Chapter XLIV

by Theodore Dreiser

　　AND THIS IS NOT ELF LAND--WHAT GOLD WILL NOT BUYWhen Carrie got back on the stage, she found that over night herdressing-room had been changed."You are to use this room, Miss Madenda," said one of the stagelackeys.No longer any need of climbing several flights of steps to asmall coop shared with another. Instead, a comparatively largeand commodious chamber with conveniences not enjoyed by the smallfry overhead. She breathed deeply and with delight. Hersensations were more physical than mental. In fact, she wasscarcely thinking at all. Heart and body were having their say.Gradually the deference and congratulation gave her a mentalappreciation of her state. She was no longer ordered, butrequested, and that politely. The other members of the castlooked at her enviously as she came out arrayed in her simplehabit, which she wore all through the play. All those who hadsupposedly been her equals and superiors now smiled the smile ofsociability, as much as to say: "How friendly we have alwaysbeen." Only the star comedian whose part had been so deeplyinjured stalked by himself. Figuratively, he could not kiss thehand that smote him.Doing her simple part, Carrie gradually realised the meaning ofthe applause which was for her, and it was sweet. She feltmildly guilty of something--perhaps unworthiness. When herassociates addressed her in the wings she only smiled weakly.The pride and daring of place were not for her. It never oncecrossed her mind to be reserved or haughty--to be other than shehad been. After the performances she rode to her room with Lola,in a carriage provided.Then came a week in which the first fruits of success wereoffered to her lips--bowl after bowl. It did not matter that hersplendid salary had not begun. The world seemed satisfied withthe promise. She began to get letters and cards. A Mr. Withers--whom she did not know from Adam--having learned by some hook orcrook where she resided, bowed himself politely in."You will excuse me for intruding," he said; "but have you beenthinking of changing your apartments?""I hadn't thought of it," returned Carrie."Well, I am connected with the Wellington--the new hotel onBroadway. You have probably seen notices of it in the papers."Carrie recognised the name as standing for one of the newest andmost imposing hostelries. She had heard it spoken of as having asplendid restaurant."Just so," went on Mr. Withers, accepting her acknowledgment offamiliarity. "We have some very elegant rooms at present whichwe would like to have you look at, if you have not made up yourmind where you intend to reside for the summer. Our apartmentsare perfect in every detail--hot and cold water, private baths,special hall service for every floor, elevators, and all that.You know what our restaurant is."Carrie looked at him quietly. She was wondering whether he tookher to be a millionaire."What are your rates?" she inquired."Well, now, that is what I came to talk with you privately about.Our regular rates are anywhere from three to fifty dollars aday.""Mercy!" interrupted Carrie. "I couldn't pay any such rate asthat.""I know how you feel about it," exclaimed Mr. Withers, halting."But just let me explain. I said those are our regular rates.Like every other hotel we make special ones however. Possiblyyou have not thought about it, but your name is worth somethingto us.""Oh!" ejaculated Carrie, seeing at a glance."Of course. Every hotel depends upon the repute of its patrons.A well-known actress like yourself," and he bowed politely, whileCarrie flushed, "draws attention to the hotel, and--although youmay not believe it--patrons.""Oh, yes," returned Carrie, vacantly, trying to arrange thiscurious proposition in her mind."Now," continued Mr. Withers, swaying his derby hat softly andbeating one of his polished shoes upon the floor, "I want toarrange, if possible, to have you come and stop at theWellington. You need not trouble about terms. In fact, we needhardly discuss them. Anything will do for the summer--a merefigure--anything that you think you could afford to pay."Carrie was about to interrupt, but he gave her no chance."You can come to-day or to-morrow--the earlier the better--and wewill give you your choice of nice, light, outside rooms--the verybest we have.""You're very kind," said Carrie, touched by the agent's extremeaffability. "I should like to come very much. I would want topay what is right, however. I