Chapter V

by Theodore Dreiser

　　A GLITTERING NIGHT FLOWER--THE USE OF A NAMEDrouet did not call that evening. After receiving the letter, hehad laid aside all thought of Carrie for the time being and wasfloating around having what he considered a gay time. On thisparticular evening he dined at "Rector's," a restaurant of somelocal fame, which occupied a basement at Clark and MonroeStreets. There--after he visited the resort of Fitzgerald andMoy's in Adams Street, opposite the imposing Federal Building.There he leaned over the splendid bar and swallowed a glass ofplain whiskey and purchased a couple of cigars, one of which helighted. This to him represented in part high life--a fairsample of what the whole must be. Drouet was not a drinker inexcess. He was not a moneyed man. He only craved the best, ashis mind conceived it, and such doings seemed to him a part ofthe best. Rector's, with its polished marble walls and floor,its profusion of lights, its show of china and silverware, and,above all, its reputation as a resort for actors and professionalmen, seemed to him the proper place for a successful man to go.He loved fine clothes, good eating, and particularly the companyand acquaintanceship of successful men. When dining, it was asource of keen satisfaction to him to know that Joseph Jeffersonwas wont to come to this same place, or that Henry E. Dixie, awell-known performer of the day, was then only a few tables off.At Rector's he could always obtain this satisfaction, for thereone could encounter politicians, brokers, actors, some rich young"rounders" of the town, all eating and drinking amid a buzz ofpopular commonplace conversation."That's So-and-so over there," was a common remark of thesegentlemen among themselves, particularly among those who had notyet reached, but hoped to do so, the dazzling height which moneyto dine here lavishly represented."You don't say so," would be the reply."Why, yes, didn't you know that? Why, he's manager of the GrandOpera House."When these things would fall upon Drouet's ears, he wouldstraighten himself a little more stiffly and eat with solidcomfort. If he had any vanity, this augmented it, and if he hadany ambition, this stirred it. He would be able to flash a rollof greenbacks too some day. As it was, he could eat where THEYdid.His preference for Fitzgerald and Moy's Adams Street place wasanother yard off the same cloth. This was really a gorgeoussaloon from a Chicago standpoint. Like Rector's, it was alsoornamented with a blaze of incandescent lights, held in handsomechandeliers. The floors were of brightly coloured tiles, thewalls a composition of rich, dark, polished wood, which reflectedthe light, and coloured stucco-work, which gave the place a verysumptuous appearance. The long bar was a blaze of lights,polished woodwork, coloured and cut glassware, and many fancybottles. It was a truly swell saloon, with rich screens, fancywines, and a line of bar goods unsurpassed in the country.At Rector's, Drouet had met Mr. G. W. Hurstwood, manager ofFitzgerald and Moy's. He had been pointed out as a verysuccessful and well-known man about town. Hurstwood looked thepart, for, besides being slightly under forty, he had a good,stout constitution, an active manner, and a solid, substantialair, which was composed in part of his fine clothes, his cleanlinen, his jewels, and, above all, his own sense of hisimportance. Drouet immediately conceived a notion of him asbeing some one worth knowing, and was glad not only to meet him,but to visit the Adams Street bar thereafter whenever he wanted adrink or a cigar.Hurstwood was an interesting character after his kind. He wasshrewd and clever in many little things, and capable of creatinga good impression. His managerial position was fairly important--a kind of stewardship which was imposing, but lacked financialcontrol. He had risen by perseverance and industry, through longyears of service, from the position of barkeeper in a commonplacesaloon to his present altitude. He had a little office in theplace, set off in polished cherry and grill-work, where he kept,in a roll-top desk, the rather simple accounts of the place--supplies ordered and needed. The chief executive and financialfunctions devolved upon the owners--Messrs. Fitzgerald and Moy--and upon a cashier who looked after the money taken in.For the most part he lounged about, dressed in excellent tailoredsuits of imported goods, a solitaire ring, a fine blue diamond inhis tie, a striking vest of some new pattern, and a watch-chainof solid gold, which held a charm of rich design, and a watch ofthe latest make and