Chapter XXVII

by Theodore Dreiser

　　WHEN WATERS ENGULF US WE REACH FOR A STARIt was when he returned from his disturbed stroll about thestreets, after receiving the decisive note from McGregor, Jamesand Hay, that Hurstwood found the letter Carrie had written himthat morning. He thrilled intensely as he noted the handwriting,and rapidly tore it open."Then," he thought, "she loves me or she would not have writtento me at all."He was slightly depressed at the tenor of the note for the firstfew minutes, but soon recovered. "She wouldn't write at all ifshe didn't care for me."This was his one resource against the depression which held him.He could extract little from the wording of the letter, but thespirit he thought he knew.There was really something exceedingly human--if not pathetic--inhis being thus relieved by a clearly worded reproof. He who hadfor so long remained satisfied with himself now looked outside ofhimself for comfort--and to such a source. The mystic cords ofaffection! How they bind us all.The colour came to his cheeks. For the moment he forgot theletter from McGregor, James and Hay. If he could only haveCarrie, perhaps he could get out of the whole entanglement--perhaps it would not matter. He wouldn't care what his wife didwith herself if only he might not lose Carrie. He stood up andwalked about, dreaming his delightful dream of a life continuedwith this lovely possessor of his heart.It was not long, however, before the old worry was back forconsideration, and with it what weariness! He thought of themorrow and the suit. He had done nothing, and here was theafternoon slipping away. It was now a quarter of four. At fivethe attorneys would have gone home. He still had the morrowuntil noon. Even as he thought, the last fifteen minutes passedaway and it was five. Then he abandoned the thought of seeingthem any more that day and turned to Carrie.It is to be observed that the man did not justify himself tohimself. He was not troubling about that. His whole thought wasthe possibility of persuading Carrie. Nothing was wrong in that.He loved her dearly. Their mutual happiness depended upon it.Would that Drouet were only away!While he was thinking thus elatedly, he remembered that he wantedsome clean linen in the morning.This he purchased, together with a half-dozen ties, and went tothe Palmer House. As he entered he thought he saw Drouetascending the stairs with a key. Surely not Drouet! Then hethought, perhaps they had changed their abode temporarily. Hewent straight up to the desk."Is Mr. Drouet stopping here?" he asked of the clerk."I think he is," said the latter, consulting his private registrylist. "Yes.""Is that so?" exclaimed Hurstwood, otherwise concealing hisastonishment. "Alone?" he added."Yes," said the clerk.Hurstwood turned away and set his lips so as best to express andconceal his feelings."How's that?" he thought. "They've had a row."He hastened to his room with rising spirits and changed hislinen. As he did so, he made up his mind that if Carrie wasalone, or if she had gone to another place, it behooved him tofind out. He decided to call at once."I know what I'll do," he thought. "I'll go to the door and askif Mr. Drouet is at home. That will bring out whether he isthere or not and where Carrie is."He was almost moved to some muscular display as he thought of it.He decided to go immediately after supper.On coming down from his room at six, he looked carefully about tosee if Drouet was present and then went out to lunch. He couldscarcely eat, however, he was so anxious to be about his errand.Before starting he thought it well to discover where Drouet wouldbe, and returned to his hotel."Has Mr. Drouet gone out?" he asked of the clerk."No," answered the latter, "he's in his room. Do you wish tosend up a card?""No, I'll call around later," answered Hurstwood, and strolledout.He took a Madison car and went direct to Ogden Place this timewalking boldly up to the door. The chambermaid answered hisknock."Is Mr. Drouet in?" said Hurstwood blandly."He is out of the city," said the girl, who had heard Carrie tellthis to Mrs. Hale."Is Mrs. Drouet in?""No, she has gone to the theatre.""Is that so?" said Hurstwood, considerably taken back; then, asif burdened with something important, "You don't know to whichtheatre?"The girl really had no idea where she had gone, but not likingHurstwood, and wishing to cause him trouble, answered: "Yes,Hooley's.""Thank you," returned the manager, and, tipping his hat slightly,went away."I'll look in at Hooley's," thought he, but as a matter of facthe did not. Before he had reached the central portion of thecity he thought the whole matter over and decided it would beuseless. As much as he longed to see Carrie, he knew she wouldbe with some one and did not wish to intrude with his plea there.A little later he might do so--in the morning. Only in themorning he had the lawyer question before him.This little pilgrimage threw quite a wet blanket upon his risingspirits. He was soon down again to his old worry, and reachedthe resort anxious to find