Sister Carrie........................................................................................................................................................1

Theodore Dreiser.....................................................................................................................................1

When Caroline Meeber boarded the afternoon train for Chicago, her total outfit consisted of a small trunk, a

cheap imitation alligatorskin satchel, a small lunch in a paper box, and a yellow leather snap purse,

containing her ticket, a scrap of paper with her sister's address in Van Buren Street, and four dollars in

money. It was in August, 1889. She was eighteen years of age, bright, timid, and full of the illusions of

ignorance and youth. Whatever touch of regret at parting characterised her thoughts, it was certainly not for

advantages now being given up. A gush of tears at her mother's farewell kiss, a touch in her throat when the

cars clacked by the flour mill where her father worked by the day, a pathetic sigh as the familiar green

environs of the village passed in review, and the threads which bound her so lightly to girlhood and home

To be sure there was always the next station, where one might descend and return. There was the great city,

bound more closely by these very trains which came up daily. Columbia City was not so very far away, even

once she was in Chicago. What, pray, is a few hoursa few hundred miles? She looked at the little slip

bearing her sister's address and wondered. She gazed at the green landscape, now passing in swift review,

until her swifter thoughts replaced its impression with vague conjectures of what Chicago might be.

When a girl leaves her home at eighteen, she does one of two things. Either she falls into saving hands and

becomes better, or she rapidly assumes the cosmopolitan standard of virtue and becomes worse. Of an

intermediate balance, under the circumstances, there is no possibility. The city has its cunning wiles, no less

than the infinitely smaller and more human tempter. There are large forces which allure with all the

soulfulness of expression possible in the most cultured human. The gleam of a thousand lights is often as

effective as the persuasive light in a wooing and fascinating eye. Half the undoing of the unsophisticated and

natural mind is accomplished by forces wholly superhuman. A blare of sound, a roar of life, a vast array of

human hives, appeal to the astonished senses in equivocal terms. Without a counsellor at hand to whisper

cautious interpretations, what falsehoods may not these things breathe into the unguarded ear! Unrecognised

for what they are, their beauty, like music, too often relaxes, then weakens, then perverts the simpler human

Caroline, or Sister Carrie, as she had been half affectionately termed by the family, was possessed of a mind

rudimentary in its power of observation and analysis. Selfinterest with her was high, but not strong. It was,

nevertheless, her guiding characteristic. Warm with the fancies of youth, pretty with the insipid prettiness of

the formative period, possessed of a figure promising eventual shapeliness and an eye alight with certain

native intelligence, she was a fair example of the middle American classtwo generations removed from the

emigrant. Books were beyond her interestknowledge a sealed book. In the intuitive graces she was still

crude. She could scarcely toss her head gracefully. Her hands were almost ineffectual. The feet, though small,

were set flatly. And yet she was interested in her charms, quick to understand the keener pleasures of life,

ambitious to gain in material things. A halfequipped little knight she was, venturing to reconnoitre the

mysterious city and dreaming wild dreams of some vague, faroff supremacy, which should make it prey and

"That," said a voice in her ear, "is one of the prettiest little resorts in Wisconsin."

The train was just pulling out of Waukesha. For some time she had been conscious of a man behind. She felt

him observing her mass of hair. He had been fidgetting, and with natural intuition she felt a certain interest

growing in that quarter. Her maidenly reserve, and a certain sense of what was conventional under the

circumstances, called her to forestall and deny this familiarity, but the daring and magnetism of the

He leaned forward to put his elbows upon the back of her seat and proceeded to make himself volubly

"Yes, that is a great resort for Chicago people. The hotels are swell. You are not familiar with this part of the

"Oh, yes, I am," answered Carrie. "That is, I live at Columbia City. I have never been through here, though."

All the time she was conscious of certain features out of the side of her eye. Flush, colourful cheeks, a light

moustache, a grey fedora hat. She now turned and looked upon him in full, the instincts of selfprotection

"Oh," he answered, in a very pleasing way and with an assumed air of mistake, "I thought you did."

Here was a type of the travelling canvasser for a manufacturing housea class which at that time was first

being dubbed by the slang of the day "drummers." He came within the meaning of a still newer term, which

had sprung into general use among Americans in 1880, and which concisely expressed the thought of one

whose dress or manners are calculated to elicit the admiration of susceptible young womena "masher." His

suit was of a striped and crossed pattern of brown wool, new at that time, but since become familiar as a

business suit. The low crotch of the vest revealed a stiff shirt bosom of white and pink stripes. From his coat

sleeves protruded a pair of linen cuffs of the same pattern, fastened with large, gold plate buttons, set with the

common yellow agates known as "cat'seyes." His fingers bore several ringsone, the everenduring heavy

sealand from his vest dangled a neat gold watch chain, from which was suspended the secret insignia of

the Order of Elks. The whole suit was rather tightfitting, and was finished off with heavysoled tan shoes,

highly polished, and the grey fedora hat. He was, for the order of intellect represented, attractive, and

whatever he had to recommend him, you may be sure was not lost upon Carrie, in this, her first glance.

