Chapter VII

by Theodore Dreiser

　　THE LURE OF THE MATERIAL--BEAUTY SPEAKS FOR ITSELFThe true meaning of money yet remains to be popularly explainedand comprehended. When each individual realises for himself thatthis thing primarily stands for and should only be accepted as amoral due--that it should be paid out as honestly stored energy,and not as a usurped privilege--many of our social, religious,and political troubles will have permanently passed. As forCarrie, her understanding of the moral significance of money wasthe popular understanding, nothing more. The old definition:"Money: something everybody else has and I must get," would haveexpressed her understanding of it thoroughly. Some of it she nowheld in her hand--two soft, green ten-dollar bills--and she feltthat she was immensely better off for the having of them. It wassomething that was power in itself. One of her order of mindwould have been content to be cast away upon a desert island witha bundle of money, and only the long strain of starvation wouldhave taught her that in some cases it could have no value. Eventhen she would have had no conception of the relative value ofthe thing; her one thought would, undoubtedly, have concerned thepity of having so much power and the inability to use it.The poor girl thrilled as she walked away from Drouet. She feltashamed in part because she had been weak enough to take it, buther need was so dire, she was still glad. Now she would have anice new jacket! Now she would buy a nice pair of pretty buttonshoes. She would get stockings, too, and a skirt, and, and--until already, as in the matter of her prospective salary, shehad got beyond, in her desires, twice the purchasing power of herbills.She conceived a true estimate of Drouet. To her, and indeed toall the world, he was a nice, good-hearted man. There wasnothing evil in the fellow. He gave her the money out of a goodheart--out of a realisation of her want. He would not have giventhe same amount to a poor young man, but we must not forget thata poor young man could not, in the nature of things, haveappealed to him like a poor young girl. Femininity affected hisfeelings. He was the creature of an inborn desire. Yet nobeggar could have caught his eye and said, "My God, mister, I'mstarving," but he would gladly have handed out what wasconsidered the proper portion to give beggars and thought no moreabout it. There would have been no speculation, nophilosophising. He had no mental process in him worthy thedignity of either of those terms. In his good clothes and finehealth, he was a merry, unthinking moth of the lamp. Deprived ofhis position, and struck by a few of the involved and bafflingforces which sometimes play upon man, he would have been ashelpless as Carrie--as helpless, as non-understanding, aspitiable, if you will, as she.Now, in regard to his pursuit of women, he meant them no harm,because he did not conceive of the relation which he hoped tohold with them as being harmful. He loved to make advances towomen, to have them succumb to his charms, not because he was acold-blooded, dark, scheming villain, but because his inborndesire urged him to that as a chief delight. He was vain, he wasboastful, he was as deluded by fine clothes as any silly-headedgirl. A truly deep-dyed villain could have hornswaggled him asreadily as he could have flattered a pretty shop-girl. His finesuccess as a salesman lay in his geniality and the thoroughlyreputable standing of his house. He bobbed about among men, averitable bundle of enthusiasm--no power worthy the name ofintellect, no thoughts worthy the adjective noble, no feelingslong continued in one strain. A Madame Sappho would have calledhim a pig; a Shakespeare would have said "my merry child"; old,drinking Caryoe thought him a clever, successful businessman. Inshort, he was as good as his intellect conceived.The best proof that there was something open and commendableabout the man was the fact that Carrie took the money. No deep,sinister soul with ulterior motives could have given her fifteencents under the guise of friendship. The unintellectual are notso helpless. Nature has taught the beasts of the field to flywhen some unheralded danger threatens. She has put into thesmall, unwise head of the chipmunk the untutored fear of poisons."He keepeth His creatures whole," was not written of beastsalone. Carrie was unwise, and, therefore, like the sheep in itsunwisdom, strong in feeling. The instinct of self-protection,strong in all such natures, was roused but feebly, if at all, bythe overtures of Drouet.When Carrie had gone, he felicitated himself upon her goodopinion. By George, it was a shame young girls had to be knockedaround like that. Cold weather coming on and no clothes. Tough.He would go around to Fitzgerald and Moy's and get a cigar. Itmade him feel light of foot as he thought about her.Carrie reached home in high good spirits, which she couldscarcely conceal. The possession of the money involved a numberof points which perplexed her seriously. How should she buy anyclothes when Minnie knew that she had no money? She had nosooner entered the flat than this point was settled for her. Itcould not be done. She could think of no way of explaining."How did you come