engraving. He knew by name, and could greetpersonally with a "Well, old fellow," hundreds of actors,merchants, politicians, and the general run of successfulcharacters about town, and it was part of his success to do so.He had a finely graduated scale of informality and friendship,which improved from the "How do you do?" addressed to thefifteen-dollar-a-week clerks and office attaches, who, by longfrequenting of the place, became aware of his position, to the"Why, old man, how are you?" which he addressed to those noted orrich individuals who knew him and were inclined to be friendly.There was a class, however, too rich, too famous, or toosuccessful, with whom he could not attempt any familiarity ofaddress, and with these he was professionally tactful, assuming agrave and dignified attitude, paying them the deference whichwould win their good feeling without in the least compromisinghis own bearing and opinions. There were, in the last place, afew good followers, neither rich nor poor, famous, nor yetremarkably successful, with whom he was friendly on the score ofgood-fellowship. These were the kind of men with whom he wouldconverse longest and most seriously. He loved to go out and havea good time once in a while--to go to the races, the theatres,the sporting entertainments at some of the clubs. He kept ahorse and neat trap, had his wife and two children, who were wellestablished in a neat house on the North Side near Lincoln Park,and was altogether a very acceptable individual of our greatAmerican upper class--the first grade below the luxuriously rich.Hurstwood liked Drouet. The latter's genial nature and dressyappearance pleased him. He knew that Drouet was only atravelling salesman--and not one of many years at that--but thefirm of Bartlett, Caryoe & Company was a large and prosperoushouse, and Drouet stood well. Hurstwood knew Caryoe quite well,having drunk a glass now and then with him, in company withseveral others, when the conversation was general. Drouet hadwhat was a help in his business, a moderate sense of humour, andcould tell a good story when the occasion required. He couldtalk races with Hurstwood, tell interesting incidents concerninghimself and his experiences with women, and report the state oftrade in the cities which he visited, and so managed to makehimself almost invariably agreeable. To-night he wasparticularly so, since his report to the company had beenfavourably commented upon, his new samples had beensatisfactorily selected, and his trip marked out for the next sixweeks."Why, hello, Charlie, old man," said Hurstwood, as Drouet came inthat evening about eight o'clock. "How goes it?" The room wascrowded.Drouet shook hands, beaming good nature, and they strolledtowards the bar."Oh, all right.""I haven't seen you in six weeks. When did you get in?""Friday," said Drouet. "Had a fine trip.""Glad of it," said Hurstwood, his black eyes lit with a warmthwhich half displaced the cold make-believe that usually dwelt inthem. "What are you going to take?" he added, as the barkeeper,in snowy jacket and tie, leaned toward them from behind the bar."Old Pepper," said Drouet."A little of the same for me," put in Hurstwood."How long are you in town this time?" inquired Hurstwood."Only until Wednesday. I'm going up to St. Paul.""George Evans was in here Saturday and said he saw you inMilwaukee last week.""Yes, I saw George," returned Drouet. "Great old boy, isn't he?We had quite a time there together."The barkeeper was setting out the glasses and bottle before them,and they now poured out the draught as they talked, Drouetfilling his to within a third of full, as was considered proper,and Hurstwood taking the barest suggestion of whiskey andmodifying it with seltzer."What's become of Caryoe?" remarked Hurstwood. "I haven't seenhim around here in two weeks.""Laid up, they say," exclaimed Drouet. "Say, he's a gouty oldboy!""Made a lot of money in his time, though, hasn't he?""Yes, wads of it," returned Drouet. "He won't live much longer.Barely comes down to the office now.""Just one boy, hasn't he?" asked Hurstwood."Yes, and a swift-pacer," laughed Drouet."I guess he can't hurt the business very much, though, with theother members all there.""No, he can't injure that any, I guess."Hurstwood was standing, his coat open, his thumbs in his pockets,the light on his jewels and rings relieving them with agreeabledistinctness. He was the picture of fastidious comfort.To one not inclined to drink, and gifted with a more serious turnof mind, such a bubbling, chattering, glittering chamber mustever seem an anomaly, a strange commentary on nature