Lest this order of individual should permanently pass, let me put down some of the most striking

characteristics of his most successful manner and method. Good clothes, of course, were the first essential,

the things without which he was nothing. A strong physical nature, actuated by a keen desire for the feminine,

was the next. A mind free of any consideration of the problems or forces of the world and actuated not by

greed, but an insatiable love of variable pleasure. His method was always simple. Its principal element was

daring, backed, of course, by an intense desire and admiration for the sex. Let him meet with a young woman

once and he would approach her with an air of kindly familiarity, not unmixed with pleading, which would

result in most cases in a tolerant acceptance. If she showed any tendency to coquetry he would be apt to

straighten her tie, or if she "took up" with him at all, to call her by her first name. If he visited a department

store it was to lounge familiarly over the counter and ask some leading questions. In more exclusive circles,

on the train or in waiting stations, he went slower. If some seemingly vulnerable object appeared he was all

attention to pass the compliments of the day, to lead the way to the parlor car, carrying her grip, or, failing

that, to take a seat next her with the hope of being able to court her to her destination. Pillows, books, a

footstool, the shade lowered; all these figured in the things which he could do. If, when she reached her

destination he did not alight and attend her baggage for her, it was because, in his own estimation, he had

A woman should some day write the complete philosophy of clothes. No matter how young, it is one of the

things she wholly comprehends. There is an indescribably faint line in the matter of man's apparel which

somehow divides for her those who are worth glancing at and those who are not. Once an individual has

passed this faint line on the way downward he will get no glance from her. There is another line at which the

dress of a man will cause her to study her own. This line the individual at her elbow now marked for Carrie.

She became conscious of an inequality. Her own plain blue dress, with its black cotton tape trimmings, now

"Let's see," he went on, "I know quite a number of people in your town. Morgenroth the clothier and Gibson

"Oh, do you?" she interrupted, aroused by memories of longings their show windows had cost her.

At last he had a clew to her interest, and followed it deftly. In a few minutes he had come about into her seat.

He talked of sales of clothing, his travels, Chicago, and the amusements of that city.

"You want to see Lincoln Park," he said, "and Michigan Boulevard. They are putting up great buildings there.

It's a second New Yorkgreat. So much to seetheatres, crowds, fine housesoh, you'll like that."

There was a little ache in her fancy of all he described. Her insignificance in the presence of so much

magnificence faintly affected her. She realised that hers was not to be a round of pleasure, and yet there was

something promising in all the material prospect he set forth. There was something satisfactory in the

attention of this individual with his good clothes. She could not help smiling as he told her of some popular

actress of whom she reminded him. She was not silly, and yet attention of this sort had its weight.

"You will be in Chicago some little time, won't you?" he observed at one turn of the now easy conversation.

"I don't know," said Carrie vaguelya flash vision of the possibility of her not securing employment rising

There was much more passing now than the mere words indicated. He recognised the indescribable thing that

made up for fascination and beauty in her. She realised that she was of interest to him from the one standpoint

which a woman both delights in and fears. Her manner was simple, though for the very reason that she had

not yet learned the many little affectations with which women conceal their true feelings. Some things she did

appeared bold. A clever companionhad she ever had one would have warned her never to look a man in

"Well, I'm going to be there several weeks. I'm going to study stock at our place and get new samples. I might

"I don't know whether you can or not. I mean I don't know whether I can. I shall be living with my sister,

"Well, if she minds, we'll fix that." He took out his pencil and a little pocket notebook as if it were all

He reached down in his hip pocket and took out a fat purse. It was filled with slips of paper, some mileage

books, a roll of greenbacks. It impressed her deeply. Such a purse had never been carried by any one attentive

to her. Indeed, an experienced traveller, a brisk man of the world, had never come within such close range

before. The purse, the shiny tan shoes, the smart new suit, and the air with which he did things, built up for

her a dim world of fortune, of which he was the centre. It disposed her pleasantly toward all he might do.

He took out a neat business card, on which was engraved Bartlett, Caryoe & Company, and down in the

"That's me," he said, putting the card in her hand and touching his name. "It's pronounced Dreweh. Our

She looked at it while he put up his purse. Then he got out a letter from a bunch in his coat pocket. "This is

the house I travel for," he went on, pointing to a picture on it, "corner of State and Lake." There was pride in

his voice. He felt that it was something to be connected with such a place, and he made her feel that way.

"Carrie Meeber," she said slowly. "Three hundred and fiftyfour West Van Buren Street, care S. C. Hanson."

He wrote it carefully down and got out the purse again. "You'll be at home if I come around Monday night?"

How true it is that words are but the vague shadows of the volumes we mean. Little audible links, they are,

chaining together great inaudible feelings and purposes. Here were these two, bandying little phrases,

drawing purses, looking at cards, and both unconscious of how inarticulate all their real feelings were.

Neither was wise enough to be sure of the working of the mind of the other. He could not tell how his luring

succeeded. She could not realise that she was drifting, until he secured her address. Now she felt that she had

yielded somethinghe, that he had gained a victory. Already they felt that they were somehow associated.

Already he took control in directing the conversation. His words were easy. Her manner was relaxed.

They were nearing Chicago. Signs were everywhere numerous. Trains flashed by them. Across wide stretches

of flat, open prairie they could see lines of telegraph poles stalking across the fields toward the great city. Far

away were indications of suburban towns, some big smokestacks towering high in the air.