shouldn't want to----""You need not trouble about that at all," interrupted Mr.Withers. "We can arrange that to your entire satisfaction at anytime. If three dollars a day is satisfactory to you, it will beso to us. All you have to do is to pay that sum to the clerk atthe end of the week or month, just as you wish, and he will giveyou a receipt for what the rooms would cost if charged for at ourregular rates."The speaker paused."Suppose you come and look at the rooms," he added."I'd be glad to," said Carrie, "but I have a rehearsal thismorning.""I did not mean at once," he returned. "Any time will do. Wouldthis afternoon be inconvenient?""Not at all," said Carrie.Suddenly she remembered Lola, who was out at the time."I have a room-mate," she added, "who will have to go wherever Ido. I forgot about that.""Oh, very well," said Mr. Withers, blandly. "It is for you tosay whom you want with you. As I say, all that can be arrangedto suit yourself."He bowed and backed toward the door."At four, then, we may expect you?""Yes," said Carrie."I will be there to show you," and so Mr. Withers withdrew.After rehearsal Carrie informed Lola."Did they really?" exclaimed the latter, thinking of theWellington as a group of managers. "Isn't that fine? Oh, jolly!It's so swell. That's where we dined that night we went withthose two Cushing boys. Don't you know?""I remember," said Carrie."Oh, it's as fine as it can be.""We'd better be going up there," observed Carrie later in theafternoon.The rooms which Mr. Withers displayed to Carrie and Lola werethree and bath--a suite on the parlour floor. They were done inchocolate and dark red, with rugs and hangings to match. Threewindows looked down into busy Broadway on the east, three into aside street which crossed there. There were two lovely bedrooms,set with brass and white enamel beds, white ribbon-trimmed chairsand chiffoniers to match. In the third room, or parlour, was apiano, a heavy piano lamp, with a shade of gorgeous pattern, alibrary table, several huge easy rockers, some dado book shelves,and a gilt curio case, filled with oddities. Pictures were uponthe walls, soft Turkish pillows upon the divan footstools ofbrown plush upon the floor. Such accommodations would ordinarilycost a hundred dollars a week."Oh, lovely!" exclaimed Lola, walking about."It is comfortable," said Carrie, who was lifting a lace curtainand looking down into crowded Broadway.The bath was a handsome affair, done in white enamel, with alarge, blue-bordered stone tub and nickel trimmings. It wasbright and commodious, with a bevelled mirror set in the wall atone end and incandescent lights arranged in three places."Do you find these satisfactory?" observed Mr. Withers."Oh, very," answered Carrie."Well, then, any time you find it convenient to move in, they areready. The boy will bring you the keys at the door."Carrie noted the elegantly carpeted and decorated hall, themarbled lobby, and showy waiting-room. It was such a place asshe had often dreamed of occupying."I guess we'd better move right away, don't you think so?" sheobserved to Lola, thinking of the commonplace chamber inSeventeenth Street."Oh, by all means," said the latter.The next day her trunks left for the new abode.Dressing, after the matinee on Wednesday, a knock came at herdressing-room door.Carrie looked at the card handed by the boy and suffered a shockof surprise."Tell her I'll be right out," she said softly. Then, looking atthe card, added: "Mrs. Vance.""Why, you little sinner," the latter exclaimed, as she saw Carriecoming toward her across the now vacant stage. "How in the worlddid this happen?"Carrie laughed merrily. There was no trace of embarrassment inher friend's manner. You would have thought that the longseparation had come about accidentally."I don't know," returned Carrie, warming, in spite of her firsttroubled feelings, toward this handsome, good-natured youngmatron."Well, you know, I saw your picture in the Sunday paper, but yourname threw me off. I thought it must be you or somebody thatlooked just like you, and I said: 'Well, now, I will go rightdown there and see.' I was never more surprised in my life. Howare you, anyway?""Oh, very well," returned Carrie. "How have you been?""Fine. But aren't you a success! Dear, oh! All the paperstalking about you. I should think you would be just too proud tobreathe. I was almost afraid to come back here this afternoon.""Oh, nonsense," said