Chapter XVII

by Theodore Dreiser

　　A GLIMPSE THROUGH THE GATEWAY--HOPE LIGHTENS THE EYEThe, to Carrie, very important theatrical performance was to takeplace at the Avery on conditions which were to make it morenoteworthy than was at first anticipated. The little dramaticstudent had written to Hurstwood the very morning her part wasbrought her that she was going to take part in a play."I really am," she wrote, feeling that he might take it as ajest; "I have my part now, honest, truly."Hurstwood smiled in an indulgent way as he read this."I wonder what it is 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 mustcome to the park to-morrow morning and tell me all about it."Carrie gladly complied, and revealed all the details of theundertaking 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. Hertendency to discover a touch of sadness had for the noncedisappeared. As she spoke her eyes were bright, her cheeks red.She radiated much of the pleasure which her undertakings gaveher. For all her misgivings--and they were as plentiful as themoments of the day--she was still happy. She could not repressher delight in doing this little thing which, to an ordinaryobserver, had no importance at all.Hurstwood was charmed by the development of the fact that thegirl had capabilities. There is nothing so inspiring in life asthe sight of a legitimate ambition, no matter how incipient. Itgives colour, force, and beauty to the possessor.Carrie was now lightened by a touch of this divine afflatus. Shedrew to herself commendation from her two admirers which she hadnot earned. Their affection for her naturally heightened theirperception of what she was trying to do and their approval ofwhat she did. Her inexperience conserved her own exuberantfancy, which ran riot with every straw of opportunity, making ofit a golden divining rod whereby the treasure of life was to bediscovered."Let's see," said Hurstwood, "I ought to know some of the boys inthe 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'tsee how you can unless he asks you.""I'll be there," said Hurstwood affectionately. "I can fix it sohe won't know you told me. You leave it to me."This interest of the manager was a large thing in itself for theperformance, for his standing among the Elks was something worthtalking about. Already he was thinking of a box with somefriends, and flowers for Carrie. He would make it a dress-suitaffair and give the little girl a chance.Within a day or two, Drouet dropped into the Adams Street resort,and he was at once spied by Hurstwood. It was at five in theafternoon and the place was crowded with merchants, actors,managers, politicians, a goodly company of rotund, rosy figures,silk-hatted, starchy-bosomed, beringed and bescarfpinned to thequeen's taste. John L. Sullivan, the pugilist, was at one end ofthe glittering bar, surrounded by a company of loudly dressedsports, who were holding a most animated conversation. Drouetcame across the floor with a festive stride, a new pair of tanshoes squeaking audibly at his progress."Well, sir," said Hurstwood, "I was wondering what had become ofyou. I thought you had gone out of town again."Drouet laughed."If you don't report more regularly we'll have to cut you off thelist.""Couldn't help it," said the drummer, "I've been busy."They strolled over toward the bar amid the noisy, shiftingcompany of notables. The dressy manager was shaken by the handthree times in as many minutes."I hear your lodge is going to give a performance," observedHurstwood, in the most offhand manner."Yes, who told you?""No one," said Hurstwood. "They just sent me a couple oftickets, which I can have for two dollars. Is it going to be anygood?""I don't know," replied the drummer. "They've been trying to getme to get some woman to take a part.""I wasn't intending to go," said the manager easily. "I'llsubscribe, of course. How are things over there?""All right. They're going to 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 onthe scene with a few friends, he could say that he had been urgedto come along. Drouet had a desire to wipe out the possibilityof confusion."I think the girl is going to take a part in it," he saidabruptly, after thinking it over."You don't say so! How did that happen?""Well, they were short and wanted me to find them some one. Itold Carrie, and she seems to want to 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.""Oh, well, it isn't anything very serious.""She's clever, though," said Drouet, casting off any imputationagainst 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 shedidn't.""We must give her a nice little send-off," said the manager."I'll look after the flowers."Drouet smiled at his good-nature."After the show you must come with me and we'll have a littlesupper.""I think she'll do all right," said Drouet."I want to see her. She's got to do all right. We'll make her,"and the manager gave one of his quick, steely half-smiles, whichwas a compound of good-nature and shrewdness.Carrie, meanwhile, attended the first rehearsal. At thisperformance Mr. Quincel presided, aided by Mr. Millice, a youngman who had some qualifications of past experience, which werenot exactly understood by any one. He was so experienced and sobusiness-like, however, that he came very near being rude--failing to remember, as he did, that the individuals he wastrying to instruct were volunteer players and not salariedunderlings."Now, Miss Madenda," he said, addressing Carrie, who stood in onepart uncertain as to what move to make, "you don't want to standlike that. Put expression in your face. Remember, you aretroubled over the intrusion of the stranger. Walk so," and hestruck out across the Avery stage in almost drooping manner.Carrie did not exactly fancy the suggestion, but the novelty ofthe situation, the presence of strangers, all more or lessnervous, and the desire to do anything rather than make afailure, made her timid. She walked in imitation of her mentoras requested, inwardly feeling that there was something strangelylacking."Now, Mrs. Morgan," said the director to one young married womanwho 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 histhoughts of marrying her, upon finding that she was a waif and anobody 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 tolook shocked. Now, say it again, and see if you can't lookshocked.""