Frequently there were twostory frame houses standing out in the open fields, without fence or trees, lone

To the child, the genius with imagination, or the wholly untravelled, the approach to a great city for the first

time is a wonderful thing. Particularly if it be eveningthat mystic period between the glare and gloom of

the world when life is changing from one sphere or condition to another. Ah, the promise of the night. What

does it not hold for the weary! What old illusion of hope is not here forever repeated! Says the soul of the

toiler to itself, "I shall soon be free. I shall be in the ways and the hosts of the merry. The streets, the lamps,

the lighted chamber set for dining, are for me. The theatre, the halls, the parties, the ways of rest and the paths

of songthese are mine in the night." Though all humanity be still enclosed in the shops, the thrill runs

abroad. It is in the air. The dullest feel something which they may not always express or describe. It is the

Sister Carrie gazed out of the window. Her companion, affected by her wonder, so contagious are all things,

"This is Northwest Chicago," said Drouet. "This is the Chicago River," and he pointed to a little muddy

creek, crowded with the huge masted wanderers from faroff waters nosing the blackposted banks. With a

puff, a clang, and a clatter of rails it was gone. "Chicago is getting to be a great town," he went on. "It's a

She did not hear this very well. Her heart was troubled by a kind of terror. The fact that she was alone, away

from home, rushing into a great sea of life and endeavour, began to tell. She could not help but feel a little

choked for breatha little sick as her heart beat so fast. She half closed her eyes and tried to think it was

"Chicago! Chicago!" called the brakeman, slamming open the door. They were rushing into a more crowded

yard, alive with the clatter and clang of life. She began to gather up her poor little grip and closed her hand

firmly upon her purse. Drouet arose, kicked his legs to straighten his trousers, and seized his clean yellow

"I suppose your people will be here to meet you?" he said. "Let me carry your grip."

"Oh, no," she said. "I'd rather you wouldn't. I'd rather you wouldn't be with me when I meet my sister."

"All right," he said in all kindness. "I'll be near, though, in case she isn't here, and take you out there safely."

"You're so kind," said Carrie, feeling the goodness of such attention in her strange situation.

"Chicago!" called the brakeman, drawing the word out long. They were under a great shadowy train shed,

where the lamps were already beginning to shine out, with passenger cars all about and the train moving at a

"Well, here we are," said Drouet, leading the way to the door. "Goodbye, till I see you Monday."

They filed out, and he affected to take no notice of her. A leanfaced, rather commonplace woman

Carrie realised the change of affectional atmosphere at once. Amid all the maze, uproar, and novelty she felt

cold reality taking her by the hand. No world of light and merriment. No round of amusement. Her sister

Carrie answered, but was looking away. Down the aisle, toward the gate leading into the waitingroom and

the street, stood Drouet. He was looking back. When he saw that she saw him and was safe with her sister he

turned to go, sending back the shadow of a smile. Only Carrie saw it. She felt something lost to her when he

moved away. When he disappeared she felt his absence thoroughly. With her sister she was much alone, a

Minnie's flat, as the onefloor resident apartments were then being called, was in a part of West Van Buren

Street inhabited by families of labourers and clerks, men who had come, and were still coming, with the rush

of population pouring in at the rate of 50,000 a year. It was on the third floor, the front windows looking

down into the street, where, at night, the lights of grocery stores were shining and children were playing. To

Carrie, the sound of the little bells upon the horsecars, as they tinkled in and out of hearing, was as pleasing

as it was novel. She gazed into the lighted street when Minnie brought her into the front room, and wondered

at the sounds, the movement, the murmur of the vast city which stretched for miles and miles in every

Mrs. Hanson, after the first greetings were over, gave Carrie the baby and proceeded to get supper. Her

husband asked a few questions and sat down to read the evening paper. He was a silent man, American born,

of a Swede father, and now employed as a cleaner of refrigerator cars at the stockyards. To him the presence

or absence of his wife's sister was a matter of indifference. Her personal appearance did not affect him one

way or the other. His one observation to the point was concerning the chances of work in Chicago.

"It's a big place," he said. "You can get in somewhere in a few days. Everybody does."

It had been tacitly understood beforehand that she was to get work and pay her board. He was of a clean,

saving disposition, and had already paid a number of monthly instalments on two lots far out on the West

In the interval which marked the preparation of the meal Carrie found time to study the flat. She had some

She felt the drag of a lean and narrow life. The walls of the rooms were discordantly papered. The floors were

covered with matting and the hall laid with a thin rag carpet. One could see that the furniture was of that poor,

She sat with Minnie, in the kitchen, holding the baby until it began to cry. Then she walked and sang to it,

until Hanson, disturbed in his reading, came and took it. A pleasant side to his nature came out here. He was

"Now, now," he said, walking. "There, there," and there was a certain Swedish accent noticeable in his voice.

"You'll want to see the city first, won't you?" said Minnie, when they were eating. "Well, we'll go out Sunday

Carrie noticed that Hanson had said nothing to this. He seemed to be thinking of something else.

"Well," she said, "I think I'll look around tomorrow. I've got Friday and Saturday, and it won't be any trouble.

Minnie began to explain, but her husband took this part of the conversation to himself.

"It's that way," he said, pointing east. "That's east." Then he went off into the longest speech he had yet

indulged in, concerning the lay of Chicago. "You'd better look in those big manufacturing houses along

Franklin Street and just the other side of the river," he concluded. "Lots of girls work there. You could get

Carrie nodded and asked her sister about the neighbourhood. The latter talked in a subdued tone, telling the

little she knew about it, while Hanson concerned himself with the baby. Finally he jumped up and handed the

"I've got to get up early in the morning, so I'll go to bed," and off he went, disappearing into the dark little

"He works way down at the stockyards," explained Minnie, "so he's got to get up at halfpast five."

