Sister Carrie: A Novel
The man explained the hours.
“No more to-night?”
“Nothing with a sleeper. Yes, there is, too,” he added. “There is a
mail train out of here at three o’clock.”
“All right,” said Hurstwood. “What time does that get to Detroit?”
He was thinking if he could only get there and cross the river into
Canada, he could take his time about getting to Montreal. He was
relieved to learn that it would reach there by noon.
“Mayhew won’t open the safe till nine,” he thought. “They can’t get on
my track before noon.”
Then he thought of Carrie. With what speed must he get her, if he got
her at all. She would have to come along. He jumped into the nearest
cab standing by.
“To Ogden Place,” he said sharply. “I’ll give you a dollar more if you
make good time.”
The cabby beat his horse into a sort of imitation gallop which was
fairly fast, however. On the way Hurstwood thought what to do. Reaching
the number, he hurried up the steps and did not spare the bell in
waking the servant.
“Is Mrs. Drouet in?” he asked.
“Yes,” said the astonished girl.
“Tell her to dress and come to the door at once. Her husband is in the
hospital, injured, and wants to see her.”
The servant girl hurried upstairs, convinced by the man’s strained and
emphatic manner.
“What!” said Carrie, lighting the gas and searching for her clothes.
“Mr. Drouet is hurt and in the hospital. He wants to see you. The cab’s
downstairs.”
Carrie dressed very rapidly, and soon appeared below, forgetting
everything save the necessities.
“Drouet is hurt,” said Hurstwood quickly. “He wants to see you. Come
quickly.”
Carrie was so bewildered that she swallowed the whole story.
“Get in,” said Hurstwood, helping her and jumping after.
The cabby began to turn the horse around. “Michigan Central depot,” he
said, standing up and speaking so low that Carrie could not hear, “as
fast as you can go.”
Chapter XXVIII. A PILGRIM, AN OUTLAW: THE SPIRIT DETAINED
The cab had not travelled a short block before Carrie, settling herself
and thoroughly waking in the night atmosphere, asked:
“What’s the matter with him? Is he hurt badly?”
“It isn’t anything very serious,” Hurstwood said solemnly. He was very
much disturbed over his own situation, and now that he had Carrie with
him, he only wanted to get safely out of reach of the law. Therefore he
was in no mood for anything save such words as would further his plans
distinctly.
Carrie did not forget that there was something to be settled between
her and Hurstwood, but the thought was ignored in her agitation. The
one thing was to finish this strange pilgrimage.
“Where is he?”
“Way out on the South Side,” said Hurstwood. “We’ll have to take the
train. It’s the quickest way.”
Carrie said nothing, and the horse gambolled on. The weirdness of the
city by night held her attention. She looked at the long receding rows
of lamps and studied the dark, silent houses.
“How did he hurt himself?” she asked—meaning what was the nature of his
injuries. Hurstwood understood. He hated to lie any more than
necessary, and yet he wanted no protests until he was out of danger.
“I don’t know exactly,” he said. “They just called me up to go and get
you and bring you out. They said there wasn’t any need for alarm, but
that I shouldn’t fail to bring you.”
The man’s serious manner convinced Carrie, and she became silent,
wondering.
Hurstwood examined his watch and urged the man to hurry. For one in so
delicate a position he was exceedingly cool. He could only think of how
needful it was to make the train and get quietly away. Carrie seemed
quite tractable, and he congratulated himself.
In due time they reached the depot, and after helping her out he handed
the man a five-dollar bill and hurried on.
“You wait here,” he said to Carrie, when they reached the waiting-room,
“while I get the tickets.”
“Have I much time to catch that train for Detroit?” he asked of the
agent.
“Four minutes,” said the latter.
He paid for two tickets as circumspectly as possible.
“Is it far?” said Carrie, as he hurried back.
“Not very,” he said. “We must get right in.”
He pushed her before him at the gate, stood between her and the ticket
man while the latter punched their tickets, so that she could not see,
and then hurried after.
There was a long line of express and passenger cars and one or two
common day coaches. As the train had only recently been made up and few
passengers were expected, there were only one or two brakemen waiting.
They entered the rear day coach and sat down. Almost immediately, “All
aboard,” resounded faintly from the outside, and the train started.
Carrie began to think it was a little bit curious—this going to a
depot—but said nothing. The whole incident was so out of the natural
that she did not attach too much weight to anything she imagined.
“How have you been?” asked Hurstwood gently, for he now breathed
easier.
“Very well,” said Carrie, who was so disturbed that she could not bring
a proper attitude to bear in the matter. She was still nervous to reach
Drouet and see what could be the matter. Hurstwood contemplated her and
felt this. He was not disturbed that it should be so. He did not
trouble because she was moved sympathetically in the matter. It was one
of the qualities in her which pleased him exceedingly. He was only
thinking how he should explain. Even this was not the most serious
thing in his mind, however. His own deed and present flight were the
great shadows which weighed upon him.
“What a fool I was to do that,” he said over and over. “What a
mistake!”
In his sober senses, he could scarcely realise that the thing had been
done. He could not begin to feel that he was a fugitive from justice.
