Chapter XXXIX

by Theodore Dreiser

　　OF LIGHTS AND OF SHADOWS--THE PARTING OF WORLDSWhat Hurstwood got as the result of this determination was moreself-assurance that each particular day was not the day. At thesame time, Carrie passed through thirty days of mental distress.Her need of clothes--to say nothing of her desire for ornaments--grew rapidly as the fact developed that for all her work she wasnot to have them. The sympathy she felt for Hurstwood, at thetime he asked her to tide him over, vanished with these newerurgings of decency. He was not always renewing his request, butthis love of good appearance was. It insisted, and Carrie wishedto satisfy it, wished more and more that Hurstwood was not in theway.Hurstwood reasoned, when he neared the last ten dollars, that hehad better keep a little pocket change and not become whollydependent for car-fare, shaves, and the like; so when this sumwas still in his hand he announced himself as penniless."I'm clear out," he said to Carrie one afternoon. "I paid forsome coal this morning, and that took all but ten or fifteencents.""I've got some money there in my purse."Hurstwood went to get it, starting for a can of tomatoes. Carriescarcely noticed that this was the beginning of the new order.He took out fifteen cents and bought the can with it. Thereafterit was dribs and drabs of this sort, until one morning Carriesuddenly remembered that she would not be back until close todinner time."We're all out of flour," she said; "you'd better get some thisafternoon. We haven't any meat, either. How would it do if wehad liver and bacon?""Suits me," said Hurstwood."Better get a half or three-quarters of a pound of that.""Half 'll be enough," volunteered Hurstwood.She opened her purse and laid down a half dollar. He pretendednot to notice it.Hurstwood bought the flour--which all grocers sold in 3 1/2-poundpackages--for thirteen cents and paid fifteen cents for a half-pound of liver and bacon. He left the packages, together withthe balance of twenty-two cents, upon the kitchen table, whereCarrie found it. It did not escape her that the change wasaccurate. There was something sad in realising that, after all,all that he wanted of her was something to eat. She felt as ifhard thoughts were unjust. Maybe he would get something yet. Hehad no vices.That very evening, however, on going into the theatre, one of thechorus girls passed her all newly arrayed in a pretty mottledtweed suit, which took Carrie's eye. The young woman wore a finebunch of violets and seemed in high spirits. She smiled atCarrie good-naturedly as she passed, showing pretty, even teeth,and Carrie smiled back."She can afford to dress well," thought Carrie, "and so could I,if I could only keep my money. I haven't a decent tie of anykind to wear."She put out her foot and looked at her shoe reflectively."I'll get a pair of shoes Saturday, anyhow; I don't care whathappens."One of the sweetest and most sympathetic little chorus girls inthe company made friends with her because in Carrie she foundnothing to frighten her away. She was a gay little Manon,unwitting of society's fierce conception of morality, but,nevertheless, good to her neighbour and charitable. Littlelicense was allowed the chorus in the matter of conversation,but, nevertheless, some was indulged in."It's warm to-night, isn't it?" said this girl, arrayed in pinkfleshings and an imitation golden helmet. She also carried ashining shield."Yes; it is," said Carrie, pleased that some one should talk toher."I'm almost roasting," said the girl.Carrie looked into her pretty face, with its large blue eyes, andsaw little beads of moisture."There's more marching in this opera than ever I did before,"added the girl."Have you been in others?" asked Carrie, surprised at herexperience."Lots of them," said the girl; "haven't you?""This is my first experience.""Oh, is it? I thought I saw you the time they ran 'The Queen'sMate' here.""No," said Carrie, shaking her head; "not me."This conversation was interrupted by the blare of the orchestraand the sputtering of the calcium lights in the wings as the linewas called to form for a new entrance. No further opportunityfor conversation occurred, but the next evening, when they weregetting ready for the stage, this girl appeared anew at her side."They say this show is going on the road next month.""Is it?" said Carrie."Yes; do you think you'll go?""I don't know; I guess so, if they'll take me.""Oh, they'll take you. I wouldn't go. They won't give you anymore, and it will cost you everything you make to live. I neverleave New York. There are too many shows going on here.""Can you always get in another show?""I always have. There's one going on up at the Broadway thismonth. I'm going to try and get in that if this one reallygoes."Carrie heard this with aroused intelligence. Evidently it wasn'tso very difficult to get on. Maybe she also could get a place ifthis show went away."Do they all pay about the same?" she asked."Yes. Sometimes you get a little more. This show doesn't payvery much.""I get twelve," said