Together they finished the labour of the day, Carrie washing the dishes while Minnie undressed the baby and

put it to bed. Minnie's manner was one of trained industry, and Carrie could see that it was a steady round of

She began to see that her relations with Drouet would have to be abandoned. He could not come here. She

read from the manner of Hanson, in the subdued air of Minnie, and, indeed, the whole atmosphere of the flat,

a settled opposition to anything save a conservative round of toil. If Hanson sat every evening in the front

room and read his paper, if he went to bed at nine, and Minnie a little later, what would they expect of her?

She saw that she would first need to get work and establish herself on a paying basis before she could think of

having company of any sort. Her little flirtation with Drouet seemed now an extraordinary thing.

She asked Minnie for ink and paper, which were upon the mantel in the diningroom, and when the latter had

"I cannot have you call on me here. You will have to wait until you hear from me again. My sister's place is

She troubled herself over what else to put in the letter. She wanted to make some reference to their relations

upon the train, but was too timid. She concluded by thanking him for his kindness in a crude way, then

puzzled over the formality of signing her name, and finally decided upon the severe, winding up with a "Very

truly," which she subsequently changed to "Sincerely." She scaled and addressed the letter, and going in the

front room, the alcove of which contained her bed, drew the one small rockingchair up to the open window,

and sat looking out upon the night and streets in silent wonder. Finally, wearied by her own reflections, she

began to grow dull in her chair, and feeling the need of sleep, arranged her clothing for the night and went to

When she awoke at eight the next morning, Hanson had gone. Her sister was busy in the diningroom, which

was also the sittingroom, sewing. She worked, after dressing, to arrange a little breakfast for herself, and then

advised with Minnie as to which way to look. The latter had changed considerably since Carrie had seen her.

She was now a thin, though rugged, woman of twentyseven, with ideas of life coloured by her husband's, and

fast hardening into narrower conceptions of pleasure and duty than had ever been hers in a thoroughly

circumscribed youth. She had invited Carrie, not because she longed for her presence, but because the latter

was dissatisfied at home, and could probably get work and pay her board here. She was pleased to see her in a

way but reflected her husband's point of view in the matter of work. Anything was good enough so long as it

paidsay, five dollars a week to begin with. A shop girl was the destiny prefigured for the newcomer. She

would get in one of the great shops and do well enough untilwell, until something happened. Neither of

them knew exactly what. They did not figure on promotion. They did not exactly count on marriage. Things

would go on, though, in a dim kind of way until the better thing would eventuate, and Carrie would be

rewarded for coming and toiling in the city. It was under such auspicious circumstances that she started out

Before following her in her round of seeking, let us look at the sphere in which her future was to lie. In 1889

Chicago had the peculiar qualifications of growth which made such adventuresome pilgrimages even on the

part of young girls plausible. Its many and growing commercial opportunities gave it widespread fame, which

made of it a giant magnet, drawing to itself, from all quarters, the hopeful and the hopelessthose who had

their fortune yet to make and those whose fortunes and affairs had reached a disastrous climax elsewhere. It

was a city of over 500,000, with the ambition, the daring, the activity of a metropolis of a million. Its streets

and houses were already scattered over an area of seventyfive square miles. Its population was not so much

thriving upon established commerce as upon the industries which prepared for the arrival of others. The

sound of the hammer engaged upon the erection of new structures was everywhere heard. Great industries

were moving in. The huge railroad corporations which had long before recognised the prospects of the place

had seized upon vast tracts of land for transfer and shipping purposes. Streetcar lines had been extended far

out into the open country in anticipation of rapid growth. The city had laid miles and miles of streets and

sewers through regions where, perhaps, one solitary house stood out alonea pioneer of the populous ways

to be. There were regions open to the sweeping winds and rain, which were yet lighted throughout the night

with long, blinking lines of gaslamps, fluttering in the wind. Narrow board walks extended out, passing here

a house, and there a store, at far intervals, eventually ending on the open prairie.

In the central portion was the vast wholesale and shopping district, to which the uninformed seeker for work

usually drifted. It was a characteristic of Chicago then, and one not generally shared by other cities, that

individual firms of any pretension occupied individual buildings. The presence of ample ground made this

possible. It gave an imposing appearance to most of the wholesale houses, whose offices were upon the

ground floor and in plain view of the street. The large plates of window glass, now so common, were then

rapidly coming into use, and gave to the ground floor offices a distinguished and prosperous look. The casual

wanderer could see as he passed a polished array of office fixtures, much frosted glass, clerks hard at work,

and genteel businessmen in "nobby" suits and clean linen lounging about or sitting in groups. Polished brass

or nickel signs at the square stone entrances announced the firm and the nature of the business in rather neat

and reserved terms. The entire metropolitan centre possessed a high and mighty air calculated to overawe and

abash the common applicant, and to make the gulf between poverty and success seem both wide and deep.