out?" asked Minnie, referring to the day.Carrie had none of the small deception which could feel one thingand say something directly opposed. She would prevaricate, butit would be in the line of her feelings at least. So instead ofcomplaining when she felt so good, she said:"I have the promise of something.""Where?""At the Boston Store.""Is it sure promised?" questioned Minnie."Well, I'm to find out to-morrow," returned Carrie disliking todraw out a lie any longer than was necessary.Minnie felt the atmosphere of good feeling which Carrie broughtwith her. She felt now was the time to express to Carrie thestate of Hanson's feeling about her entire Chicago venture."If you shouldn't get it--" she paused, troubled for an easy way."If I don't get something pretty soon, I think I'll go home."Minnie saw her chance."Sven thinks it might be best for the winter, anyhow."The situation flashed on Carrie at once. They were unwilling tokeep her any longer, out of work. She did not blame Minnie, shedid not blame Hanson very much. Now, as she sat there digestingthe remark, she was glad she had Drouet's money."Yes," she said after a few moments, "I thought of doing that."She did not explain that the thought, however, had aroused allthe antagonism of her nature. Columbia City, what was there forher? She knew its dull, little round by heart. Here was thegreat, mysterious city which was still a magnet for her. Whatshe had seen only suggested its possibilities. Now to turn backon it and live the little old life out there--she almostexclaimed against the thought.She had reached home early and went in the front room to think.What could she do? She could not buy new shoes and wear themhere. She would need to save part of the twenty to pay her farehome. She did not want to borrow of Minnie for that. And yet,how could she explain where she even got that money? If shecould only get enough to let her out easy.She went over the tangle again and again. Here, in the morning,Drouet would expect to see her in a new jacket, and that couldn'tbe. The Hansons expected her to go home, and she wanted to getaway, and yet she did not want to go home. In the light of theway they would look on her getting money without work, the takingof it now seemed dreadful. She began to be ashamed. The wholesituation depressed her. It was all so clear when she was withDrouet. Now it was all so tangled, so hopeless--much worse thanit was before, because she had the semblance of aid in her handwhich she could not use.Her spirits sank so that at supper Minnie felt that she must havehad another hard day. Carrie finally decided that she would givethe money back. It was wrong to take it. She would go down inthe morning and hunt for work. At noon she would meet Drouet asagreed and tell him. At this decision her heart sank, until shewas the old Carrie of distress.Curiously, she could not hold the money in her hand withoutfeeling some relief. Even after all her depressing conclusions,she could sweep away all thought about the matter and then thetwenty dollars seemed a wonderful and delightful thing. Ah,money, money, money! What a thing it was to have. How plenty ofit would clear away all these troubles.In the morning she got up and started out a little early. Herdecision to hunt for work was moderately strong, but the money inher pocket, after all her troubling over it, made the workquestion the least shade less terrible. She walked into thewholesale district, but as the thought of applying came with eachpassing concern, her heart shrank. What a coward she was, shethought to herself. Yet she had applied so often. It would bethe same old story. She walked on and on, and finally did gointo one place, with the old result. She came out feeling thatluck was against her. It was no use.Without much thinking, she reached Dearborn Street. Here was thegreat Fair store with its multitude of delivery wagons about itslong window display, its crowd of shoppers. It readily changedher thoughts, she who was so weary of them. It was here that shehad intended to come and get her new things. Now for relief fromdistress; she thought she would go in and see. She would look atthe jackets.There is nothing in this world more delightful than that middlestate in which we mentally balance at times, possessed of themeans, lured by desire, and yet deterred by conscience or want ofdecision. When Carrie began wandering around the store amid thefine displays she was in this mood. Her original experience inthis same place had given her a high opinion of its merits. Nowshe paused at each individual bit of finery, where before she hadhurried on. Her woman's heart was warm with desire for them.How would she look in this, how charming that would make her!She came upon the corset counter and paused in rich reverie asshe noted the dainty concoctions of colour and lace theredisplayed. If she would only make up her mind, she could haveone of those now. She lingered in the jewelry department. Shesaw the earrings, the bracelets, the pins, the chains. Whatwould she not have given if she could have had them all! Shewould look fine too, if only she had some of these things.The jackets were the greatest attraction. When she entered thestore, she already had her heart fixed upon