Carrie."Do you?" said the girl. "They pay me fifteen, and you do morework than I do. I wouldn't stand it if I were you. They're justgiving you less because they think you don't know. You ought tobe making fifteen.""Well, I'm not," said Carrie."Well, you'll get more at the next place if you want it," went onthe girl, who admired Carrie very much. "You do fine, and themanager knows it."To say the truth, Carrie did unconsciously move about with an airpleasing and somewhat distinctive. It was due wholly to hernatural manner and total lack of self-consciousness."Do you suppose I could get more up at the Broadway?""Of course you can," answered the girl. "You come with me when Igo. I'll do the talking."Carrie heard this, flushing with thankfulness. She liked thislittle gaslight soldier. She seemed so experienced and self-reliant in her tinsel helmet and military accoutrements."My future must be assured if I can always get work this way,"thought Carrie.Still, in the morning, when her household duties would infringeupon her and Hurstwood sat there, a perfect load to contemplate,her fate seemed dismal and unrelieved. It did not take so verymuch to feed them under Hurstwood's close-measured buying, andthere would possibly be enough for rent, but it left nothingelse. Carrie bought the shoes and some other things, whichcomplicated the rent problem very seriously. Suddenly, a weekfrom the fatal day, Carrie realised that they were going to runshort."I don't believe," she exclaimed, looking into her purse atbreakfast, "that I'll have enough to pay the rent.""How much have you?" inquired Hurstwood."Well, I've got twenty-two dollars, but there's everything to bepaid for this week yet, and if I use all I get Saturday to paythis, there won't be any left for next week. Do you think yourhotel man will open his hotel this month?""I think so," returned Hurstwood. "He said he would."After a while, Hurstwood said:"Don't worry about it. Maybe the grocer will wait. He can dothat. We've traded there long enough to make him trust us for aweek or two.""Do you think he will?" she asked."I think so."On this account, Hurstwood, this very day, looked grocer Oesloggeclearly in the eye as he ordered a pound of coffee, and said:"Do you mind carrying my account until the end of every week?""No, no, Mr. Wheeler," said Mr. Oeslogge. "Dat iss all right."Hurstwood, still tactful in distress, added nothing to this. Itseemed an easy thing. He looked out of the door, and thengathered up his coffee when ready and came away. The game of adesperate man had begun.Rent was paid, and now came the grocer. Hurstwood managed bypaying out of his own ten and collecting from Carrie at the endof the week. Then he delayed a day next time settling with thegrocer, and so soon had his ten back, with Oeslogge getting hispay on this Thursday or Friday for last Saturday's bill.This entanglement made Carrie anxious for a change of some sort.Hurstwood did not seem to realise that she had a right toanything. He schemed to make what she earned cover all expenses,but seemed not to trouble over adding anything himself."He talks about worrying," thought Carrie. "If he worried enoughhe couldn't sit there and wait for me. He'd get something to do.No man could go seven months without finding something if hetried."The sight of him always around in his untidy clothes and gloomyappearance drove Carrie to seek relief in other places. Twice aweek there were matinees, and then Hurstwood ate a cold snack,which he prepared himself. Two other days there were rehearsalsbeginning at ten in the morning and lasting usually until one.Now, to this Carrie added a few visits to one or two chorusgirls, including the blue-eyed soldier of the golden helmet. Shedid it because it was pleasant and a relief from dulness of thehome over which her husband brooded.The blue-eyed soldier's name was Osborne--Lola Osborne. Her roomwas in Nineteenth Street near Fourth Avenue, a block now given upwholly to office buildings. Here she had a comfortable backroom, looking over a collection of back yards in which grew anumber of shade trees pleasant to see."Isn't your home in New York?" she asked of Lola one day."Yes; but I can't get along with my people. They always want meto do what they want. Do you live here?""Yes," said Carrie."With your family?"Carrie was ashamed to say that she was married. She had talkedso much about getting more salary and confessed to so muchanxiety about her future, that now, when the direct question offact was waiting, she could not tell this girl."With some relatives," she answered.Miss Osborne took it for granted that, like herself, Carrie'stime was her own. She invariably asked her to stay, proposinglittle outings and other things of that sort until Carrie beganneglecting her dinner hours. Hurstwood noticed it, but felt inno position to quarrel with her. Several times she came so lateas scarcely to have an hour in which to patch up a meal and startfor the theatre."Do you rehearse in the afternoons?" Hurstwood once asked,concealing almost completely the cynical protest