Into this important commercial region the timid Carrie went. She walked east along Van Buren Street through

a region of lessening importance, until it deteriorated into a mass of shanties and coalyards, and finally

verged upon the river. She walked bravely forward, led by an honest desire to find employment and delayed

at every step by the interest of the unfolding scene, and a sense of helplessness amid so much evidence of

power and force which she did not understand. These vast buildings, what were they? These strange energies

and huge interests, for what purposes were they there? She could have understood the meaning of a little

stonecutter's yard at Columbia City, carving little pieces of marble for individual use, but when the yards of

some huge stone corporation came into view, filled with spur tracks and flat cars, transpierced by docks from

the river and traversed overhead by immense trundling cranes of wood and steel, it lost all significance in her

It was so with the vast railroad yards, with the crowded array of vessels she saw at the river, and the huge

factories over the way, lining the water's edge. Through the open windows she could see the figures of men

and women in working aprons, moving busily about. The great streets were walllined mysteries to her; the

vast offices, strange mazes which concerned faroff individuals of importance. She could only think of

people connected with them as counting money, dressing magnificently, and riding in carriages. What they

dealt in, how they laboured, to what end it all came, she had only the vaguest conception. It was all

wonderful, all vast, all far removed, and she sank in spirit inwardly and fluttered feebly at the heart as she

thought of entering any one of these mighty concerns and asking for something to dosomething that she

Once across the river and into the wholesale district, she glanced about her for some likely door at which to

apply. As she contemplated the wide windows and imposing signs, she became conscious of being gazed

upon and understood for what she wasa wageseeker. She had never done this thing before, and lacked

courage. To avoid a certain indefinable shame she felt at being caught spying about for a position, she

quickened her steps and assumed an air of indifference supposedly common to one upon an errand. In this

way she passed many manufacturing and wholesale houses without once glancing in. At last, after several

blocks of walking, she felt that this would not do, and began to look about again, though without relaxing her

pace. A little way on she saw a great door which, for some reason, attracted her attention. It was ornamented

by a small brass sign, and seemed to be the entrance to a vast hive of six or seven floors. "Perhaps," she

thought, "they may want some one," and crossed over to enter. When she came within a score of feet of the

desired goal, she saw through the window a young man in a grey checked suit. That he had anything to do

with the concern, she could not tell, but because he happened to be looking in her direction her weakening

heart misgave her and she hurried by, too overcome with shame to enter. Over the way stood a great sixstory

structure, labelled Storm and King, which she viewed with rising hope. It was a wholesale dry goods concern

and employed women. She could see them moving about now and then upon the upper floors. This place she

decided to enter, no matter what. She crossed over and walked directly toward the entrance. As she did so,

two men came out and paused in the door. A telegraph messenger in blue dashed past her and up the few

steps that led to the entrance and disappeared. Several pedestrians out of the hurrying throng which filled the

sidewalks passed about her as she paused, hesitating. She looked helplessly around, and then, seeing herself

So severe a defeat told sadly upon her nerves. Her feet carried her mechanically forward, every foot of her

progress being a satisfactory portion of a flight which she gladly made. Block after block passed by. Upon

streetlamps at the various corners she read names such as Madison, Monroe, La Salle, Clark, Dearborn, State,

and still she went, her feet beginning to tire upon the broad stone flagging. She was pleased in part that the

streets were bright and clean. The morning sun, shining down with steadily increasing warmth, made the

shady side of the streets pleasantly cool. She looked at the blue sky overhead with more realisation of its

Her cowardice began to trouble her in a way. She turned back, resolving to hunt up Storm and King and

enter. On the way, she encountered a great wholesale shoe company, through the broad plate windows of

which she saw an enclosed executive department, hidden by frosted glass. Without this enclosure, but just

within the street entrance, sat a greyhaired gentleman at a small table, with a large open ledger before him.

She walked by this institution several times hesitating, but, finding herself unobserved, faltered past the

"Well, young lady," observed the old gentleman, looking at her somewhat kindly, "what is it you wish?"

"Not just at present," he answered smiling. "Not just at present. Come in some time next week. Occasionally

She received the answer in silence and backed awkwardly out. The pleasant nature of her reception rather

astonished her. She had expected that it would be more difficult, that something cold and harsh would be

saidshe knew not what. That she had not been put to shame and made to feel her unfortunate position,

Somewhat encouraged, she ventured into another large structure. It was a clothing company, and more people

were in evidence welldressed men of forty and more, surrounded by brass railings.

He ran away and spoke to one of a group of three men who were conferring together. One of these came

She went foolishly out, the office boy deferentially swinging the door for her, and gladly sank into the

Now she walked quite aimlessly for a time, turning here and there, seeing one great company after another,

but finding no courage to prosecute her single inquiry. High noon came, and with it hunger. She hunted out

an unassuming restaurant and entered, but was disturbed to find that the prices were exorbitant for the size of

her purse. A bowl of soup was all that she could afford, and, with this quickly eaten, she went out again. It

restored her strength somewhat and made her moderately bold to pursue the search.

In walking a few blocks to fix upon some probable place, she again encountered the firm of Storm and King,

and this time managed to get in. Some gentlemen were conferring close at hand, but took no notice of her.

She was left standing, gazing nervously upon the floor. When the limit of her distress had been nearly

reached, she was beckoned to by a man at one of the many desks within the nearby railing.

"Why, any one, if you please," she answered. "I am looking for something to do."

"Oh, you want to see Mr. McManus," he returned. "Sit down," and he pointed to a chair against the

neighbouring wall. He went on leisurely writing, until after a time a short, stout gentleman came in from the

The short gentleman turned about towards Carrie, and she arose and came forward.

"Have you ever had any experience in the wholesale dry goods business?" he questioned.

She began to step backward toward the door, when something about her plaintive face attracted him.

"Well, now, it's hardly possible that you would get anything to do in a wholesale house of this kind. Have you

"Well, if I were you," he said, looking at her rather genially, "I would try the department stores. They often

"Thank you," she said, her whole nature relieved by this spark of friendly interest.

"Yes," he said, as she moved toward the door, "you try the department stores," and off he went.

At that time the department store was in its earliest form of successful operation, and there were not many.