He had often read of such things, and had thought they must be
terrible, but now that the thing was upon him, he only sat and looked
into the past. The future was a thing which concerned the Canadian
line. He wanted to reach that. As for the rest he surveyed his actions
for the evening, and counted them parts of a great mistake.
“Still,” he said, “what could I have done?”
Then he would decide to make the best of it, and would begin to do so
by starting the whole inquiry over again. It was a fruitless, harassing
round, and left him in a queer mood to deal with the proposition he had
in the presence of Carrie.
The train clacked through the yards along the lake front, and ran
rather slowly to Twenty-fourth Street. Brakes and signals were visible
without. The engine gave short calls with its whistle, and frequently
the bell rang. Several brakemen came through, bearing lanterns. They
were locking the vestibules and putting the cars in order for a long
run.
Presently it began to gain speed, and Carrie saw the silent streets
flashing by in rapid succession. The engine also began its
whistle-calls of four parts, with which it signalled danger to
important crossings.
“Is it very far?” asked Carrie.
“Not so very,” said Hurstwood. He could hardly repress a smile at her
simplicity. He wanted to explain and conciliate her, but he also wanted
to be well out of Chicago.
In the lapse of another half-hour it became apparent to Carrie that it
was quite a run to wherever he was taking her, anyhow.
“Is it in Chicago?” she asked nervously. They were now far beyond the
city limits, and the train was scudding across the Indiana line at a
great rate.
“No,” he said, “not where we are going.”
There was something in the way he said this which aroused her in an
instant.
Her pretty brow began to contract.
“We are going to see Charlie, aren’t we?” she asked.
He felt that the time was up. An explanation might as well come now as
later. Therefore, he shook his head in the most gentle negative.
“What?” said Carrie. She was nonplussed at the possibility of the
errand being different from what she had thought.
He only looked at her in the most kindly and mollifying way.
“Well, where are you taking me, then?” she asked, her voice showing the
quality of fright.
“I’ll tell you, Carrie, if you’ll be quiet. I want you to come along
with me to another city.”
“Oh,” said Carrie, her voice rising into a weak cry. “Let me off. I
don’t want to go with you.”
She was quite appalled at the man’s audacity. This was something which
had never for a moment entered her head. Her one thought now was to get
off and away. If only the flying train could be stopped, the terrible
trick would be amended.
She arose and tried to push out into the aisle—anywhere. She knew she
had to do something. Hurstwood laid a gentle hand on her.
“Sit still, Carrie,” he said. “Sit still. It won’t do you any good to
get up here. Listen to me and I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Wait a
moment.”
She was pushing at his knees, but he only pulled her back. No one saw
this little altercation, for very few persons were in the car, and they
were attempting to doze.
“I won’t,” said Carrie, who was, nevertheless, complying against her
will. “Let me go,” she said. “How dare you?” and large tears began to
gather in her eyes.
Hurstwood was now fully aroused to the immediate difficulty, and ceased
to think of his own situation. He must do something with this girl, or
she would cause him trouble. He tried the art of persuasion with all
his powers aroused.
“Look here now, Carrie,” he said, “you mustn’t act this way. I didn’t
mean to hurt your feelings. I don’t want to do anything to make you
feel bad.”
“Oh,” sobbed Carrie, “oh, oh—oo—o!”
“There, there,” he said, “you mustn’t cry. Won’t you listen to me?
Listen to me a minute, and I’ll tell you why I came to do this thing. I
couldn’t help it. I assure you I couldn’t. Won’t you listen?”
Her sobs disturbed him so that he was quite sure she did not hear a
word he said.
“Won’t you listen?” he asked.
“No, I won’t,” said Carrie, flashing up. “I want you to take me out of
this, or I’ll tell the conductor. I won’t go with you. It’s a shame,”
and again sobs of fright cut off her desire for expression.
Hurstwood listened with some astonishment. He felt that she had just
cause for feeling as she did, and yet he wished that he could
straighten this thing out quickly. Shortly the conductor would come
through for the tickets. He wanted no noise, no trouble of any kind.
Before everything he must make her quiet.
“You couldn’t get out until the train stops again,” said Hurstwood. “It
won’t be very long until we reach another station. You can get out then
if you want to. I won’t stop you. All I want you to do is to listen a
moment. You’ll let me tell you, won’t you?”
Carrie seemed not to listen. She only turned her head toward the
window, where outside all was black. The train was speeding with steady
grace across the fields and through patches of wood. The long whistles
came with sad, musical effect as the lonely woodland crossings were
approached.
Now the conductor entered the car and took up the one or two fares that
had been added at Chicago. He approached Hurstwood, who handed out the
tickets. Poised as she was to act, Carrie made no move. She did not
look about.
When the conductor had gone again Hurstwood felt relieved.
“You’re angry at me because I deceived you,” he said. “I didn’t mean
to, Carrie. As I live I didn’t. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stay
away from you after the first time I saw you.”
He was ignoring the last deception as something that might go by the
board. He wanted to convince her that his wife could no longer be a
factor in their relationship. The money he had stolen he tried to shut
out of his mind.
“Don’t talk to me,” said Carrie, “I hate you. I want you to go away
from me. I am going to get out at the very next station.”
She was in a tremble of excitement and opposition as she spoke.