relief. Quite a company of gentlemenwere making the place lively with their conversation. A group ofCook County politicians were conferring about a round cherry-woodtable in the rear portion of the room. Several young merrymakerswere chattering at the bar before making a belated visit to thetheatre. A shabbily-genteel individual, with a red nose and anold high hat, was sipping a quiet glass of ale alone at one endof the bar. Hurstwood nodded to the politicians and went intohis office.About ten o'clock a friend of his, Mr. Frank L. Taintor, a localsport and racing man, dropped in, and seeing Hurstwood alone inhis office came to the door."Hello, George!" he exclaimed."How are you, Frank?" said Hurstwood, somewhat relieved by thesight of him. "Sit down," and he motioned him to one of thechairs in the little room."What's the matter, George?" asked Taintor. "You look a littleglum. Haven't lost at the track, have you?""I'm not feeling very well to-night. I had a slight cold theother day.""Take whiskey, George," said Taintor. "You ought to know that."Hurstwood smiled.While they were still conferring there, several other ofHurstwood's friends entered, and not long after eleven, thetheatres being out, some actors began to drop in--among them somenotabilities.Then began one of those pointless social conversations so commonin American resorts where the would-be gilded attempt to rub offgilt from those who have it in abundance. If Hurstwood had oneleaning, it was toward notabilities. He considered that, ifanywhere, he belonged among them. He was too proud to toady, tookeen not to strictly observe the plane he occupied when therewere those present who did not appreciate him, but, in situationslike the present, where he could shine as a gentleman and bereceived without equivocation as a friend and equal among men ofknown ability, he was most delighted. It was on such occasions,if ever, that he would "take something." When the social flavourwas strong enough he would even unbend to the extent of drinkingglass for glass with his associates, punctiliously observing histurn to pay as if he were an outsider like the others. If heever approached intoxication--or rather that ruddy warmth andcomfortableness which precedes the more sloven state--it was whenindividuals such as these were gathered about him, when he wasone of a circle of chatting celebrities. To-night, disturbed aswas his state, he was rather relieved to find company, and nowthat notabilities were gathered, he laid aside his troubles forthe nonce, and joined in right heartily.It was not long before the imbibing began to tell. Stories beganto crop up--those ever-enduring, droll stories which form themajor portion of the conversation among American men under suchcircumstances.Twelve o'clock arrived, the hour for closing, and with it thecompany took leave. Hurstwood shook hands with them mostcordially. He was very roseate physically. He had arrived atthat state where his mind, though clear, was, nevertheless, warmin its fancies. He felt as if his troubles were not veryserious. Going into his office, he began to turn over certainaccounts, awaiting the departure of the bartenders and thecashier, who soon left.It was the manager's duty, as well as his custom, after all weregone to see that everything was safely closed up for the night.As a rule, no money except the cash taken in after banking hourswas kept about the place, and that was locked in the safe by thecashier, who, with the owners, was joint keeper of the secretcombination, but, nevertheless, Hurstwood nightly took theprecaution to try the cash drawers and the safe in order to seethat they were tightly closed. Then he would lock his own littleoffice and set the proper light burning near the safe, afterwhich he would take his departure.Never in his experience had he found anything out of order, butto-night, after shutting down his desk, he came out and tried thesafe. His way was to give a sharp pull. This time the doorresponded. He was slightly surprised at that, and looking infound the money cases as left for the day, apparentlyunprotected. His first thought was, of course, to inspect thedrawers and shut the door."I'll speak to Mayhew about this to-morrow," he thought.The latter had certainly imagined upon going out a half-hourbefore that he had turned the knob on the door so as to springthe lock. He had never failed to do so before. But to-nightMayhew had other thoughts. He had been revolving the problem ofa business of his own."I'll look in here," thought the manager, pulling out the moneydrawers. He did not know why he wished to look in there. It wasquite a superfluous action, which another time might not havehappened at all.As he did so, a layer of bills, in parcels of a thousand, such asbanks issue, caught his eye. He could not tell how much theyrepresented, but paused to view them. Then he pulled out thesecond of the cash drawers. In that were the receipts of theday."I didn't know Fitzgerald and Moy ever left any money this way,"his mind said to itself. "They must have forgotten it."He looked at the