Sister Carrie: A Novel
receded, his chagrin at it grew less and his hope of peace more. He
fancied, as he sat at his desk, that nothing would be done for a week
or two. Meanwhile, he would have time to think.
This process of _thinking_ began by a reversion to Carrie and the
arrangement by which he was to get her away from Drouet. How about that
now? His pain at her failure to meet or write him rapidly increased as
he devoted himself to this subject. He decided to write her care of the
West Side Post-office and ask for an explanation, as well as to have
her meet him. The thought that this letter would probably not reach her
until Monday chafed him exceedingly. He must get some speedier
method—but how?
He thought upon it for a half-hour, not contemplating a messenger or a
cab direct to the house, owing to the exposure of it, but finding that
time was slipping away to no purpose, he wrote the letter and then
began to think again.
The hours slipped by, and with them the possibility of the union he had
contemplated. He had thought to be joyously aiding Carrie by now in the
task of joining her interests to his, and here it was afternoon and
nothing done. Three o’clock came, four, five, six, and no letter. The
helpless manager paced the floor and grimly endured the gloom of
defeat. He saw a busy Saturday ushered out, the Sabbath in, and nothing
done. All day, the bar being closed, he brooded alone, shut out from
home, from the excitement of his resort, from Carrie, and without the
ability to alter his condition one iota. It was the worst Sunday he had
spent in his life.
In Monday’s second mail he encountered a very legal-looking letter,
which held his interest for some time. It bore the imprint of the law
offices of McGregor, James and Hay, and with a very formal “Dear Sir,”
and “We beg to state,” went on to inform him briefly that they had been
retained by Mrs. Julia Hurstwood to adjust certain matters which
related to her sustenance and property rights, and would he kindly call
and see them about the matter at once.
He read it through carefully several times, and then merely shook his
head. It seemed as if his family troubles were just beginning.
“Well!” he said after a time, quite audibly, “I don’t know.”
Then he folded it up and put it in his pocket.
To add to his misery there was no word from Carrie. He was quite
certain now that she knew he was married and was angered at his
perfidy. His loss seemed all the more bitter now that he needed her
most. He thought he would go out and insist on seeing her if she did
not send him word of some sort soon. He was really affected most
miserably of all by this desertion. He had loved her earnestly enough,
but now that the possibility of losing her stared him in the face she
seemed much more attractive. He really pined for a word, and looked out
upon her with his mind’s eye in the most wistful manner. He did not
propose to lose her, whatever she might think. Come what might, he
would adjust this matter, and soon. He would go to her and tell her all
his family complications. He would explain to her just where he stood
and how much he needed her. Surely she couldn’t go back on him now? It
wasn’t possible. He would plead until her anger would melt—until she
would forgive him.
Suddenly he thought: “Supposing she isn’t out there—suppose she has
gone?”
He was forced to take his feet. It was too much to think of and sit
still.
Nevertheless, his rousing availed him nothing.
On Tuesday it was the same way. He did manage to bring himself into the
mood to go out to Carrie, but when he got in Ogden Place he thought he
saw a man watching him and went away. He did not go within a block of
the house.
One of the galling incidents of this visit was that he came back on a
Randolph Street car, and without noticing arrived almost opposite the
building of the concern with which his son was connected. This sent a
pang through his heart. He had called on his boy there several times.
Now the lad had not sent him a word. His absence did not seem to be
noticed by either of his children. Well, well, fortune plays a man
queer tricks. He got back to his office and joined in a conversation
with friends. It was as if idle chatter deadened the sense of misery.
That night he dined at Rector’s and returned at once to his office. In
the bustle and show of the latter was his only relief. He troubled over
many little details and talked perfunctorily to everybody. He stayed at
his desk long after all others had gone, and only quitted it when the
night watchman on his round pulled at the front door to see if it was
safely locked.
On Wednesday he received another polite note from McGregor, James and
Hay. It read:
“_Dear Sir:_ We beg to inform you that we are instructed to wait
until to-morrow (Thursday) at one o’clock, before filing suit
against you, on behalf of Mrs. Julia Hurstwood, for divorce and
alimony. If we do not hear from you before that time we shall
consider that you do not wish to compromise the matter in any way
and act accordingly.
“Very truly yours, etc.”
“Compromise!” exclaimed Hurstwood bitterly. “Compromise!”
Again he shook his head.
So here it was spread out clear before him, and now he knew what to
expect. If he didn’t go and see them they would sue him promptly. If he
did, he would be offered terms that would make his blood boil. He
folded the letter and put it with the other one. Then he put on his hat
and went for a turn about the block.
Chapter XXVI. THE AMBASSADOR FALLEN: A SEARCH FOR THE GATE
Carrie, left alone by Drouet, listened to his retreating steps,
scarcely realising what had happened. She knew that he had stormed out.