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, "fatherand mother were going to the opera. When they were crossingBroadway, 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 are 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, butmodifying his manner, "that you're detailing a pathetic story.You are now supposed to be telling something that is a grief toyou. It requires feeling, repression, thus: 'The usual crowd ofchildren accosted them for alms.'""All right," said Mrs. Morgan."Now, go on.""As mother felt in her pocket for some change, her fingerstouched a cold and trembling hand which had clutched her purse.""Very good," interrupted the director, nodding his headsignificantly."A pickpocket! Well!" exclaimed Mr. Bamberger, speaking the linesthat here fell to him."No, no, Mr. Bamberger," said the director, approaching, "notthat way. 'A pickpocket--well?' so. That's the idea.""Don't you think," said Carrie weakly, noticing that it had notbeen proved yet whether the members of the company knew theirlines, let alone the details of expression, "that it would bebetter if we just went through our lines once to see if we knowthem? We might pick up some points.""A very good idea, Miss Madenda," said Mr. Quincel, who sat atthe side of the stage, looking serenely on and volunteeringopinions which the director did not heed."All right," said the latter, somewhat abashed, "it might be wellto do it." Then brightening, with a show of authority, "Supposewe run right through, putting in as much expression as we can.""Good," said Mr. Quincel."This hand," resumed Mrs. Morgan, glancing up at Mr. Bambergerand down at her book, as the lines proceeded, "my mother graspedin her own, and so tight that a small, feeble voice uttered anexclamation of pain. Mother looked down, and there beside herwas 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 tokeep his hands off."The thief!" roared poor Bamberger."Yes, but a thief hardly six years old, with a face like anangel's. '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 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 adoorway opposite, who fled suddenly down the street. 'That isold Judas,' said the girl."Mrs. Morgan read this rather flatly, and the director was indespair. He fidgeted around, and then went over to Mr. Quincel."What do you think of them?" he asked."Oh, I guess we'll be able to whip them into shape," said thelatter, with an air of strength under difficulties."I don't know," said the director. "That fellow Bambergerstrikes me as being a pretty poor shift for a lover.""He's all we've got," said Quincel, rolling up his eyes."Harrison went back on me at the last minute. Who else can weget?""I don't know," said the director. "I'm afraid he'll never pickup."At this moment Bamberger was exclaiming, "Pearl, you are jokingwith me.""Look at that now," said the director, whispering behind hishand. "My Lord! what can you do with a man who drawls out asentence like that?""Do the best you can," said Quincel 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, afterhearing Pearl's statement about her birth, had written the letterrepudiating her, which, however, he did not deliver. Bambergerwas just concluding the words of Ray, "I must go before shereturns. Her step! Too late," and was cramming the letter in hispocket, when she began sweetly with:"Ray!""Miss--Miss Courtland," Bamberger faltered weakly.Carrie looked at him a moment and forgot all about the companypresent. She began to feel the part, and summoned an indifferentsmile to her lips, turning as the lines directed and going to awindow, as if he were not present. She did it with a grace whichwas fascinating to look upon."Who is that woman?" asked the director, watching Carrie in herlittle scene with Bamberger."Miss Madenda," said Quincel."I know her name," said the director, "but what does she do?""I don't know," said Quincel. "She's a friend of one of ourmembers.""Well, she's got more gumption than any one I've seen here sofar--seems to take an interest in what she's doing.""Pretty, too, isn't she?" said Quincel.The director strolled away without answering.In the second scene, where she was supposed to face the companyin the ball-room, she did even better, winning the smile of thedirector, who volunteered, because of her fascination for him, tocome 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 spoutingsome ardent line.Mrs. Morgan saw the drift of things and gleamed at Carrie withenvious and snapping black eyes."She's some cheap professional," she gave herself thesatisfaction of thinking, and scorned and hated her accordingly.The rehearsal ended for one day, and Carrie went home feelingthat she had acquitted herself satisfactorily. The words of thedirector were ringing in her ears, and she longed for anopportunity to tell Hurstwood. She wanted him to know just howwell she was doing. Drouet, too, was an object for herconfidences. She could hardly wait until he should ask her, andyet she did not have the vanity to bring it up. The drummer,however, had another line of thought to-night, and her littleexperience did not appeal to him as important. He let theconversation drop, save for what she chose to recite withoutsolicitation, and Carrie was not good at that. He took it forgranted that she was doing very well and he was relieved offurther worry. Consequently he threw Carrie into repression,which was irritating. She felt his indifference keenly andlonged to see Hurstwood. It was as if he were now the onlyfriend she had on earth. The next morning Drouet was interestedagain, but the damage had been done.She got a pretty letter from the manager, saying that by the timeshe got it he would be waiting for her in the park. When shecame, 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 Drouet."Now, tell me just what you did. Was it pleasant?"Carrie related the incidents of the rehearsal, warming up as sheproceeded."Well, that's delightful," said Hurstwood. "I'm so glad. I mustget 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 Hurstwood 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 will make theperformance worth while. You do that now.""I'll try," said Carrie, brimming with affection and enthusiasm."That's the girl," said Hurstwood fondly. "Now, remember,"shaking an affectionate finger at her, "your best.""I will," she answered, looking back.The whole earth was brimming sunshine that morning. She trippedalong, the clear sky pouring liquid blue into her soul. Oh,blessed are the children of endeavour in this, that they try andare hopeful. And blessed also are they who, knowing, smile andapprove.