Carrie, blushing. "You know I'd be glad tosee you.""Well, anyhow, here you are. Can't you come up and take dinnerwith me now? Where are you stopping?""At the Wellington," said Carrie, who permitted herself a touchof pride in the acknowledgment."Oh, are you?" exclaimed the other, upon whom the name was notwithout its proper effect.Tactfully, Mrs. Vance avoided the subject of Hurstwood, of whomshe could not help thinking. No doubt Carrie had left him. Thatmuch she surmised."Oh, I don't think I can," said Carrie, "to-night. I have solittle time. I must be back here by 7.30. Won't you come anddine with me?""I'd be delighted, but I can't to-night," said Mrs. Vancestudying Carrie's fine appearance. The latter's good fortunemade her seem more than ever worthy and delightful in the otherseyes. "I promised faithfully to be home at six." Glancing at thesmall gold watch pinned to her bosom, she added: "I must begoing, too. Tell me when you're coming up, if at all.""Why, any time you like," said Carrie."Well, to-morrow then. I'm living at the Chelsea now.""Moved again?" exclaimed Carrie, laughing."Yes. You know I can't stay six months in one place. I justhave to move. Remember now--half-past five.""I won't forget," said Carrie, casting a glance at her as shewent away. Then it came to her that she was as good as thiswoman now--perhaps better. Something in the other's solicitudeand interest made her feel as if she were the one to condescend.Now, as on each preceding day, letters were handed her by thedoorman at the Casino. This was a feature which had rapidlydeveloped since Monday. What they contained she well knew. MASHNOTES were old affairs in their mildest form. She rememberedhaving received her first one far back in Columbia City. Sincethen, as a chorus girl, she had received others--gentlemen whoprayed for an engagement. They were common sport between her andLola, who received some also. They both frequently made light ofthem.Now, however, they came thick and fast. Gentlemen with fortunesdid not hesitate to note, as an addition to their own amiablecollection of virtues, that they had their horses and carriages.Thus one:"I have a million in my own right. I could give you everyluxury. There isn't anything you could ask for that you couldn'thave. I say this, not because I want to speak of my money, butbecause I love you and wish to gratify your every desire. It islove that prompts me to write. Will you not give me one half-hour in which to plead my cause?"Such of these letters as came while Carrie was still in theSeventeenth Street place were read with more interest--thoughnever delight--than those which arrived after she was installedin her luxurious quarters at the Wellington. Even there hervanity--or that self-appreciation which, in its more rabid form,is called vanity--was not sufficiently cloyed to make thesethings wearisome. Adulation, being new in any form, pleased her.Only she was sufficiently wise to distinguish between her oldcondition and her new one. She had not had fame or money before.Now they had come. She had not had adulation and affectionatepropositions before. Now they had come. Wherefore? She smiledto think that men should suddenly find her so much moreattractive. In the least way it incited her to coolness andindifference."Do look here," she remarked to Lola. "See what this man says:'If you will only deign to grant me one half-hour,'" sherepeated, with an imitation of languor. "The idea. Aren't mensilly?""He must have lots of money, the way he talks," observed Lola."That's what they all say," said Carrie, innocently."Why don't you see him," suggested Lola, "and hear what he has tosay?""Indeed I won't," said Carrie. "I know what he'd say. I don'twant to meet anybody that way."Lola looked at her with big, merry eyes."He couldn't hurt you," she returned. "You might have some funwith him."Carrie shook her head."You're awfully queer," returned the little, blue-eyed soldier.Thus crowded fortune. For this whole week, though her largesalary had not yet arrived, it was as if the world understood andtrusted her. Without money--or the requisite sum, at least--sheenjoyed the luxuries which money could buy. For her the doors offine places seemed to open quite without the asking. Thesepalatial chambers, how marvellously they came to her. Theelegant apartments of Mrs. Vance in the Chelsea--these were hers.Men sent flowers, love notes, offers of fortune. And still