other drawer and paused again."Count them," said a voice in his ear.He put his hand into the first of the boxes and lifted the stack,letting the separate parcels fall. They were bills of fifty andone hundred dollars done in packages of a thousand. He thoughthe counted ten such."Why don't I shut the safe?" his mind said to itself, lingering."What makes me pause here?"For answer there came the strangest words:"Did you ever have ten thousand dollars in ready money?"Lo, the manager remembered that he had never had so much. Allhis property had been slowly accumulated, and now his wife ownedthat. He was worth more than forty thousand, all told--but shewould get that.He puzzled as he thought of these things, then pushed in thedrawers and closed the door, pausing with his hand upon the knob,which might so easily lock it all beyond temptation. Still hepaused. Finally he went to the windows and pulled down thecurtains. Then he tried the door, which he had previouslylocked. What was this thing, making him suspicious? Why did hewish to move about so quietly. He came back to the end of thecounter as if to rest his arm and think. Then he went andunlocked his little office door and turned on the light. He alsoopened his desk, sitting down before it, only to think strangethoughts."The safe is open," said a voice. "There is just the leastlittle crack in it. The lock has not been sprung."The manager floundered among a jumble of thoughts. Now all theentanglement of the day came back. Also the thought that herewas a solution. That money would do it. If he had that andCarrie. He rose up and stood stock-still, looking at the floor."What about it?" his mind asked, and for answer he put his handslowly up and scratched his head.The manager was no fool to be led blindly away by such an errantproposition as this, but his situation was peculiar. Wine was inhis veins. It had crept up into his head and given him a warmview of the situation. It also coloured the possibilities of tenthousand for him. He could see great opportunities with that.He could get Carrie. Oh, yes, he could! He could get rid of hiswife. That letter, too, was waiting discussion to-morrowmorning. He would not need to answer that. He went back to thesafe and put his hand on the knob. Then he pulled the door openand took the drawer with the money quite out.With it once out and before him, it seemed a foolish thing tothink about leaving it. Certainly it would. Why, he could livequietly with Carrie for years.Lord! what was that? For the first time he was tense, as if astern hand had been laid upon his shoulder. He looked fearfullyaround. Not a soul was present. Not a sound. Some one wasshuffling by on the sidewalk. He took the box and the money andput it back in the safe. Then he partly closed the door again.To those who have never wavered in conscience, the predicament ofthe individual whose mind is less strongly constituted and whotrembles in the balance between duty and desire is scarcelyappreciable, unless graphically portrayed. Those who have neverheard that solemn voice of the ghostly clock which ticks withawful distinctness, "thou shalt," "thou shalt not," "thou shalt,""thou shalt not," are in no position to judge. Not alone insensitive, highly organised natures is such a mental conflictpossible. The dullest specimen of humanity, when drawn by desiretoward evil, is recalled by a sense of right, which isproportionate in power and strength to his evil tendency. Wemust remember that it may not be a knowledge of right, for noknowledge of right is predicated of the animal's instinctiverecoil at evil. Men are still led by instinct before they areregulated by knowledge. It is instinct which recalls thecriminal--it is instinct (where highly organised reasoning isabsent) which gives the criminal his feeling of danger, his fearof wrong.At every first adventure, then, into some untried evil, the mindwavers. The clock of thought ticks out its wish and its denial.To those who have never experienced such a mental dilemma, thefollowing will appeal on the simple ground of revelation.When Hurstwood put the money back, his nature again resumed itsease and daring. No one had observed him. He was quite alone.No one could tell what he wished to do. He could work this thingout for himself.The imbibation of the evening had not yet worn off. Moist as washis brow, tremble as did his hand once after the nameless fright,he was still flushed with the fumes of liquor. He scarcelynoticed that the time was passing. He went over his situationonce again, his eye always seeing the money in a lump, his mindalways seeing what it would do. He strolled into his littleroom, then to the door, then to the safe again. He put his handon the knob and opened it. There was the money! Surely no harmcould come from looking at it!He took out the drawer again and lifted the bills. They were sosmooth, so compact, so portable. How little they made, afterall. He decided he would take them. Yes, he would. He wouldput them in his pocket. Then he looked at that and saw theywould not go there. His hand