Chapter XVI

by Theodore Dreiser

　　A WITLESS ALADDIN--THE GATE TO THE WORLDIn the course of his present stay in Chicago, Drouet paid someslight attention to the secret order to which he belonged.During his last trip he had received a new light on itsimportance."I tell you," said another drummer to him, "it's a great thing.Look at Hazenstab. He isn't so deuced clever. Of course he'sgot a good house behind him, but that won't do alone. I tell youit'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."Drouet resolved then and there that he would take more interestin such matters. So when he got back to Chicago he repaired tohis local lodge headquarters."I say, Drouet," said Mr. Harry Quincel, an individual who wasvery prominent in this local branch of the Elks, "you're the manthat can help us out."It was after the business meeting and things were going sociallywith a hum. Drouet was bobbing around chatting and joking with ascore of individuals whom he knew."What are you up to?" he inquired genially, turning a smilingface upon his secret brother."We're trying to get up some theatricals for two weeks from to-day, and we want to know if you don't know some young lady whocould take a part--it's an easy part.""Sure," said Drouet, "what is it?" He did not trouble to rememberthat he knew no one to whom he could appeal on this score. Hisinnate good-nature, however, dictated a favourable reply."Well, now, I'll tell you what we are trying to do," went on Mr.Quincel. "We are trying to get a new set of furniture for thelodge. There isn't enough money in the treasury at the presenttime, and we thought we would raise it by a littleentertainment.""Sure," interrupted Drouet, "that's a good idea.""Several of the boys around here have got talent. There's HarryBurbeck, he does a fine black-face turn. Mac Lewis is all rightat heavy dramatics. Did you ever hear him recite 'Over theHills'?""Never did.""Well, I tell you, he does it fine.""And you want me to get some woman to take a part?" questionedDrouet, anxious to terminate the subject and get on to somethingelse. "What are you going to play?""'Under the Gaslight,'" said Mr. Quincel, mentioning AugustinDaly's famous production, which had worn from a great publicsuccess down to an amateur theatrical favourite, with many of thetroublesome accessories cut out and the dramatis personae reducedto the smallest possible number.Drouet had seen this play some time in the past."That's it," he said; "that's a fine play. It will go all right.You ought to make a lot of money out of that.""We think we'll do very well," Mr. Quincel replied. "Don't youforget now," he concluded, Drouet 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 the moment Mr.Quincel had ceased talking. He had not even thought to ask thetime or place.Drouet was reminded of his promise a day or two later by thereceipt of a letter announcing that the first rehearsal was setfor the following Friday evening, and urging him to kindlyforward the young lady's address at once, in order that the partmight be delivered to her."Now, who the deuce do I know?" asked the drummer reflectively,scratching his rosy ear. "I don't know any one that knowsanything 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 convenientlocation of her home on the West Side, and promised himself thatas he came out that evening he would see her. When, however, hestarted west on the car he forgot, and was only reminded of hisdelinquency by an item in the "Evening News"--a small three-lineaffair under the head of Secret Society Notes--which stated theCuster Lodge of the Order of Elks would give a theatricalperformance in Avery Hall on the 16th, when "Under the Gaslight"would be produced."George!" exclaimed Drouet, "I forgot that.""What?" inquired Carrie.They were at their little table in the room which might have beenused for a kitchen, where Carrie occasionally served a meal. To-night the fancy had caught her, and the little table was spreadwith a pleasing repast."Why, my lodge entertainment. They're going to give a play, andthey 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 any one," 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 Drouet reflectively."Because," answered Carrie, "I never did."Nevertheless, she was pleased to think he would ask. Her eyesbrightened, for if there was anything that enlisted hersympathies it was the art of the stage.True to his nature, Drouet 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 theproposition and yet fearful."Yes, you can. Now, why don't you do it? They need some one, andit will 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 dancingaround here and giving imitations and that's why I asked you.You're clever enough, all right.""No, I'm not," said Carrie shyly."Now, I'll tell you what you do. You go down and see about it.It'll be fun for you. The rest of the company isn't going to beany good. They haven't any experience. What do they know abouttheatricals?"