Chapter XXXV

by Theodore Dreiser

　　THE PASSING OF EFFORT--THE VISAGE OF CAREThe next morning he looked over the papers and waded through along list of advertisements, making a few notes. Then he turnedto the male-help-wanted column, but with disagreeable feelings.The day was before him--a long day in which to discoversomething--and this was how he must begin to discover. Hescanned the long column, which mostly concerned bakers,bushelmen, cooks, compositors, drivers, and the like, finding twothings only which arrested his eye. One was a cashier wanted ina wholesale furniture house, and the other a salesman for awhiskey house. He had never thought of the latter. At once hedecided to look that up.The firm in question was Alsbery & Co., whiskey brokers.He was admitted almost at once to the manager on his appearance."Good-morning, sir," said the latter, thinking at first that hewas encountering one of his out-of-town customers."Good-morning," said Hurstwood. "You advertised, I believe, fora salesman?""Oh," said the man, showing plainly the enlightenment which hadcome to him. "Yes. Yes, I did.""I thought I'd drop in," said Hurstwood, with dignity. "I've hadsome experience in that line myself.""Oh, have you?" said the man. "What experience have you had?""Well, I've managed several liquor houses in my time. Recently Iowned a third-interest in a saloon at Warren and Hudson streets.""I see," said the man.Hurstwood ceased, waiting for some suggestion."We did want a salesman," said the man. "I don't know as it'sanything you'd care to take hold of, though.""I see," said Hurstwood. "Well, I'm in no position to choose,just at present. If it were open, I should be glad to get it."The man did not take kindly at all to his "No position tochoose." He wanted some one who wasn't thinking of a choice orsomething better. Especially not an old man. He wanted some oneyoung, active, and glad to work actively for a moderate sum.Hurstwood did not please him at all. He had more of an air thanhis employers."Well," he said in answer, "we'd be glad to consider yourapplication. We shan't decide for a few days yet. Suppose yousend us your references.""I will," said Hurstwood.He nodded good-morning and came away. At the corner he looked atthe furniture company's address, and saw that it was in WestTwenty-third Street. Accordingly, he went up there. The placewas not large enough, however. It looked moderate, the men in itidle and small salaried. He walked by, glancing in, and thendecided not to go in there."They want a girl, probably, at ten a week," he said.At one o'clock he thought of eating, and went to a restaurant inMadison Square. There he pondered over places which he mightlook up. He was tired. It was blowing up grey again. Acrossthe way, through Madison Square Park, stood the great hotels,looking down upon a busy scene. He decided to go over to thelobby of one and sit a while. It was warm in there and bright.He had seen no one he knew at the Broadway Central. In alllikelihood he would encounter no one here. Finding a seat on oneof the red plush divans close to the great windows which look outon Broadway's busy rout, he sat musing. His state did not seemso bad in here. Sitting still and looking out, he could takesome slight consolation in the few hundred dollars he had in hispurse. He could forget, in a measure, the weariness of thestreet and his tiresome searches. Still, it was only escape froma severe to a less severe state. He was still gloomy anddisheartened. There, minutes seemed to go very slowly. An hourwas a long, long time in passing. It was filled for him withobservations and mental comments concerning the actual guests ofthe hotel, who passed in and out, and those more prosperouspedestrians whose good fortune showed in their clothes andspirits as they passed along Broadway, outside. It was nearlythe first time since he had arrived in the city that his leisureafforded him ample opportunity to contemplate this spectacle.Now, being, perforce, idle himself, he wondered at the activityof others. How gay were the youths he saw, how pretty the women.Such fine clothes they all wore. They were so intent upongetting somewhere. He saw coquettish glances cast by magnificentgirls. Ah, the money it required to train with such--how well heknew! How long it had been since he had had the opportunity to doso!The clock outside registered four. It was a little early, but hethought he would go back to the flat.This going back to the flat was coupled with the thought thatCarrie would think he was sitting around too much if he came homeearly. He hoped he wouldn't have to, but the day hung heavily onhis hands. Over there he was on his own ground. He could sit inhis rocking-chair