satchel! To be sure, his handsatchel. They would go in that--all of it would. No one wouldthink anything of it either. He went into the little office andtook it from the shelf in the corner. Now he set it upon hisdesk and went out toward the safe. For some reason he did notwant to fill it out in the big room.First he brought the bills and then the loose receipts of theday. He would take it all. He put the empty drawers back andpushed the iron door almost to, then stood beside it meditating.The wavering of a mind under such circumstances is an almostinexplicable thing, and yet it is absolutely true. Hurstwoodcould not bring himself to act definitely. He wanted to thinkabout it--to ponder over it, to decide whether it were best. Hewas drawn by such a keen desire for Carrie, driven by such astate of turmoil in his own affairs that he thought constantly itwould be best, and yet he wavered. He did not know what evilmight result from it to him--how soon he might come to grief.The true ethics of the situation never once occurred to him, andnever would have, under any circumstances.After he had all the money in the handbag, a revulsion of feelingseized him. He would not do it--no! Think of what a scandal itwould make. The police! They would be after him. He would haveto fly, and where? Oh, the terror of being a fugitive fromjustice! He took out the two boxes and put all the money back.In his excitement he forgot what he was doing, and put the sumsin the wrong boxes. As he pushed the door to, he thought heremembered doing it wrong and opened the door again. There werethe two boxes mixed.He took them out and straightened the matter, but now the terrorhad gone. Why be afraid?While the money was in his hand the lock clicked. It had sprung!Did he do it? He grabbed at the knob and pulled vigorously. Ithad closed. Heavens! he was in for it now, sure enough.The moment he realised that the safe was locked for a surety, thesweat burst out upon his brow and he trembled violently. Helooked about him and decided instantly. There was no delayingnow."Supposing I do lay it on the top," he said, "and go away,they'll know who took it. I'm the last to close up. Besides,other things will happen."At once he became the man of action."I must get out of this," he thought.He hurried into his little room, took down his light overcoat andhat, locked his desk, and grabbed the satchel. Then he turnedout all but one light and opened the door. He tried to put onhis old assured air, but it was almost gone. He was repentingrapidly."I wish I hadn't done that," he said. "That was a mistake."He walked steadily down the street, greeting a night watchmanwhom he knew who was trying doors. He must get out of the city,and that quickly."I wonder how the trains run?" he thought.Instantly he pulled out his watch and looked. It was nearlyhalf-past one.At the first drugstore he stopped, seeing a long-distancetelephone booth inside. It was a famous drugstore, and containedone of the first private telephone booths ever erected."I want to use your 'phone a minute," he said to the night clerk.The latter nodded."Give me 1643," he called to Central, after looking up theMichigan Central depot number. Soon he got the ticket agent."How do the trains leave here for Detroit?" he asked.The man explained the hours."No more to-night?""Nothing with a sleeper. Yes, there is, too," he added. "Thereis a mail train out of here at three o'clock.""All right," said Hurstwood. "What time does that get toDetroit?"He was thinking if he could only get there and cross the riverinto Canada, he could take his time about getting to Montreal.He was relieved to learn that it would reach there by noon."Mayhew won't open the safe till nine," he thought. "They can'tget on my track before noon."Then he thought of Carrie. With what speed must he get her, ifhe got her at all. She would have to come along. He jumped intothe nearest cab standing by."To Ogden Place," he said sharply. "I'll give you a dollar moreif you make good time."The cabby beat his horse into a sort of imitation gallop whichwas fairly fast, however. On the way Hurstwood thought what todo. Reaching the number, he hurried up the steps and did notspare the bell in waking the servant."Is Mrs. Drouet in?" he asked."Yes," said the astonished girl."Tell her to dress and come to the door at once. Her husband isin the hospital, injured, and wants to see her."The servant girl hurried upstairs, convinced by the man'sstrained and emphatic manner."What!" said Carrie, lighting the gas and searching for herclothes."Mr. Drouet is hurt and in the hospital. He wants to see you.The cab's downstairs."Carrie dressed very rapidly, and soon appeared below, forgettingeverything save the necessities."Drouet is hurt," said Hurstwood quickly. "He wants to see you.Come quickly."Carrie was so bewildered that she swallowed the whole story."Get in," said Hurstwood, helping her and jumping after.The cabby began to turn the horse around."Michigan Central depot," he said, standing up and speaking solow that Carrie could not hear, "as fast as you can go."