and regret whichprompted it."No; I was looking around for another place," said Carrie.As a matter of fact she was, but only in such a way as furnishedthe least straw of an excuse. Miss Osborne and she had gone tothe office of the manager who was to produce the new opera at theBroadway and returned straight to the former's room, where theyhad been since three o'clock.Carrie felt this question to be an infringement on her liberty.She did not take into account how much liberty she was securing.Only the latest step, the newest freedom, must not be questioned.Hurstwood saw it all clearly enough. He was shrewd after hiskind, and yet there was enough decency in the man to stop himfrom making any effectual protest. In his almost inexplicableapathy he was content to droop supinely while Carrie drifted outof his life, just as he was willing supinely to see opportunitypass beyond his control. He could not help clinging andprotesting in a mild, irritating, and ineffectual way, however--away that simply widened the breach by slow degrees.A further enlargement of this chasm between them came when themanager, looking between the wings upon the brightly lightedstage where the chorus was going through some of its glitteringevolutions, said to the master of the ballet:"Who is that fourth girl there on the right--the one coming roundat the end now?""Oh," said the ballet-master, "that's Miss Madenda.""She's good looking. Why don't you let her head that line?""I will," said the man."Just do that. She'll look better there than the woman you'vegot.""All right. I will do that," said the master.The next evening Carrie was called out, much as if for an error."You lead your company to night," said the master."Yes, sir," said Carrie."Put snap into it," he added. "We must have snap.""Yes, sir," replied Carrie.Astonished at this change, she thought that the heretofore leadermust be ill; but when she saw her in the line, with a distinctexpression of something unfavourable in her eye, she began tothink that perhaps it was merit.She had a chic way of tossing her head to one side, and holdingher arms as if for action--not listlessly. In front of the linethis showed up even more effectually."That girl knows how to carry herself," said the manager, anotherevening. He began to think that he should like to talk with her.If he hadn't made it a rule to have nothing to do with themembers of the chorus, he would have approached her mostunbendingly."Put that girl at the head of the white column," he suggested tothe man in charge of the ballet.This white column consisted of some twenty girls, all in snow-white flannel trimmed with silver and blue. Its leader was moststunningly arrayed in the same colours, elaborated, however, withepaulets and a belt of silver, with a short sword dangling at oneside. Carrie was fitted for this costume, and a few days laterappeared, proud of her new laurels. She was especially gratifiedto find that her salary was now eighteen instead of twelve.Hurstwood heard nothing about this."I'll not give him the rest of my money," said Carrie. "I doenough. I am going to get me something to wear."As a matter of fact, during this second month she had been buyingfor herself as recklessly as she dared, regardless of theconsequences. There were impending more complications rent day,and more extension of the credit system in the neighbourhood.Now, however, she proposed to do better by herself.Her first move was to buy a shirt waist, and in studying theseshe found how little her money would buy--how much, if she couldonly use all. She forgot that if she were alone she would haveto pay for a room and board, and imagined that every cent of hereighteen could be spent for clothes and things that she liked.At last she picked upon something, which not only used up all hersurplus above twelve, but invaded that sum. She knew she wasgoing too far, but her feminine love of finery prevailed. Thenext day Hurstwood said:"We owe the grocer five dollars and forty cents this week.""Do we?" said Carrie, frowning a little.She looked in her purse to leave it."I've only got eight dollars and twenty cents altogether.""We owe the milkman sixty cents," added Hurstwood."Yes, and there's the coal man," said Carrie.Hurstwood said nothing. He had seen the new things she wasbuying; the way she was neglecting household duties; thereadiness with which she was slipping out afternoons and staying.He felt that something was going to happen. All at once shespoke:"I don't know," she said; "I can't do it all. I don't earnenough."This was a direct challenge. Hurstwood had to take it up. Hetried to be calm."I don't want you to do it all," he said. "I only want a littlehelp until I can get something to do.""Oh, yes," answered Carrie. "That's always the way. It takesmore than I can earn to pay for things. I don't see what I'mgoing to do."Well, I've tried to get something," he exclaimed. What do youwant me to do?""You couldn't have tried so very hard," said Carrie. "I gotsomething.""Well, I did," he said, angered almost to harsh words. "Youneedn't throw