Chapter XIII

by Theodore Dreiser

　　HIS CREDENTIALS ACCEPTED--A BABEL OF TONGUESIt was not quite two days after the scene between Carrie andHurstwood in the Ogden Place parlour before he again put in hisappearance. He had been thinking almost uninterruptedly of her.Her leniency had, in a way, inflamed his regard. He felt that hemust succeed with her, and that speedily.The reason for his interest, not to say fascination, was deeperthan mere desire. It was a flowering out of feelings which hadbeen withering in dry and almost barren soil for many years. Itis probable that Carrie represented a better order of woman thanhad ever attracted him before. He had had no love affair sincethat which culminated in his marriage, and since then time andthe world had taught him how raw and erroneous was his originaljudgment. Whenever he thought of it, he told himself that, if hehad it to do over again, he would never marry such a woman. Atthe same time, his experience with women in general had lessenedhis respect for the sex. He maintained a cynical attitude, wellgrounded on numerous experiences. Such women as he had knownwere of nearly one type, selfish, ignorant, flashy. The wives ofhis friends were not inspiring to look upon. His own wife haddeveloped a cold, commonplace nature which to him was anythingbut pleasing. What he knew of that under-world where grovel thebeat-men of society (and he knew a great deal) had hardened hisnature. He looked upon most women with suspicion--a single eyeto the utility of beauty and dress. He followed them with akeen, suggestive glance. At the same time, he was not so dullbut that a good woman commanded his respect. Personally, he didnot attempt to analyse the marvel of a saintly woman. He wouldtake off his hat, and would silence the light-tongued and thevicious in her presence--much as the Irish keeper of a Boweryhall will humble himself before a Sister of Mercy, and pay tollto charity with a willing and reverent hand. But he would notthink much upon the question of why he did so.A man in his situation who comes, after a long round of worthlessor hardening experiences, upon a young, unsophisticated, innocentsoul, is apt either to hold aloof, out of a sense of his ownremoteness, or to draw near and become fascinated and elated byhis discovery. It is only by a roundabout process that such menever do draw near such a girl. They have no method, nounderstanding of how to ingratiate themselves in youthful favour,save when they find virtue in the toils. If, unfortunately, thefly has got caught in the net, the spider can come forth and talkbusiness upon its own terms. So when maidenhood has wanderedinto the moil of the city, when it is brought within the circleof the "rounder" and the roue, even though it be at the outermostrim, they can come forth and use their alluring arts.Hurstwood had gone, at Drouet's invitation, to meet a new baggageof fine clothes and pretty features. He entered, expecting toindulge in an evening of lightsome frolic, and then lose track ofthe newcomer forever. Instead he found a woman whose youth andbeauty attracted him. In the mild light of Carrie's eye wasnothing of the calculation of the mistress. In the diffidentmanner was nothing of the art of the courtesan. He saw at oncethat a mistake had been made, that some difficult conditions hadpushed this troubled creature into his presence, and his interestwas enlisted. Here sympathy sprang to the rescue, but it was notunmixed with selfishness. He wanted to win Carrie because hethought her fate mingled with his was better than if it wereunited with Drouet's. He envied the drummer his conquest as hehad never envied any man in all the course of his experience.Carrie was certainly better than this man, as she was superior,mentally, to Drouet. She came fresh from the air of the village,the light of the country still in her eye. Here was neitherguile nor rapacity. There were slight inherited traits of bothin her, but they were rudimentary. She was too full of wonderand desire to be greedy. She still looked about her upon thegreat maze of the city without understanding. Hurstwood felt thebloom and the youth. He picked her as he would the fresh fruitof a tree. He felt as fresh in her presence as one who is takenout of the flash of summer to the first cool breath of spring.Carrie, left alone since the scene in question, and having no onewith whom to counsel, had at first wandered from one strangemental conclusion to another, until at last, tired out, she gaveit up. She owed something to Drouet, she thought. It did notseem more than yesterday that he had aided her when she wasworried and distressed. She had the kindliest feelings for himin every way. She gave him credit for his good looks, hisgenerous feelings, and even, in fact, failed to recollect hisegotism when he was absent; but she could not feel any bindinginfluence keeping her for him as against all others. In fact,such a thought had never had any grounding, even in Drouet'sdesires.The truth is, that this goodly drummer carried the doom of allenduring relationships in his own lightsome manner and unstablefancy. He went merrily on, assured that he was alluring all,that affection followed tenderly in his wake, that things wouldendure unchangingly for his pleasure. When he missed some oldface, or found some door finally shut to him, it did not grievehim deeply. He was too young, too successful. He would remainthus young in spirit until he was dead.As for Hurstwood, he was alive with thoughts and feelingsconcerning Carrie. He had no definite plans regarding her, buthe was determined to make her