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 o' sight. I bet you make a hit. Now you want to go,I know you do. I knew it when I came home. That's why I askedyou.""What is the 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 a play is it?""Well," said Drouet, whose memory for such things was not thebest, "it's about a girl who gets kidnapped by a couple ofcrooks--a man and a woman that live in the slums. She had somemoney or something and they wanted to get it. I don't know nowhow it did go exactly.""Don't you know what part I would have to take?""No, I don't, to tell the truth." He thought a moment. "Yes, Ido, too. 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'veseen the play enough. There's a girl in it that was stolen whenshe was an infant--was picked off the street or something--andshe's the one that's hounded by the two old criminals I wastelling you about." He stopped with a mouthful of pie poised on afork before his face. "She comes very near getting drowned--no,that's not it. I'll tell you what I'll do," he concludedhopelessly, "I'll get you the book. I can't remember now for thelife of me.""Well, I don't know," said Carrie, when he had concluded, herinterest and desire to shine dramatically struggling with hertimidity for the mastery. "I might go if you thought I'd do allright.""Of course, you'll do," said Drouet, who, in his efforts toenthuse Carrie, had interested himself. "Do you think I'd comehome here and urge you to do something that I didn't think youwould make a success of? You can act all right. It'll be goodfor you.""When must I go?" said Carrie, reflectively."The first rehearsal is Friday night. I'll get the part for youto-night.""All right," said Carrie resignedly, "I'll do it, but if I make afailure now it's your fault.""You won't fail," assured Drouet. "Just act as you do aroundhere. Be natural. You're all right. I've often thought you'dmake a corking good actress.""Did you really?" asked Carrie."That's right," said the drummer.He little knew as he went out of the door that night what asecret flame he had kindled in the bosom of the girl he leftbehind. Carrie was possessed of that sympathetic, impressionablenature which, ever in the most developed form, has been the gloryof the drama. She was created with that passivity of soul whichis always the mirror of the active world. She possessed aninnate taste for imitation and no small ability. Even withoutpractice, she could sometimes restore dramatic situations she hadwitnessed by re-creating, before her mirror, the expressions ofthe various faces taking part in the scene. She loved tomodulate her voice after the conventional manner of thedistressed heroine, and repeat such pathetic fragments asappealed most to her sympathies. Of late, seeing the airy graceof the ingenue in several well-constructed plays, she had beenmoved to secretly imitate it, and many were the little movementsand expressions of the body in which she indulged from time totime in the privacy of her chamber. On several occasions, whenDrouet had caught her admiring herself, as he imagined, in themirror, she was doing nothing more than recalling some littlegrace of the mouth or the eyes which she had witnessed inanother. Under his airy accusation she mistook this for vanityand accepted the blame with a faint sense of error, though, as amatter of fact, it was nothing more than the first subtleoutcroppings of an artistic nature, endeavouring to re-create theperfect likeness of some phase of beauty which appealed to her.In such feeble tendencies, be it known, such outworking of desireto reproduce life, lies the basis of all dramatic art.Now, when Carrie heard Drouet's laudatory opinion of her dramaticability, her body tingled with satisfaction. Like the flamewhich welds the loosened particles into a solid mass, his wordsunited those floating wisps of feeling which she had felt, butnever believed, concerning her possible ability, and made theminto a gaudy shred of hope. Like all human beings, she had atouch of vanity. She felt that she could do things if she onlyhad a chance. How often had she looked at the well-dressedactresses on the stage and wondered how she would look, howdelightful she would feel if only she were in their place. Theglamour, the tense situation, the fine clothes, the applause,these had lured her until she felt that she, too, could act--thatshe, too, could compel acknowledgment of power. Now she was toldthat she really could--that little things she had done about