and life.Here come the moths, in endless procession, to bask in the lightof the flame. Such conversation as one may hear would not warranta commendation of the scene upon intellectual grounds. It seemsplain that schemers would choose more sequestered quarters toarrange their plans, that politicians would not gather here incompany to discuss anything save formalities, where the sharp-eared may hear, and it would scarcely be justified on the scoreof thirst, for the majority of those who frequent these moregorgeous places have no craving for liquor. Nevertheless, thefact that here men gather, here chatter, here love to pass andrub elbows, must be explained upon some grounds. It must be thata strange bundle of passions and vague desires give rise to sucha curious social institution or it would not be.Drouet, for one, was lured as much by his longing for pleasure asby his desire to shine among his betters. The many friends he methere dropped in because they craved, without, perhaps,consciously analysing it, the company, the glow, the atmospherewhich they found. One might take it, after all, as an augur ofthe better social order, for the things which they satisfiedhere, though sensory, were not evil. No evil could come out ofthe contemplation of an expensively decorated chamber. The worsteffect of such a thing would be, perhaps, to stir up in thematerial-minded an ambition to arrange their lives upon asimilarly splendid basis. In the last analysis, that wouldscarcely be called the fault of the decorations, but rather ofthe innate trend of the mind. That such a scene might stir theless expensively dressed to emulate the more expensively dressedcould scarcely be laid at the door of anything save the falseambition of the minds of those so affected. Remove the elementso thoroughly and solely complained of--liquor--and there wouldnot be one to gainsay the qualities of beauty and enthusiasmwhich would remain. The pleased eye with which our modernrestaurants of fashion are looked upon is proof of thisassertion.Yet, here is the fact of the lighted chamber, the dressy, greedycompany, the small, self-interested palaver, the disorganized,aimless, wandering mental action which it represents--the love oflight and show and finery which, to one outside, under the serenelight of the eternal stars, must seem a strange and shiny thing.Under the stars and sweeping night winds, what a lamp-flower itmust bloom; a strange, glittering night-flower, odour-yielding,insect-drawing, insect-infested rose of pleasure."See that fellow coming in there?" said Hurstwood, glancing at agentleman just entering, arrayed in a high hat and Prince Albertcoat, his fat cheeks puffed and red as with good eating."No, where?" said Drouet."There," said Hurstwood, indicating the direction by a cast ofhis eye, "the man with the silk hat.""Oh, yes," said Drouet, now affecting not to see. "Who is he?""That's Jules Wallace, the spiritualist."Drouet followed him with his eyes, much interested."Doesn't look much like a man who sees spirits, does he?" saidDrouet."Oh, I don't know," returned Hurstwood. "He's got the money, allright," and a little twinkle passed over his eyes."I don't go much on those things, do you?" asked Drouet."Well, you never can tell," said Hurstwood. "There may besomething to it. I wouldn't bother about it myself, though. Bythe way," he added, "are you going anywhere to-night?""'The Hole in the Ground,'" said Drouet, mentioning the popularfarce of the time."Well, you'd better be going. It's half after eight already,"and he drew out his watch.The crowd was already thinning out considerably--some bound forthe theatres, some to their clubs, and some to that mostfascinating of all the pleasures--for the type of man thererepresented, at least--the ladies."Yes, I will," said Drouet."Come around after the show. I have something I want to showyou," said Hurstwood."Sure," said Drouet, elated."You haven't anything on hand for the night, have you?" addedHurstwood."Not a thing.""Well, come round, then.""I struck a little peach coming in on the train Friday," remarkedDrouet, by way of parting. "By George, that's so, I must go andcall on her before I go away.""Oh, never mind her," Hurstwood remarked."Say, she was a little dandy, I tell you," went on Drouetconfidentially, and trying to impress his friend."Twelve o'clock," said Hurstwood."That's right," said Drouet, going out.Thus was Carrie's name bandied about in the most frivolous andgay of places, and that also when the little toiler was bemoaningher narrow lot, which was almost inseparable from the earlystages of this, her unfolding fate.