the peculiar littletan jacket with large mother-of-pearl buttons which was all therage that fall. Still she delighted to convince herself thatthere was nothing she would like better. She went about amongthe glass cases and racks where these things were displayed, andsatisfied herself that the one she thought of was the proper one.All the time she wavered in mind, now persuading herself that shecould buy it right away if she chose, now recalling to herselfthe actual condition. At last the noon hour was dangerouslynear, and she had done nothing. She must go now and return themoney.Drouet was on the corner when she came up."Hello," he said, "where is the jacket and"--looking down--"theshoes?"Carrie had thought to lead up to her decision in some intelligentway, but this swept the whole fore-schemed situation by theboard."I came to tell you that--that I can't take the money.""Oh, that's it, is it?" he returned. "Well, you come on with me.Let's go over here to Partridge's."Carrie walked with him. Behold, the whole fabric of doubt andimpossibility had slipped from her mind. She could not get atthe points that were so serious, the things she was going to makeplain to him."Have you had lunch yet? Of course you haven't. Let's go inhere," and Drouet turned into one of the very nicely furnishedrestaurants off State Street, in Monroe."I mustn't take the money," said Carrie, after they were settledin a cosey corner, and Drouet had ordered the lunch. "I can'twear those things out there. They--they wouldn't know where I gotthem.""What do you want to do," he smiled, "go without them?""I think I'll go home," she said, wearily."Oh, come," he said, "you've been thinking it over too long.I'll tell you what you do. You say you can't wear them outthere. Why don't you rent a furnished room and leave them inthat for a week?"Carrie shook her head. Like all women, she was there to objectand be convinced. It was for him to brush the doubts away andclear the path if he could."Why are you going home?" he asked."Oh, I can't get anything here."They won't keep you?" he remarked, intuitively."They can't," said Carrie."I'll tell you what you do," he said. "You come with me. I'lltake care of you."Carrie heard this passively. The peculiar state which she was inmade it sound like the welcome breath of an open door. Drouetseemed of her own spirit and pleasing. He was clean, handsome,well-dressed, and sympathetic. His voice was the voice of afriend."What can you do back at Columbia City?" he went on, rousing bythe words in Carrie's mind a picture of the dull world she hadleft. "There isn't anything down there. Chicago's the place.You can get a nice room here and some clothes, and then you cando something."Carrie looked out through the window into the busy street. Thereit was, the admirable, great city, so fine when you are not poor.An elegant coach, with a prancing pair of bays, passed by,carrying in its upholstered depths a young lady."What will you have if you go back?" asked Drouet. There was nosubtle undercurrent to the question. He imagined that she wouldhave nothing at all of the things he thought worth while.Carrie sat still, looking out. She was wondering what she coulddo. They would be expecting her to go home this week.Drouet turned to the subject of the clothes she was going to buy."Why not get yourself a nice little jacket? You've got to haveit. I'll loan you the money. You needn't worry about taking it.You can get yourself a nice room by yourself. I won't hurt you."Carrie saw the drift, but could not express her thoughts. Shefelt more than ever the helplessness of her case."If I could only get something to do," she said."Maybe you can," went on Drouet, "if you stay here. You can't ifyou go away. They won't let you stay out there. Now, why notlet me get you a nice room? I won't bother you--you needn't beafraid. Then, when you get fixed up, maybe you could getsomething."He looked at her pretty face and it vivified his mentalresources. She was a sweet little mortal to him--there was nodoubt of that. She seemed to have some power back of heractions. She was not like the common run of store-girls. Shewasn't silly.In reality, Carrie had more imagination than he--more taste. Itwas a finer mental strain in her that made possible herdepression and loneliness. Her poor clothes were neat, and sheheld her head unconsciously in a dainty way."Do you think I could get something?" she asked."Sure," he said, reaching over and filling her cup with tea."I'll help you."She looked at him, and he laughed reassuringly."Now I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll go over here toPartridge's and you pick out what you want. Then we'll lookaround for a room for you. You can leave the things there. Thenwe'll go to the show to-night."Carrie shook her head."Well, you can go out to the flat then, that's all right. Youdon't need to stay in the room. Just take it and leave yourthings there."She hung in doubt about this until the dinner was over."Let's go over and look at the jackets," he said.Together they went. In the store they found that shine andrustle of new things which immediately laid hold of Carrie'sheart. Under the influence of a good dinner and Drouet'sradiating presence, the scheme proposed seemed