It was some moments before she questioned whether he would return, not
now exactly, but ever. She looked around her upon the rooms, out of
which the evening light was dying, and wondered why she did not feel
quite the same towards them. She went over to the dresser and struck a
match, lighting the gas. Then she went back to the rocker to think.
It was some time before she could collect her thoughts, but when she
did, this truth began to take on importance. She was quite alone.
Suppose Drouet did not come back? Suppose she should never hear
anything more of him? This fine arrangement of chambers would not last
long. She would have to quit them.
To her credit, be it said, she never once counted on Hurstwood. She
could only approach that subject with a pang of sorrow and regret. For
a truth, she was rather shocked and frightened by this evidence of
human depravity. He would have tricked her without turning an eyelash.
She would have been led into a newer and worse situation. And yet she
could not keep out the pictures of his looks and manners. Only this one
deed seemed strange and miserable. It contrasted sharply with all she
felt and knew concerning the man.
But she was alone. That was the greater thought just at present. How
about that? Would she go out to work again? Would she begin to look
around in the business district? The stage! Oh, yes. Drouet had spoken
about that. Was there any hope there? She moved to and fro, in deep and
varied thoughts, while the minutes slipped away and night fell
completely. She had had nothing to eat, and yet there she sat, thinking
it over.
She remembered that she was hungry and went to the little cupboard in
the rear room where were the remains of one of their breakfasts. She
looked at these things with certain misgivings. The contemplation of
food had more significance than usual.
While she was eating she began to wonder how much money she had. It
struck her as exceedingly important, and without ado she went to look
for her purse. It was on the dresser, and in it were seven dollars in
bills and some change. She quailed as she thought of the insignificance
of the amount and rejoiced because the rent was paid until the end of
the month. She began also to think what she would have done if she had
gone out into the street when she first started. By the side of that
situation, as she looked at it now, the present seemed agreeable. She
had a little time at least, and then, perhaps, everything would come
out all right, after all.
Drouet had gone, but what of it? He did not seem seriously angry. He
only acted as if he were huffy. He would come back—of course he would.
There was his cane in the corner. Here was one of his collars. He had
left his light overcoat in the wardrobe. She looked about and tried to
assure herself with the sight of a dozen such details, but, alas, the
secondary thought arrived. Supposing he did come back. Then what?
Here was another proposition nearly, if not quite, as disturbing. She
would have to talk with and explain to him. He would want her to admit
that he was right. It would be impossible for her to live with him.
On Friday Carrie remembered her appointment with Hurstwood, and the
passing of the hour when she should, by all right of promise, have been
in his company served to keep the calamity which had befallen her
exceedingly fresh and clear. In her nervousness and stress of mind she
felt it necessary to act, and consequently put on a brown street dress,
and at eleven o’clock started to visit the business portion once again.
She must look for work.
The rain, which threatened at twelve and began at one, served equally
well to cause her to retrace her steps and remain within doors as it
did to reduce Hurstwood’s spirits and give him a wretched day.
The morrow was Saturday, a half-holiday in many business quarters, and
besides it was a balmy, radiant day, with the trees and grass shining
exceedingly green after the rain of the night before. When she went out
the sparrows were twittering merrily in joyous choruses. She could not
help feeling, as she looked across the lovely park, that life was a
joyous thing for those who did not need to worry, and she wished over
and over that something might interfere now to preserve for her the
comfortable state which she had occupied. She did not want Drouet or
his money when she thought of it, nor anything more to do with
Hurstwood, but only the content and ease of mind she had experienced,
for, after all, she had been happy—happier, at least, than she was now
when confronted by the necessity of making her way alone.
When she arrived in the business part it was quite eleven o’clock, and
the business had little longer to run. She did not realise this at
first, being affected by some of the old distress which was a result of
her earlier adventure into this strenuous and exacting quarter. She
wandered about, assuring herself that she was making up her mind to
look for something, and at the same time feeling that perhaps it was
not necessary to be in such haste about it. The thing was difficult to
encounter, and she had a few days. Besides, she was not sure that she
was really face to face again with the bitter problem of
self-sustenance. Anyhow, there was one change for the better. She knew
that she had improved in appearance. Her manner had vastly changed. Her
clothes were becoming, and men—well-dressed men, some of the kind who
before had gazed at her indifferently from behind their polished
railings and imposing office partitions—now gazed into her face with a
soft light in their eyes. In a way, she felt the power and satisfaction
of the thing, but it did not wholly reassure her. She looked for
nothing save what might come legitimately and without the appearance of
special favour. She wanted something, but no man should buy her by
false protestations or favour. She proposed to earn her living
honestly.
“This store closes at one on Saturdays,” was a pleasing and
satisfactory legend to see upon doors which she felt she ought to enter