and read. This busy, distracting, suggestivescene was shut out. He could read his papers. Accordingly, hewent home. Carrie was reading, quite alone. It was rather darkin the flat, shut in as it was."You'll hurt your eyes," he said when he saw her.After taking off his coat, he felt it incumbent upon him to makesome little report of his day."I've been talking with a wholesale liquor company," he said. "Imay go on the road.""Wouldn't that be nice!" said Carrie."It wouldn't be such a bad thing," he answered.Always from the man at the corner now he bought two papers--the"Evening World" and "Evening Sun." So now he merely picked hispapers up, as he came by, without stopping.He drew up his chair near the radiator and lighted the gas. Thenit was as the evening before. His difficulties vanished in theitems he so well loved to read.The next day was even worse than the one before, because now hecould not think of where to go. Nothing he saw in the papers hestudied--till ten o'clock--appealed to him. He felt that heought to go out, and yet he sickened at the thought. Where to,where to?"You mustn't forget to leave me my money for this week," saidCarrie, quietly.They had an arrangement by which he placed twelve dollars a weekin her hands, out of which to pay current expenses. He heaved alittle sigh as she said this, and drew out his purse. Again hefelt the dread of the thing. Here he was taking off, taking off,and nothing coming in."Lord!" he said, in his own thoughts, "this can't go on."To Carrie he said nothing whatsoever. She could feel that herrequest disturbed him. To pay her would soon become adistressing thing."Yet, what have I got to do with it?" she thought. "Oh, whyshould I be made to worry?"Hurstwood went out and made for Broadway. He wanted to think upsome place. Before long, though, he reached the Grand Hotel atThirty-first Street. He knew of its comfortable lobby. He wascold after his twenty blocks' walk."I'll go in their barber shop and get a shave," he thought.Thus he justified himself in sitting down in here after histonsorial treatment.Again, time hanging heavily on his hands, he went home early, andthis continued for several days, each day the need to huntpaining him, and each day disgust, depression, shamefacednessdriving him into lobby idleness.At last three days came in which a storm prevailed, and he didnot go out at all. The snow began to fall late one afternoon.It was a regular flurry of large, soft, white flakes. In themorning it was still coming down with a high wind, and the papersannounced a blizzard. From out the front windows one could see adeep, soft bedding."I guess I'll not try to go out to-day," he said to Carrie atbreakfast. "It's going to be awful bad, so the papers say.""The man hasn't brought my coal, either," said Carrie, whoordered by the bushel."I'll go over and see about it," said Hurstwood. This was thefirst time he had ever suggested doing an errand, but, somehow,the wish to sit about the house prompted it as a sort ofcompensation for the privilege.All day and all night it snowed, and the city began to sufferfrom a general blockade of traffic. Great attention was given tothe details of the storm by the newspapers, which played up thedistress of the poor in large type.Hurstwood sat and read by his radiator in the corner. He did nottry to think about his need of work. This storm being soterrific, and tying up all things, robbed him of the need. Hemade himself wholly comfortable and toasted his feet.Carrie observed his ease with some misgiving. For all the furyof the storm she doubted his comfort. He took his situation toophilosophically.Hurstwood, however, read on and on. He did not pay muchattention to Carrie. She fulfilled her household duties and saidlittle to disturb him.The next day it was still snowing, and the next, bitter cold.Hurstwood took the alarm of the paper and sat still. Now hevolunteered to do a few other little things. One was to go tothe butcher, another to the grocery. He really thought nothingof these little services in connection with their truesignificance. He felt as if he were not wholly useless--indeed,in such a stress of weather, quite worth while about the house.On the fourth day, however, it cleared, and he read that thestorm was over. Now, however, he idled, thinking how sloppy thestreets would be.It was noon before he finally abandoned his papers and got underway. Owing to the slightly warmer temperature the streets werebad. He went across Fourteenth Street on the car and got atransfer south on Broadway. One little advertisement he had,relating to a saloon down in Pearl Street. When he reached theBroadway Central, however, he changed his mind."What's the use?" he