confess an affection for him. Hethought he saw in her drooping eye, her unstable glance, herwavering manner, the symptoms of a budding passion. He wanted tostand near her and make her lay her hand in his--he wanted tofind out what her next step would be--what the next sign offeeling for him would be. Such anxiety and enthusiasm had notaffected him for years. He was a youth again in feeling--acavalier in action.In his position opportunity for taking his evenings out wasexcellent. He was a most faithful worker in general, and a manwho commanded the confidence of his employers in so far as thedistribution of his time was concerned. He could take such hoursoff as he chose, for it was well known that he fulfilled hismanagerial duties successfully, whatever time he might take. Hisgrace, tact, and ornate appearance gave the place an air whichwas most essential, while at the same time his long experiencemade him a most 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 customerswould barely notice the change. He gave the place the atmosphereto which they were used. Consequently, he arranged his hoursvery much to suit himself, taking now an afternoon, now anevening, but invariably returning between eleven and twelve towitness the last hour or two of the day's business and look afterthe closing details."You see that things are safe and all the employees are out whenyou go home, George," Moy had once remarked to him, and he neveronce, in all the period of his long service, neglected to dothis. Neither of the owners had for years been in the resortafter five in the afternoon, and yet their manager as faithfullyfulfilled this request as if they had been there regularly toobserve.On this Friday afternoon, scarcely two days after his previousvisit, he made up his mind to see Carrie. He could not stay awaylonger."Evans," he said, addressing the head barkeeper, "if any onecalls, I will be back between four and five."He hurried to Madison Street and boarded a horse-car, whichcarried him to Ogden Place in half an hour.Carrie had thought of going for a walk, and had put on a lightgrey woollen dress with a jaunty double-breasted jacket. She hadout her hat and gloves, and was fastening a white lace tie abouther throat when the housemaid brought up the information that Mr.Hurstwood wished to see her.She started slightly at the announcement, but told the girl tosay that she would come down in a moment, and proceeded to hastenher dressing.Carrie could not have told herself at this moment whether she wasglad or sorry that the impressive manager was awaiting herpresence. She was slightly flurried and tingling in the cheeks,but it was more nervousness than either fear or favour. She didnot try to conjecture what the drift of the conversation wouldbe. She only felt that she must be careful, and that Hurstwoodhad an indefinable fascination for her. Then she gave her tieits last touch with her fingers and went below.The deep-feeling manager was himself a little strained in thenerves by the thorough consciousness of his mission. He feltthat he must make a strong play on this occasion, but now thatthe hour was come, and he heard Carrie's feet upon the stair, hisnerve failed him. He sank a little in determination, for he wasnot so sure, after all, what her opinion might be.When she entered the room, however, her appearance gave himcourage. She looked simple and charming enough to strengthen thedaring of any lover. Her apparent nervousness dispelled his own."How are you?" he said, easily. "I could not resist thetemptation to come out this afternoon, it was so pleasant.""Yes," said Carrie, halting before him, "I was just preparing togo for a walk myself.""Oh, were you?" he said. "Supposing, then, you get your hat andwe both go?"They crossed the park and went west along Washington Boulevard,beautiful with its broad macadamised road, and large frame housesset back from the sidewalks. It was a street where many of themore prosperous residents of the West Side lived, and Hurstwoodcould not help feeling nervous over the publicity of it. Theyhad gone but a few blocks when a livery stable sign in one of theside streets solved the difficulty for him. He would take her todrive 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 thissame West Side, where there was scarcely a house. It connectedDouglas Park with Washington or South Park, and was nothing morethan a neatly MADE road, running due south for some five milesover an open, grassy prairie, and then due east over the samekind of prairie for the same distance. There was not a house tobe encountered anywhere along the larger part of the route, andany conversation would be pleasantly free of interruption.At the stable he picked a gentle horse, and they were soon out ofrange of either public observation or hearing."Can you drive?" he said, after a time."I never tried," said Carrie.He put the reins in her hand, and folded his arms."You see there's nothing to it much," he said, smilingly."Not when you have a gentle horse," said Carrie."You can handle a horse as well as any one, after a littlepractice," he added, encouragingly.He had been looking for some time for a break in the conversationwhen he could give it a serious turn. Once or twice he had heldhis peace, hoping that in silence her thoughts would take thecolour of his own, but she had lightly continued the subject.Presently, however, his silence controlled the situation. Thedrift of his thoughts began to tell. He gazed fixedly at nothingin particular, as if he were thinking of something whichconcerned her not at all. His thoughts, however, spoke forthemselves. She