Chapter XVIII

by Theodore Dreiser

　　JUST OVER THE BORDER--A HAIL AND FAREWELLBy the evening of the 16th the subtle hand of Hurstwood had madeitself apparent. He had given the word among his friends--andthey were many and influential--that here was something whichthey ought to attend, and, as a consequence, the sale of ticketsby Mr. Quincel, acting for the lodge, had been large. Smallfour-line notes had appeared in all of the daily newspapers.These he had arranged for by the aid of one of his newspaperfriends on the "Times," Mr. Harry McGarren, the managing editor."Say, Harry," Hurstwood said to him one evening, as the latterstood at the bar drinking before wending his belated wayhomeward, "you can help the boys out, I guess.""What is it?" said McGarren, pleased to be consulted by theopulent manager."The Custer Lodge is getting up a little entertainment for theirown good, and they'd like a little newspaper notice. You knowwhat I mean--a squib or two saying that it's going to takeplace.""Certainly," said McGarren, "I can fix that for you, George."At the same time Hurstwood kept himself wholly in the background.The members of Custer Lodge could scarcely understand why theirlittle affair was taking so well. Mr. Harry Quincel was lookedupon as quite a star for this sort of work.By the time the 16th had arrived Hurstwood's friends had ralliedlike Romans to a senator's call. A well-dressed, good-natured,flatteringly-inclined audience was assured from the moment hethought of assisting Carrie.That little student had mastered her part to her ownsatisfaction, much as she trembled for her fate when she shouldonce face the gathered throng, behind the glare of thefootlights. She tried to console herself with the thought that ascore of other persons, men and women, were equally tremulousconcerning the outcome of their efforts, but she could notdisassociate the general danger from her own individualliability. She feared that she would forget her lines, that shemight be unable to master the feeling which she now feltconcerning her own movements in the play. At times she wishedthat she had never gone into the affair; at others, she trembledlest she should be paralysed with fear and stand white andgasping, not knowing what to say and spoiling the entireperformance.In the matter of the company, Mr. Bamberger had disappeared.That hopeless example had fallen under the lance of thedirector's criticism. Mrs. Morgan was still present, but enviousand determined, if for nothing more than spite, to do as well asCarrie at least. A loafing professional had been called in toassume the role of Ray, and, while he was a poor stick of hiskind, he was not troubled by any of those qualms which attack thespirit of those who have never faced an audience. He swashedabout (cautioned though he was to maintain silence concerning hispast theatrical relationships) in such a self-confident mannerthat he was like to convince every one of his identity by merematter of circumstantial evidence."It is so easy," he said to Mrs. Morgan, in the usual affectedstage voice. "An audience would be the last thing to trouble me.It's the spirit of the part, you know, that is difficult."Carrie disliked his appearance, but she was too much the actressnot to swallow his qualities with complaisance, seeing that shemust suffer his fictitious love for the evening.At six she was ready to go. Theatrical paraphernalia had beenprovided over and above her care. She had practised her make-upin the morning, had rehearsed and arranged her material for theevening by one o'clock, and had gone home to have a final look ather part, waiting for the evening to come.On this occasion the lodge sent a carriage. Drouet rode with heras far as the door, and then went about the neighbouring stores,looking for some good cigars. The little actress marchednervously into her dressing-room and began that painfullyanticipated matter of make-up which was to transform her, asimple maiden, to Laura, The Belle of Society.The flare of the gas-jets, the open trunks, suggestive of traveland display, the scattered contents of the make-up box--rouge,pearl powder, whiting, burnt cork, India ink, pencils for theeye-lids, wigs, scissors, looking-glasses, drapery--in short, allthe nameless paraphernalia of disguise, have a remarkableatmosphere of their own. Since her arrival in the city manythings had influenced her, but always in a far-removed manner.This new atmosphere was more friendly. It was wholly unlike thegreat brilliant mansions which waved her coldly away, permittingher only awe and distant wonder. This took her by the handkindly, as one who says, "My dear, come in." It opened for her asif for its own. She had wondered at the greatness of the namesupon the bill-boards, the marvel of the long notices in thepapers, the beauty of the dresses upon the stage, the atmosphereof carriages, flowers, refinement. Here was no illusion. Herewas an open door to see all of that. She had come upon it as onewho stumbles upon a secret passage and, behold, she was in thechamber of diamonds and delight!As she dressed with a flutter, in her little stage room, hearingthe voices outside, seeing Mr. Quincel hurrying here and there,noting Mrs. Morgan and Mrs. Hoagland at their nervous work ofpreparation, seeing all the twenty members of the cast movingabout and worrying over what the result would be, she