thought, looking out upon the slop and snow."I couldn't buy into it. It's a thousand to one nothing comes ofit. I guess I'll get off," and off he got. In the lobby he tooka seat and waited again, wondering what he could do.While he was idly pondering, satisfied to be inside, a well-dressed man passed up the lobby, stopped, looked sharply, as ifnot sure of his memory, and then approached. Hurstwoodrecognised Cargill, the owner of the large stables in Chicago ofthe same name, whom he had last seen at Avery Hall, the nightCarrie appeared there. The remembrance of how this individualbrought up his wife to shake hands on that occasion was also onthe instant clear.Hurstwood was greatly abashed. His eyes expressed the difficultyhe felt."Why, it's Hurstwood!" said Cargill, remembering now, and sorrythat he had not recognised him quickly enough in the beginning tohave avoided this meeting."Yes," said Hurstwood. "How are you?""Very well," said Cargill, troubled for something to talk about."Stopping here?""No," said Hurstwood, "just keeping an appointment.""I knew you had left Chicago. I was wondering what had become ofyou.""Oh, I'm here now," answered Hurstwood, anxious to get away."Doing well, I suppose?""Excellent.""Glad to hear it."They looked at one another, rather embarrassed."Well, I have an engagement with a friend upstairs. I'll leaveyou. So long."Hurstwood nodded his head."Damn it all," he murmured, turning toward the door. "I knewthat would happen."He walked several blocks up the street. His watch onlyregistered 1.30. He tried to think of some place to go orsomething to do. The day was so bad he wanted only to be inside.Finally his feet began to feel wet and cold, and he boarded acar. This took him to Fifty-ninth Street, which was as good asanywhere else. Landed here, he turned to walk back along SeventhAvenue, but the slush was too much. The misery of lounging aboutwith nowhere to go became intolerable. He felt as if he werecatching cold.Stopping at a corner, he waited for a car south bound. This wasno day to be out; he would go home.Carrie was surprised to see him at a quarter of three."It's a miserable day out," was all he said. Then he took offhis coat and changed his shoes.That night he felt a cold coming on and took quinine. He wasfeverish until morning, and sat about the next day while Carriewaited on him. He was a helpless creature in sickness, not veryhandsome in a dull-coloured bath gown and his hair uncombed. Helooked haggard about the eyes and quite old. Carrie noticedthis, and it did not appeal to her. She wanted to be good-natured and sympathetic, but something about the man held heraloof.Toward evening he looked so badly in the weak light that shesuggested he go to bed."You'd better sleep alone," she said, "you'll feel better. I'llopen your bed for you now.""All right," he said.As she did all these things, she was in a most despondent state."What a life! What a life!" was her one thought.Once during the day, when he sat near the radiator, hunched upand reading, she passed through, and seeing him, wrinkled herbrows. In the front room, where it was not so warm, she sat bythe window and cried. This was the life cut out for her, was it?To live cooped up in a small flat with some one who was out ofwork, idle, and indifferent to her. She was merely a servant tohim now, nothing more.This crying made her eyes red, and when, in preparing his bed,she lighted the gas, and, having prepared it, called him in, henoticed the fact."What's the matter with you?" he asked, looking into her face.His voice was hoarse and his unkempt head only added to itsgrewsome quality."Nothing," said Carrie, weakly."You've been crying," he said."I haven't, either," she answered.It was not for love of him, that he knew."You needn't cry," he said, getting into bed. "Things will comeout all right."In a day or two he was up again, but rough weather holding, hestayed in. The Italian newsdealer now delivered the morningpapers, and these he read assiduously. A few times after that heventured out, but meeting another of his old-time friends, hebegan to feel uneasy sitting about hotel corridors.Every day he came home early, and at last made no pretence ofgoing anywhere. Winter was no time to look for anything.Naturally, being about the house, he noticed the way Carrie didthings. She was far from perfect in household methods andeconomy, and her little deviations on this score first caught hiseye. Not, however, before her regular demand for her allowancebecame a grievous thing. Sitting around as he did, the weeksseemed to pass very quickly. Every Tuesday Carrie asked for hermoney."Do you think we live as cheaply as we might?" he asked oneTuesday morning."I do the best I