thehouse had made even him feel her power. It was a delightfulsensation while it lasted.When Drouet was gone, she sat down in her rocking-chair by thewindow to think about it. As usual, imagination exaggerated thepossibilities for her. It was as if he had put fifty cents inher hand and she had exercised the thoughts of a thousanddollars. She saw herself in a score of pathetic situations inwhich she assumed a tremulous voice and suffering manner. Hermind delighted itself with scenes of luxury and refinement,situations in which she was the cynosure of all eyes, the arbiterof all fates. As she rocked to and fro she felt the tensity ofwoe in abandonment, the magnificence of wrath after deception,the languour of sorrow after defeat. Thoughts of all thecharming women she had seen in plays--every fancy, every illusionwhich she had concerning the stage--now came back as a returningtide after the ebb. She built up feelings and a determinationwhich the occasion did not warrant.Drouet dropped in at the lodge when he went down town, andswashed around with a great AIR, as Quincel met him."Where is that young lady you were going to get for us?" askedthe latter."I've got her," said Drouet."Have you?" said Quincel, rather surprised by his promptness;"that's good. What's her address?" and he pulled out hisnotebook 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 themorning."What did you say her address was? We only want it in case wehave any information to send her.""Twenty-nine Ogden Place.""And her name?""Carrie Madenda," said the drummer, firing at random. The lodgemembers knew him to be single."That sounds like somebody that can act, doesn't it?" saidQuincel."Yes, it does."He took the part home to Carrie and handed it to her with themanner of one who does a favour."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, nowthat I've said I would.""Oh, go on. What have you got to be afraid of? It's a cheapcompany. The rest of them aren't as good as you are.""Well, I'll see," said Carrie, pleased to have the part, for allher misgivings.He sidled around, dressing and fidgeting before he arranged tomake his next remark."They were getting ready to print the programmes," he said, "andI gave them the name of Carrie Madenda. Was that all right?""Yes, I guess so," said his companion, looking up at him. Shewas 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. Itwas clever for Drouet."I didn't want to introduce you as my wife, because you'd feelworse then if you didn't GO. They all know me so well. Butyou'll GO all right. Anyhow, you'll probably never meet any ofthem again.""Oh, I don't care," said Carrie desperately. She was determinednow to have a try at the fascinating game.Drouet breathed a sigh of relief. He had been afraid that he wasabout to precipitate another conversation upon the marriagequestion.The part of Laura, as Carrie found out when she began to examineit, was one of suffering and tears. As delineated by Mr. Daly,it was true to the most sacred traditions of melodrama as hefound it when he began his career. The sorrowful demeanour, thetremolo music, the long, explanatory, cumulative addresses, allwere there."Poor fellow," read Carrie, consulting the text and drawing hervoice out pathetically. "Martin, be sure and give him a glass ofwine before he goes."She was surprised at the briefness of the entire part, notknowing that she must be on the stage while others were talking,and not only be there, but also keep herself in harmony with thedramatic movement of the scenes."I think I can do that, though," she concluded.When Drouet came the next night, she was very much satisfied withher day's study."Well, how goes it, Caddie?" he said."All right," she laughed. "I think I have it memorised 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," shesaid bashfully."Well, I don't know why you shouldn't. It'll be easier here thanit will there.""I don't know about that," she answered.Eventually she took off the ballroom episode with considerablefeeling, forgetting, as she got deeper in the scene, all aboutDrouet, and letting herself rise to a fine state of feeling."Good," said Drouet; "fine, out o' sight! You're all rightCaddie, I tell you."He was really moved by her excellent representation and thegeneral appearance of the pathetic little figure as it swayed andfinally fainted to the floor. He had bounded up to catch her,and now held her laughing in his arms."Ain't you afraid you'll hurt yourself?" he asked."Not a bit.""Well, you're a wonder. Say, I never knew you could do anythinglike that.""I never did, either," said Carrie merrily, her face flushed withdelight."Well, you can bet that you're all right," said Drouet. "You cantake my word for that. You won't fail."