herdreams ran riot. The one hundred and fifty! the one hundred andfifty! What a door to an Aladdin's cave it seemed to be. Eachday, her head almost turned by developments, her fancies of whather fortune must be, with ample money, grew and multiplied. Sheconceived of delights which were not--saw lights of joy thatnever were on land or sea. Then, at last, after a world ofanticipation, came her first installment of one hundred and fiftydollars.It was paid to her in greenbacks--three twenties, six tens, andsix fives. Thus collected it made a very convenient roll. Itwas accompanied by a smile and a salutation from the cashier whopaid it."Ah, yes," said the latter, when she applied; "Miss Madenda--onehundred and fifty dollars. Quite a success the show seems tohave made.""Yes, indeed," returned Carrie.Right after came one of the insignificant members of the company,and she heard the changed tone of address."How much?" said the same cashier, sharply. One, such as she hadonly recently been, was waiting for her modest salary. It tookher back to the few weeks in which she had collected--or ratherhad received--almost with the air of a domestic, four-fifty perweek from a lordly foreman in a shoe factory--a man who, indistributing the envelopes, had the manner of a prince doling outfavours to a servile group of petitioners. She knew that out inChicago this very day the same factory chamber was full of poorhomely-clad girls working in long lines at clattering machines;that at noon they would eat a miserable lunch in a half-hour;that Saturday they would gather, as they had when she was one ofthem, and accept the small pay for work a hundred times harderthan she was now doing. Oh, it was so easy now! The world was sorosy and bright. She felt so thrilled that she must needs walkback to the hotel to think, wondering what she should do.It does not take money long to make plain its impotence,providing the desires are in the realm of affection. With herone hundred and fifty in hand, Carrie could think of nothingparticularly to do. In itself, as a tangible, apparent thingwhich she could touch and look upon, it was a diverting thing fora few days, but this soon passed. Her hotel bill did not requireits use. Her clothes had for some time been wholly satisfactory.Another day or two and she would receive another hundred andfifty. It began to appear as if this were not so startlinglynecessary to maintain her present state. If she wanted to doanything better or move higher she must have more--a great dealmore.Now a critic called to get up one of those tinsel interviewswhich shine with clever observations, show up the wit of critics,display the folly of celebrities, and divert the public. Heliked Carrie, and said so, publicly--adding, however, that shewas merely pretty, good-natured, and lucky. This cut like aknife. The "Herald," getting up an entertainment for the benefitof its free ice fund, did her the honour to beg her to appearalong with celebrities for nothing. She was visited by a youngauthor, who had a play which he thought she could produce. Alas,she could not judge. It hurt her to think it. Then she foundshe must put her money in the bank for safety, and so moving,finally reached the place where it struck her that the door tolife's perfect enjoyment was not open.Gradually she began to think it was because it was summer.Nothing was going on much save such entertainments as the one inwhich she was the star. Fifth Avenue was boarded up where therich had deserted their mansions. Madison Avenue was littlebetter. Broadway was full of loafing thespians in search of nextseason's engagements. The whole city was quiet and her nightswere taken up with her work. Hence the feeling that there waslittle to do."I don't know," she said to Lola one day, sitting at one of thewindows which looked down into Broadway, "I get lonely; don'tyou?""No," said Lola, "not very often. You won't go anywhere. That'swhat's the matter with you.""Where can I go?""Why, there're lots of places," returned Lola, who was thinkingof her own lightsome tourneys with the gay youths. "You won't gowith anybody.""I don't want to go with these people who write to me. I knowwhat kind they are.""You oughtn't to be lonely," said Lola, thinking of Carrie'ssuccess. "There're lots would give their ears to be in yourshoes."Carrie looked out again at the passing crowd."I don't know," she said.Unconsciously her idle hands were beginning to weary.