The first three in the United States, established about 1884, were in Chicago. Carrie was familiar with the

names of several through the advertisements in the "Daily News," and now proceeded to seek them. The

words of Mr. McManus had somehow managed to restore her courage, which had fallen low, and she dared

to hope that this new line would offer her something. Some time she spent in wandering up and down,

thinking to encounter the buildings by chance, so readily is the mind, bent upon prosecuting a hard but

needful errand, eased by that selfdeception which the semblance of search, without the reality, gives. At last

she inquired of a police officer, and was directed to proceed "two blocks up," where she would find "The

The nature of these vast retail combinations, should they ever permanently disappear, will form an interesting

chapter in the commercial history of our nation. Such a flowering out of a modest trade principle the world

had never witnessed up to that time. They were along the line of the most effective retail organisation, with

hundreds of stores coordinated into one and laid out upon the most imposing and economic basis. They were

handsome, bustling, successful affairs, with a host of clerks and a swarm of patrons. Carrie passed along the

busy aisles, much affected by the remarkable displays of trinkets, dress goods, stationery, and jewelry. Each

separate counter was a show place of dazzling interest and attraction. She could not help feeling the claim of

each trinket and valuable upon her personally, and yet she did not stop. There was nothing there which she

could not have usednothing which she did not long to own. The dainty slippers and stockings, the

delicately frilled skirts and petticoats, the laces, ribbons, haircombs, purses, all touched her with individual

desire, and she felt keenly the fact that not any of these things were in the range of her purchase. She was a

workseeker, an outcast without employment, one whom the average employee could tell at a glance was

It must not be thought that any one could have mistaken her for a nervous, sensitive, highstrung nature, cast

unduly upon a cold, calculating, and unpoetic world. Such certainly she was not. But women are peculiarly

Not only did Carrie feel the drag of desire for all which was new and pleasing in apparel for women, but she

noticed too, with a touch at the heart, the fine ladies who elbowed and ignored her, brushing past in utter

disregard of her presence, themselves eagerly enlisted in the materials which the store contained. Carrie was

not familiar with the appearance of her more fortunate sisters of the city. Neither had she before known the

nature and appearance of the shop girls with whom she now compared poorly. They were pretty in the main,

some even handsome, with an air of independence and indifference which added, in the case of the more

favoured, a certain piquancy. Their clothes were neat, in many instances fine, and wherever she encountered

the eye of one it was only to recognise in it a keen analysis of her own positionher individual shortcomings

of dress and that shadow of manner which she thought must hang about her and make clear to all who and

what she was. A flame of envy lighted in her heart. She realised in a dim way how much the city

heldwealth, fashion, easeevery adornment for women, and she longed for dress and beauty with a whole

On the second floor were the managerial offices, to which, after some inquiry, she was now directed. There

she found other girls ahead of her, applicants like herself, but with more of that selfsatisfied and

independent air which experience of the city lends; girls who scrutinised her in a painful manner. After a wait

"Now," said a sharp, quickmannered Jew, who was sitting at a rolltop desk near the window, "have you

"Well, we prefer young women just now with some experience. I guess we can't use you."

Carrie stood waiting a moment, hardly certain whether the interview had terminated.

"Hold on," he said, calling her back. "Give me your name and address. We want girls occasionally."

When she had gotten safely into the street, she could scarcely restrain the tears. It was not so much the

particular rebuff which she had just experienced, but the whole abashing trend of the day. She was tired and

nervous. She abandoned the thought of appealing to the other department stores and now wandered on,

In her indifferent wandering she turned into Jackson Street, not far from the river, and was keeping her way

along the south side of that imposing thoroughfare, when a piece of wrapping paper, written on with marking

ink and tacked up on the door, attracted her attention. It read, "Girls wantedwrappers & stitchers." She

The firm of Speigelheim & Co., makers of boys' caps, occupied one floor of the building, fifty feet in width

and some eighty feet in depth. It was a place rather dingily lighted, the darkest portions having incandescent

lights, filled with machines and work benches. At the latter laboured quite a company of girls and some men.

The former were drabbylooking creatures, stained in face with oil and dust, clad in thin, shapeless, cotton

dresses and shod with more or less worn shoes. Many of them had their sleeves rolled up, revealing bare

arms, and in some cases, owing to the heat, their dresses were open at the neck. They were a fair type of

nearly the lowest order of shopgirls careless, slouchy, and more or less pale from confinement. They

were not timid, however; were rich in curiosity, and strong in daring and slang.

Carrie looked about her, very much disturbed and quite sure that she did not want to work here. Aside from

making her uncomfortable by sidelong glances, no one paid her the least attention. She waited until the whole

department was aware of her presence. Then some word was sent around, and a foreman, in an apron and

"Well," said the foreman, scratching his ear meditatively, "we do need a stitcher. We like experienced help,

though. We've hardly got time to break people in." He paused and looked away out of the window. "We

"How much do you pay a week?" ventured Carrie, emboldened by a certain softness in the man's manner and

"Oh," she was about to exclaim, but checked herself and allowed her thoughts to die without expression.

"We're not exactly in need of anybody," he went on vaguely, looking her over as one would a package. "You

He walked away and left her standing by the elevator, never so much as inquiring her name.

While the appearance of the shop and the announcement of the price paid per week operated very much as a

blow to Carrie's fancy, the fact that work of any kind was offered after so rude a round of experience was

gratifying. She could not begin to believe that she would take the place, modest as her aspirations were. She

had been used to better than that. Her mere experience and the free outofdoor life of the country caused her

nature to revolt at such confinement. Dirt had never been her share. Her sister's flat was clean. This place was

grimy and low, the girls were careless and hardened. They must be badminded and hearted, she imagined.