feasible. Shelooked about and picked a jacket like the one which she hadadmired at The Fair. When she got it in her hand it seemed somuch nicer. The saleswoman helped her on with it, and, byaccident, it fitted perfectly. Drouet's face lightened as he sawthe improvement. She looked quite smart."That's the thing," he said.Carrie turned before the glass. She could not help feelingpleased as she looked at herself. A warm glow crept into hercheeks."That's the thing," said Drouet. "Now pay for it.""It's nine dollars," said Carrie."That's all right--take it," said Drouet.She reached in her purse and took out one of the bills. The womanasked if she would wear the coat and went off. In a few minutesshe was back and the purchase was closed.From Partridge's they went to a shoe store, where Carrie wasfitted for shoes. Drouet stood by, and when he saw how nice theylooked, said, "Wear them." Carrie shook her head, however. Shewas thinking of returning to the flat. He bought her a purse forone thing, and a pair of gloves for another, and let her buy thestockings."To-morrow," he said, "you come down here and buy yourself askirt."In all of Carrie's actions there was a touch of misgiving. Thedeeper she sank into the entanglement, the more she imagined thatthe thing hung upon the few remaining things she had not done.Since she had not done these, there was a way out.Drouet knew a place in Wabash Avenue where there were rooms. Heshowed Carrie the outside of these, and said: "Now, you're mysister." He carried the arrangement off with an easy hand when itcame to the selection, looking around, criticising, opining."Her trunk will be here in a day or so," he observed to thelandlady, who was very pleased.When they were alone, Drouet did not change in the least. Hetalked in the same general way as if they were out in the street.Carrie left her things."Now," said Drouet, "why don't you move to-night?""Oh, I can't," said Carrie."Why not?""I don't want to leave them so."He took that up as they walked along the avenue. It was a warmafternoon. The sun had come out and the wind had died down. Ashe talked with Carrie, he secured an accurate detail of theatmosphere of the flat."Come out of it," he said, "they won't care. I'll help you getalong."She listened until her misgivings vanished. He would show herabout a little and then help her get something. He reallyimagined that he would. He would be out on the road and shecould be working."Now, I'll tell you what you do," he said, "you go out there andget whatever you want and come away."She thought a long time about this. Finally she agreed. Hewould come out as far as Peoria Street and wait for her. She wasto meet him at half-past eight. At half-past five she reachedhome, and at six her determination was hardened."So you didn't get it?" said Minnie, referring to Carrie's storyof the Boston Store.Carrie looked at her out of the corner of her eye. "No," sheanswered."I don't think you'd better try any more this fall," said Minnie.Carrie said nothing.When Hanson came home he wore the same inscrutable demeanour. Hewashed in silence and went off to read his paper. At dinnerCarrie felt a little nervous. The strain of her own plans wereconsiderable, and the feeling that she was not welcome here wasstrong."Didn't find anything, eh?" said Hanson."No."He turned to his eating again, the thought that it was a burdento have her here dwelling in his mind. She would have to gohome, that was all. Once she was away, there would be no morecoming back in the spring.Carrie was afraid of what she was going to do, but she wasrelieved to know that this condition was ending. They would notcare. Hanson particularly would be glad when she went. He wouldnot care what became of her.After dinner she went into the bathroom, where they could notdisturb her, and wrote a little note."Good-bye, Minnie," it read. "I'm not going home. I'm going tostay in Chicago a little while and look for work. Don't worry.I'll be all right."In the front room Hanson was reading his paper. As usual, shehelped Minnie clear away the dishes and straighten up. Then shesaid:"I guess I'll stand down at the door a little while." She couldscarcely prevent her voice from trembling.Minnie remembered Hanson's remonstrance."Sven doesn't think it looks good to stand down there," she said."Doesn't he?" said Carrie. "I won't do it any more after this."She put on her hat and fidgeted around the table in the littlebedroom, wondering where to slip the note. Finally she put itunder Minnie's hair-brush.When she had closed the hall-door, she paused a moment andwondered what they would think. Some thought of the queerness ofher deed affected her. She went slowly down the stairs. Shelooked back up the lighted step, and then affected to stroll upthe street. When she reached the corner she quickened her pace.As she was hurrying away, Hanson came back to his wife."Is Carrie down at the door again?" he asked."Yes," said Minnie; "she said she wasn't going to do it anymore."He went over to the baby where it was playing on the floor andbegan to poke his finger at it.Drouet was on the corner waiting, in good spirits."Hello, Carrie," he said, as a sprightly figure of a girl drewnear him. "Got here safe, did you? Well, we'll take a car."