she was about to exclaim, but checked herself and allowedher thoughts to die without expression."We're not exactly in need of anybody," he went on vaguely,looking her over as one would a package. "You can come on Mondaymorning, though," he added, "and I'll put you to work.""Thank you," said Carrie weakly."If you come, bring an apron," he added.He walked away and left her standing by the elevator, never somuch as inquiring her name.While the appearance of the shop and the announcement of theprice paid per week operated very much as a blow to Carrie'sfancy, the fact that work of any kind was offered after so rude around of experience was gratifying. She could not begin tobelieve that she would take the place, modest as her aspirationswere. She had been used to better than that. Her mere experienceand the free out-of-door life of the country caused her nature torevolt at such confinement. Dirt had never been her share. Hersister's flat was clean. This place was grimy and low, the girlswere careless and hardened. They must be bad-minded and hearted,she imagined. Still, a place had been offered her. SurelyChicago was not so bad if she could find one place in one day.She might find another and better later.Her subsequent experiences were not of a reassuring nature,however. From all the more pleasing or imposing places she wasturned away abruptly with the most chilling formality. In otherswhere she applied only the experienced were required. She metwith painful rebuffs, the most trying of which had been in amanufacturing cloak house, where she had gone to the fourth floorto inquire."No, no," said the foreman, a rough, heavily built individual,who looked after a miserably lighted workshop, "we don't want anyone. Don't come here."With the wane of the afternoon went her hopes, her courage, andher strength. She had been astonishingly persistent. So earnestan effort was well deserving of a better reward. On every hand,to her fatigued senses, the great business portion grew larger,harder, more stolid in its indifference. It seemed as if it wasall closed to her, that the struggle was too fierce for her tohope to do anything at all. Men and women hurried by in long,shifting lines. She felt the flow of the tide of effort andinterest--felt her own helplessness without quite realising thewisp on the tide that she was. She cast about vainly for somepossible place to apply, but found no door which she had thecourage to enter. It would be the same thing all over. The oldhumiliation of her plea, rewarded by curt denial. Sick at heartand in body, she turned to the west, the direction of Minnie'sflat, which she had now fixed in mind, and began that wearisome,baffled retreat which the seeker for employment at nightfall toooften makes. In passing through Fifth Avenue, south towards VanBuren Street, where she intended to take a car, she passed thedoor of a large wholesale shoe house, through the plate-glasswindows of which she could see a middle-aged gentleman sitting ata small desk. One of those forlorn impulses which often grow outof a fixed sense of defeat, the last sprouting of a baffled anduprooted growth of ideas, seized upon her. She walkeddeliberately through the door and up to the gentleman, who lookedat her weary face with partially awakened interest."What is it?" he said."Can you give me something to do?" said Carrie."Now, I really don't know," he said kindly. "What kind of workis it you want--you're not a typewriter, are you?""Oh, no," answered Carrie."Well, we only employ book-keepers and typewriters here. Youmight go around to the side and inquire upstairs. They did wantsome help upstairs a few days ago. Ask for Mr. Brown."She hastened around to the side entrance and was taken up by theelevator to the fourth floor."Call Mr. Brown, Willie," said the elevator man to a boy near by.Willie went off and presently returned with the information thatMr. Brown said she should sit down and that he would be around ina little while.It was a portion of the stock room which gave no idea of thegeneral character of the place, and Carrie could form no opinionof the nature of the work."So you want something to do," said Mr. Brown, after he inquiredconcerning the nature of her errand. "Have you ever beenemployed in a shoe factory before?""No, sir," said Carrie."What is your name?" he inquired, and being informed, "Well, Idon't know as I have anything for you. Would you work for fourand a half a week?"Carrie was too worn by defeat not to feel that it wasconsiderable. She had not expected that he would offer her lessthan six. She acquiesced, however, and he took her name andaddress."Well," he said, finally, "you report here at eight o'clockMonday morning. I think I can find something for you to do."He left her revived by the possibilities, sure that she had foundsomething at last. Instantly the blood crept warmly over herbody. Her nervous tension relaxed. She walked out into the busystreet and discovered a new atmosphere. Behold, the throng wasmoving with a lightsome step. She noticed that men and womenwere smiling. Scraps of conversation and notes of laughterfloated to her. The air was light. People were already pouringout of the buildings, their labour ended for the day. Shenoticed that they were pleased, and thoughts of her sister's homeand the meal that would be awaiting her quickened her steps. Shehurried on, tired perhaps, but no longer weary of foot. Whatwould not Minnie say! Ah, the long winter in Chicago--thelights, the crowd, the amusement! This was a great, pleasingmetropolis after all. Her new firm was a goodly institution.Its windows were of huge plate glass. She could probably do wellthere. Thoughts of Drouet returned--of the things he had toldher. She now felt that life was better, that it was livelier,sprightlier. She boarded a car in the best of spirits, feelingher blood still flowing pleasantly. She would live in Chicago,her mind kept saying to itself. She would have a better timethan she had ever had before--she would be happy.