can," said Carrie.Nothing was added to this at the moment, but the next day hesaid:"Do you ever go to the Gansevoort Market over here?""I didn't know there was such a market," said Carrie."They say you can get things lots cheaper there."Carrie was very indifferent to the suggestion. These were thingswhich she did not like at all."How much do you pay for a pound of meat?" he asked one day."Oh, there are different prices," said Carrie. "Sirloin steak istwenty-two cents.""That's steep, isn't it?" he answered.So he asked about other things, until finally, with the passingdays, it seemed to become a mania with him. He learned theprices and remembered them.His errand-running capacity also improved. It began in a smallway, of course. Carrie, going to get her hat one morning, wasstopped by him."Where are you going, Carrie?" he asked."Over to the baker's," she answered."I'd just as leave go for you," he said.She acquiesced, and he went. Each afternoon he would go to thecorner for the papers."Is there anything you want?" he would say.By degrees she began to use him. Doing this, however, she lostthe weekly payment of twelve dollars."You want to pay me to-day," she said one Tuesday, about thistime."How much?" he asked.She understood well enough what it meant."Well, about five dollars," she answered. "I owe the coal man."The same day he said:"I think this Italian up here on the corner sells coal at twenty-five cents a bushel. I'll trade with him."Carrie heard this with indifference."All right," she said.Then it came to be:"George, I must have some coal to-day," or, "You must get somemeat of some kind for dinner."He would find out what she needed and order.Accompanying this plan came skimpiness."I only got a half-pound of steak," he said, coming in oneafternoon with his papers. "We never seem to eat very much."These miserable details ate the heart out of Carrie. Theyblackened her days and grieved her soul. Oh, how this man hadchanged! All day and all day, here he sat, reading his papers.The world seemed to have no attraction. Once in a while he wouldgo out, in fine weather, it might be four or five hours, betweeneleven and four. She could do nothing but view him with gnawingcontempt.It was apathy with Hurstwood, resulting from his inability to seehis way out. Each month drew from his small store. Now, he hadonly five hundred dollars left, and this he hugged, half feelingas if he could stave off absolute necessity for an indefiniteperiod. Sitting around the house, he decided to wear some oldclothes he had. This came first with the bad days. Only once heapologised in the very beginning:"It's so bad to-day, I'll just wear these around."Eventually these became the permanent thing.Also, he had been wont to pay fifteen cents for a shave, and atip of ten cents. In his first distress, he cut down the tip tofive, then to nothing. Later, he tried a ten-cent barber shop,and, finding that the shave was satisfactory, patronisedregularly. Later still, he put off shaving to every other day,then to every third, and so on, until once a week became therule. On Saturday he was a sight to see.Of course, as his own self-respect vanished, it perished for himin Carrie. She could not understand what had gotten into theman. He had some money, he had a decent suit remaining, he wasnot bad looking when dressed up. She did not forget her owndifficult struggle in Chicago, but she did not forget either thatshe had never ceased trying. He never tried. He did not evenconsult the ads in the papers any more.Finally, a distinct impression escaped from her."What makes you put so much butter on the steak?" he asked herone evening, standing around in the kitchen."To make it good, of course," she answered."Butter is awful dear these days," he suggested."You wouldn't mind it if you were working," she answered.He shut up after this, and went in to his paper, but the retortrankled in his mind. It was the first cutting remark that hadcome from her.That same evening, Carrie, after reading, went off to the frontroom to bed. This was unusual. When Hurstwood decided to go, heretired, as usual, without a light. It was then that hediscovered Carrie's absence."That's funny," he said; "maybe she's sitting up."He gave the matter no more thought, but slept. In the morningshe was not beside him. Strange to say, this passed withoutcomment.Night approaching, and a slightly more conversational feelingprevailing, Carrie said:"I think I'll sleep alone to-night. I have a headache.""All right," said Hurstwood.The third night she went to her front bed without apologies.This was a grim blow to Hurstwood, but he never mentioned it."All right," he said to himself, with an irrepressible frown,"let her sleep alone."