Still, a place had been offered her. Surely Chicago was not so bad if she could find one place in one day. She

Her subsequent experiences were not of a reassuring nature, however. From all the more pleasing or

imposing places she was turned away abruptly with the most chilling formality. In others where she applied

only the experienced were required. She met with painful rebuffs, the most trying of which had been in a

"No, no," said the foreman, a rough, heavily built individual, who looked after a miserably lighted workshop,

With the wane of the afternoon went her hopes, her courage, and her strength. She had been astonishingly

persistent. So earnest an effort was well deserving of a better reward. On every hand, to her fatigued senses,

the great business portion grew larger, harder, more stolid in its indifference. It seemed as if it was all closed

to her, that the struggle was too fierce for her to hope to do anything at all. Men and women hurried by in

long, shifting lines. She felt the flow of the tide of effort and interestfelt her own helplessness without

quite realising the wisp on the tide that she was. She cast about vainly for some possible place to apply, but

found no door which she had the courage to enter. It would be the same thing all over. The old humiliation of

her plea, rewarded by curt denial. Sick at heart and in body, she turned to the west, the direction of Minnie's

flat, which she had now fixed in mind, and began that wearisome, baffled retreat which the seeker for

employment at nightfall too often makes. In passing through Fifth Avenue, south towards Van Buren Street,

where she intended to take a car, she passed the door of a large wholesale shoe house, through the plateglass

windows of which she could see a middleaged gentleman sitting at a small desk. One of those forlorn

impulses which often grow out of a fixed sense of defeat, the last sprouting of a baffled and uprooted growth

of ideas, seized upon her. She walked deliberately through the door and up to the gentleman, who looked at

"Now, I really don't know," he said kindly. "What kind of work is it you wantyou're not a typewriter, are

"Well, we only employ bookkeepers and typewriters here. You might go around to the side and inquire

She hastened around to the side entrance and was taken up by the elevator to the fourth floor.

Willie went off and presently returned with the information that Mr. Brown said she should sit down and that

It was a portion of the stock room which gave no idea of the general character of the place, and Carrie could

"So you want something to do," said Mr. Brown, after he inquired concerning the nature of her errand. "Have

"What is your name?" he inquired, and being informed, "Well, I don't know as I have anything for you.

Carrie was too worn by defeat not to feel that it was considerable. She had not expected that he would offer

"Well," he said, finally, "you report here at eight o'clock Monday morning. I think I can find something for

He left her revived by the possibilities, sure that she had found something at last. Instantly the blood crept

warmly over her body. Her nervous tension relaxed. She walked out into the busy street and discovered a new

atmosphere. Behold, the throng was moving with a lightsome step. She noticed that men and women were

smiling. Scraps of conversation and notes of laughter floated to her. The air was light. People were already

pouring out of the buildings, their labour ended for the day. She noticed that they were pleased, and thoughts

of her sister's home and the meal that would be awaiting her quickened her steps. She hurried on, tired

perhaps, but no longer weary of foot. What would not Minnie say! Ah, the long winter in Chicagothe

lights, the crowd, the amusement! This was a great, pleasing metropolis after all. Her new firm was a goodly

institution. Its windows were of huge plate glass. She could probably do well there. Thoughts of Drouet

returnedof the things he had told her. She now felt that life was better, that it was livelier, sprightlier. She

boarded a car in the best of spirits, feeling her blood still flowing pleasantly. She would live in Chicago, her

mind kept saying to itself. She would have a better time than she had ever had beforeshe would be happy.

Her fancy plunged recklessly into privileges and amusements which would have been much more becoming

had she been cradled a child of fortune. With ready will and quick mental selection she scattered her meagre

fourfifty per week with a swift and graceful hand. Indeed, as she sat in her rockingchair these several

evenings before going to bed and looked out upon the pleasantly lighted street, this money cleared for its

prospective possessor the way to every joy and every bauble which the heart of woman may desire. "I will

Her sister Minnie knew nothing of these rather wild cerebrations, though they exhausted the markets of

delight. She was too busy scrubbing the kitchen woodwork and calculating the purchasing power of eighty

cents for Sunday's dinner. When Carrie had returned home, flushed with her first success and ready, for all

her weariness, to discuss the now interesting events which led up to her achievement, the former had merely

smiled approvingly and inquired whether she would have to spend any of it for car fare. This consideration

had not entered in before, and it did not now for long affect the glow of Carrie's enthusiasm. Disposed as she

then was to calculate upon that vague basis which allows the subtraction of one sum from another without

When Hanson came home at seven o'clock, he was inclined to be a little crustyhis usual demeanour before

supper. This never showed so much in anything he said as in a certain solemnity of countenance and the

silent manner in which he slopped about. He had a pair of yellow carpet slippers which he enjoyed wearing,

and these he would immediately substitute for his solid pair of shoes. This, and washing his face with the aid

of common washing soap until it glowed a shiny red, constituted his only preparation for his evening meal.

For a young man, this was rather a morbid turn of character, and so affected Carrie. Indeed, it affected the

entire atmosphere of the flat, as such things are inclined to do, and gave to his wife's mind its subdued and

tactful turn, anxious to avoid taciturn replies. Under the influence of Carrie's announcement he brightened up

He asked her one or two more questions and then turned to play with the baby, leaving the subject until it was

Carrie, however, was not to be reduced to the common level of observation which prevailed in the flat.