was very much aware that a climax was pending."Do you know," he said, "I have spent the happiest evenings inyears since I have known you?""Have you?" she said, with assumed airiness, but still excited bythe conviction which the tone of his voice carried."I was going to tell you the other evening," he added, "butsomehow the opportunity slipped away."Carrie was listening without attempting to reply. She couldthink of nothing worth while to say. Despite all the ideasconcerning right which had troubled her vaguely since she hadlast seen him, she was now influenced again strongly in hisfavour."I came out here to-day," he went on, solemnly, "to tell you justhow I feel--to see if you wouldn't listen to me."Hurstwood was something of a romanticist after his kind. He wascapable of strong feelings--often poetic ones--and under a stressof desire, such as the present, he waxed eloquent. That is, hisfeelings and his voice were coloured with that seeming repressionand pathos which is the essence of eloquence."You know," he said, putting his hand on her arm, and keeping astrange silence while he formulated words, "that I love you?"Carrie did not stir at the words. She was bound up completely inthe man's atmosphere. He would have churchlike silence in orderto express his feelings, and she kept it. She did not move hereyes from the flat, open scene before her. Hurstwood waited fora 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 afeeble thought that something ought to be said. He paid noattention to them whatever."Carrie," he said, using her first name with sympatheticfamiliarity, "I want you to love me. You don't know how much Ineed some one to waste a little affection on me. I ampractically alone. There is nothing in my life that is pleasantor delightful. It's all work and worry with people who arenothing to me."As he said this, Hurstwood really imagined that his state waspitiful. He had the ability to get off at a distance and viewhimself objectively--of seeing what he wanted to see in thethings which made up his existence. Now, as he spoke, his voicetrembled with that peculiar vibration which is the result oftensity. It went ringing home to his companion's heart."Why, I should think," she said, turning upon him large eyeswhich were full of sympathy and feeling, "that you would be veryhappy. You know so much of the world.""That is it," he said, his voice dropping to a soft minor, "Iknow too much of the world."It was an important thing to her to hear one so well-positionedand powerful speaking in this manner. She could not help feelingthe strangeness of her situation. How was it that, in so littlea while, the narrow life of the country had fallen from her as agarment, and the city, with all its mystery, taken its place?Here was this greatest mystery, the man of money and affairssitting beside her, appealing to her. Behold, he had ease andcomfort, his strength was great, his position high, his clothingrich, and yet he was appealing to her. She could formulate nothought which would be just and right. She troubled herself nomore upon the matter. She only basked in the warmth of hisfeeling, which was as a grateful blaze to one who is cold.Hurstwood glowed with his own intensity, and the heat of hispassion was already melting 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 absolutelynothing about you, if you went day after day to a place wherethere was nothing but show and indifference, if there was not oneperson in all those you knew to whom you could appeal forsympathy or talk to with pleasure, perhaps you would be unhappytoo.He was striking a chord now which found sympathetic response inher own situation. She knew what it was to meet with people whowere indifferent, to walk alone amid so many who cared absolutelynothing about you. Had not she? Was not she at this very momentquite alone? Who was there among all whom she knew to whom shecould appeal for sympathy? Not one. She was left to herself tobrood and wonder."I could be content," went on Hurstwood, "if I had you to loveme. If I had you to go to; you for a companion. As it is, Isimply move about from place to place without any satisfaction.Time hangs heavily on my hands. Before you came I did nothingbut idle and drift into anything that offered itself. Since youcame--well, I've had you to think about."The old illusion that here was some one who needed her aid beganto grow in Carrie's mind. She truly pitied this sad, lonelyfigure. To think that all his fine state should be so barren forwant of her; that he needed to make such an appeal when sheherself was lonely and without anchor. Surely, this was too bad."I am not very bad," he said, apologetically, as if he owed it toher to explain on this score. "You think, probably, that I roamaround, and get into all sorts of evil? I have been ratherreckless, but I could easily come out of that. I need you todraw me back, if my life ever amounts to anything."Carrie looked at him with the tenderness which virtue ever feelsin its hope of reclaiming vice. How could such a man needreclaiming? His errors, what were they, that she could correct?Small they must be, where all was so fine. At worst, they weregilded 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 theheart to draw away. With his free hand he seized upon herfingers. A breath of soft spring wind went bounding over theroad, 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 lipswere near together. He pressed her hand warmly, and thenreleased 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 owngirl, aren't you?"By way of further conclusion, her head lay softly upon hisshoulder.