could nothelp thinking what a delight this would be if it would endure;how perfect a state, if she could only do well now, and then sometime get a place as a real actress. The thought had taken amighty hold upon her. It hummed in her ears as the melody of anold song.Outside in the little lobby another scene was begin enacted.Without the interest of Hurstwood, the little hall would probablyhave been comfortably filled, for the members of the lodge weremoderately interested in its welfare. Hurstwood's word, however,had gone the rounds. It was to be a full-dress affair. The fourboxes had been taken. Dr. Norman McNeill Hale and his wife wereto occupy one. This was quite a card. C. R. Walker, dry-goodsmerchant and possessor of at least two hundred thousand dollars,had taken another; a well-known coal merchant had been induced totake the third, and Hurstwood and his friends the fourth. Amongthe latter was Drouet. The people who were now pouring here werenot celebrities, nor even local notabilities, in a general sense.They were the lights of a certain circle--the circle of smallfortunes and secret order distinctions. These gentlemen Elksknew the standing of one another. They had regard for theability which could amass a small fortune, own a nice home, keepa barouche or carriage, perhaps, wear fine clothes, and maintaina good mercantile position. Naturally, Hurstwood, who was alittle above the order of mind which accepted this standard asperfect, who had shrewdness and much assumption of dignity, whoheld an imposing and authoritative position, and commandedfriendship by intuitive tact in handling people, was quite afigure. He was more generally known than most others in the samecircle, and was looked upon as some one whose reserve covered amine of influence and solid financial prosperity.To-night he was in his element. He came with several friendsdirectly from Rector's in a carriage. In the lobby he metDrouet, who was just returning from a trip for more cigars. Allfive now joined in an animated conversation concerning thecompany present and the general drift of lodge affairs."Who's here?" said Hurstwood, passing into the theatre proper,where the lights were turned up and a company of gentlemen werelaughing and talking in the open space back of the seats."Why, how do you do, Mr. Hurstwood?" came from the firstindividual recognised."Glad to see you," said the latter, grasping his hand lightly."Looks quite an affair, doesn't it?""Yes, indeed," said the manager."Custer seems to have the backing of its members," observed thefriend."So it should," said the knowing manager. "I'm glad to see it.""Well, George," said another rotund citizen, whose avoirdupoismade necessary an almost alarming display of starched shirtbosom, "how goes it with you?""Excellent," said the manager."What brings you over here? You're not a member of Custer.""Good-nature," returned the manager. "Like to see the boys, youknow.""Wife here?""She couldn't come to-night. She's not well.""Sorry to hear it--nothing serious, I hope.""No, just feeling a little ill.""I remember Mrs. Hurstwood when she was travelling once with youover to St. Joe--" and here the newcomer launched off in atrivial recollection, which was terminated by the arrival of morefriends."Why, George, how are you?" said another genial West Sidepolitician and lodge member. "My, but I'm glad to see you again;how are things, anyhow?""Very well; I see you got that nomination for alderman.""Yes, we whipped them out over there without much trouble.""What do you suppose Hennessy will do now?""Oh, he'll go back to his brick business. He has a brick-yard,you know.""I didn't know that," said the manager. "Felt pretty sore, Isuppose, over his defeat.""Perhaps," said the other, winking shrewdly.Some of the more favoured of his friends whom he had invitedbegan to roll up in carriages now. They came shuffling in with agreat show of finery and much evident feeling of content andimportance."Here we are," said Hurstwood, turning to one from a group withwhom he was talking."That's right," returned the newcomer, a gentleman of aboutforty-five."And say," he whispered, jovially, pulling Hurstwood over by theshoulder so that he might whisper in his ear, "if this isn't agood show, I'll punch your head.""You ought to pay for seeing your old friends. Bother the show!"To another who inquired, "Is it something really good?" themanager replied:"I don't know. I don't suppose so." Then, lifting his handgraciously, "For the lodge.""Lots of boys out, eh?""Yes, look up Shanahan. He was just asking for you a momentago."It was thus that the little theatre resounded to a babble ofsuccessful voices, the creak of fine clothes, the commonplace ofgood-nature, and all largely because of this man's bidding. Lookat him any time within the half hour before the curtain was up,he was a member of an eminent group--a rounded company of five ormore whose stout figures, large white bosoms, and shining pinsbespoke the character of their success. The gentlemen whobrought their wives called him out to shake hands. Seatsclicked, ushers bowed while he looked blandly on. He wasevidently a light among them, reflecting in his personality theambitions of those who greeted him. He was acknowledged, fawnedupon, in a way lionised. Through it all one could see thestanding of the man. It was greatness in a way, small as it was.