up your success to me. All I asked was a littlehelp until I could get something. I'm not down yet. I'll comeup all right."He tried to speak steadily, but his voice trembled a little.Carrie's anger melted on the instant. She felt ashamed."Well," she said, "here's the money," and emptied it out on thetable. "I haven't got quite enough to pay it all. If they canwait until Saturday, though, I'll have some more.""You keep it," said Hurstwood sadly. "I only want enough to paythe grocer."She put it back, and proceeded to get dinner early and in goodtime. Her little bravado made her feel as if she ought to makeamends.In a little while their old thoughts returned to both."She's making more than she says," thought Hurstwood. "She saysshe's making twelve, but that wouldn't buy all those things. Idon't care. Let her keep her money. I'll get something againone of these days. Then she can go to the deuce."He only said this in his anger, but it prefigured a possiblecourse of action and attitude well enough."I don't care," thought Carrie. "He ought to be told to get outand do something. It isn't right that I should support him."In these days Carrie was introduced to several youths, friends ofMiss Osborne, who were of the kind most aptly described as gayand festive. They called once to get Miss Osborne for anafternoon drive. Carrie was with her at the time."Come and go along," said Lola."No, I can't," said Carrie."Oh, yes, come and go. What have you got to do?""I have to be home by five," said Carrie."What for?""Oh, dinner.""They'll take us to dinner," said Lola."Oh, no," said Carrie. "I won't go. I can't.""Oh, do come. They're awful nice boys. We'll get you back intime. We're only going for a drive in Central Park."Carrie thought a while, and at last yielded."Now, I must be back by half-past four," she said.The information went in one ear of Lola and out the other.After Drouet and Hurstwood, there was the least touch of cynicismin her attitude toward young men--especially of the gay andfrivolous sort. She felt a little older than they. Some oftheir pretty compliments seemed silly. Still, she was young inheart and body and youth appealed to her."Oh, we'll be right back, Miss Madenda," said one of the chaps,bowing. "You wouldn't think we'd keep you over time, now, wouldyou?""Well, I don't know," said Carrie, smiling.They were off for a drive--she, looking about and noticing fineclothing, the young men voicing those silly pleasantries and weakquips which pass for humour in coy circles. Carrie saw the greatpark parade of carriages, beginning at the Fifty-ninth Streetentrance and winding past the Museum of Art to the exit at OneHundred and Tenth Street and Seventh Avenue. Her eye was oncemore taken by the show of wealth--the elaborate costumes, elegantharnesses, spirited horses, and, above all, the beauty. Oncemore the plague of poverty galled her, but now she forgot in ameasure her own troubles so far as to forget Hurstwood. Hewaited until four, five, and even six. It was getting dark whenhe got up out of his chair."I guess she isn't coming home," he said, grimly."That's the way," he thought. "She's getting a start now. I'mout of it."Carrie had really discovered her neglect, but only at a quarterafter five, and the open carriage was now far up Seventh Avenue,near the Harlem River."What time is it?" she inquired. "I must be getting back.""A quarter after five," said her companion, consulting anelegant, open-faced watch."Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Carrie. Then she settled back with asigh. "There's no use crying over spilt milk," she said. "It'stoo late.""Of course it is," said the youth, who saw visions of a finedinner now, and such invigorating talk as would result in areunion after the show. He was greatly taken with Carrie."We'll drive down to Delmonico's now and have something there,won't we, Orrin?""To be sure," replied Orrin, gaily.Carrie thought of Hurstwood. Never before had she neglecteddinner without an excuse.They drove back, and at 6.15 sat down to dine. It was the Sherryincident over again, the remembrance of which came painfully backto Carrie. She remembered Mrs. Vance, who had never called againafter Hurstwood's reception, and Ames.At this figure her mind halted. It was a strong, clean vision.He liked better books than she read, better people than sheassociated with. His ideals burned in her heart."It's fine to be a good actress," came distinctly back.What sort of an actress was she?"What are you thinking about, Miss Madenda?" inquired her merrycompanion. "Come, now, let's see if I can guess.""Oh, no," said Carrie. "Don't try."She shook it off and ate. She forgot, in part, and was merry.When it came to the after-theatre proposition, however, she shookher head."No," she said, "I can't. I have a previous engagement.""Oh, now, Miss Madenda," pleaded the youth."No," said Carrie, "I can't. You've been so kind, but you'llhave to excuse me."The youth looked exceedingly crestfallen."Cheer up, old man," whispered his companion. "We'll go around,anyhow. She may change her mind."