"Great big plateglass windows and lots of clerks. The man I saw said they hired ever so many people."

Minnie, under the warming influence of Carrie's good spirits and her husband's somewhat conversational

mood, began to tell Carrie of some of the wellknown things to seethings the enjoyment of which cost

"You'd like to see Michigan Avenue. There are such fine houses. It is such a fine street."

"Where is H. R. Jacob's?" interrupted Carrie, mentioning one of the theatres devoted to melodrama which

"Oh, it's not very far from here," answered Minnie. "It's in Halstead Street, right up here."

At this there was a slight halt in the natural reply. Thoughts are a strangely permeating factor. At her

suggestion of going to the theatre, the unspoken shade of disapproval to the doing of those things which

involved the expenditure of moneyshades of feeling which arose in the mind of Hanson and then in

Minnie slightly affected the atmosphere of the table. Minnie answered "yes," but Carrie could feel that

going to the theatre was poorly advocated here. The subject was put off for a little while until Hanson,

When they were alone, the two sisters began a somewhat freer conversation, Carrie interrupting it to hum a

"I should like to walk up and see Halstead Street, if it isn't too far," said Carrie, after a time. "Why don't we

"Oh, I don't think Sven would want to go tonight," returned Minnie. "He has to get up so early."

Minnie pondered a while, not upon whether she could or would go for that point was already negatively

settled with herbut upon some means of diverting the thoughts of her sister to some other topic.

"No," returned Minnie softly, and rattling the dishes to drown the conversation. "He wouldn't."

It had been several years since Minnie had seen Carrie, and in that time the latter's character had developed a

few shades. Naturally timid in all things that related to her own advancement, and especially so when without

power or resource, her craving for pleasure was so strong that it was the one stay of her nature. She would

Minnie was thinking of the resource which Carrie's board would add. It would pay the rent and would make

the subject of expenditure a little less difficult to talk about with her husband. But if Carrie was going to think

of running around in the beginning there would be a hitch somewhere. Unless Carrie submitted to a solemn

round of industry and saw the need of hard work without longing for play, how was her coming to the city to

profit them? These thoughts were not those of a cold, hard nature at all. They were the serious reflections of a

mind which invariably adjusted itself, without much complaining, to such surroundings as its industry could

At last she yielded enough to ask Hanson. It was a halfhearted procedure without a shade of desire on her

"Carrie wants us to go to the theatre," she said, looking in upon her husband. Hanson looked up from his

paper, and they exchanged a mild look, which said as plainly as anything: "This isn't what we expected."

When Carrie saw how they looked upon her proposition, she gained a still clearer feeling of their way of life.

"I think I'll go down and stand at the foot of the stairs," she said, after a time.

"Where has Carrie gone?" asked Hanson, coming back into the diningroom when he heard the door close.

"She said she was going down to the foot of the stairs," answered Minnie. "I guess she just wants to look out

"She oughtn't to be thinking about spending her money on theatres already, do you think?" he said.

"She just feels a little curious, I guess," ventured Minnie. "Everything is so new."

"I don't know," said Hanson, and went over to the baby, his forehead slightly wrinkled.

He was thinking of a full career of vanity and wastefulness which a young girl might indulge in, and

wondering how Carrie could contemplate such a course when she had so little, as yet, with which to do.

On Saturday Carrie went out by herselffirst toward the river, which interested her, and then back along

Jackson Street, which was then lined by the pretty houses and fine lawns which subsequently caused it to be

made into a boulevard. She was struck with the evidences of wealth, although there was, perhaps, not a

person on the street worth more than a hundred thousand dollars. She was glad to be out of the flat, because

already she felt that it was a narrow, humdrum place, and that interest and joy lay elsewhere. Her thoughts

now were of a more liberal character, and she punctuated them with speculations as to the whereabouts of

Drouet. She was not sure but that he might call anyhow Monday night, and, while she felt a little disturbed at

the possibility, there was, nevertheless, just the shade of a wish that he would.

On Monday she arose early and prepared to go to work. She dressed herself in a worn shirtwaist of dotted

blue percale, a skirt of lightbrown serge rather faded, and a small straw hat which she had worn all summer

at Columbia City. Her shoes were old, and her necktie was in that crumpled, flattened state which time and

much wearing impart. She made a very average looking shopgirl with the exception of her features. These

were slightly more even than common, and gave her a sweet, reserved, and pleasing appearance.

It is no easy thing to get up early in the morning when one is used to sleeping until seven and eight, as Carrie

had been at home. She gained some inkling of the character of Hanson's life when, half asleep, she looked out

into the diningroom at six o'clock and saw him silently finishing his breakfast. By the time she was dressed

he was gone, and she, Minnie, and the baby ate together, the latter being just old enough to sit in a high chair

and disturb the dishes with a spoon. Her spirits were greatly subdued now when the fact of entering upon

strange and untried duties confronted her. Only the ashes of all her fine fancies were remainingashes still

concealing, nevertheless, a few red embers of hope. So subdued was she by her weakening nerves, that she

ate quite in silence going over imaginary conceptions of the character of the shoe company, the nature of the

work, her employer's attitude. She was vaguely feeling that she would come in contact with the great owners,

"Well, good luck," said Minnie, when she was ready to go. They had agreed it was best to walk, that morning

at least, to see if she could do it every daysixty cents a week for car fare being quite an item under the

Once in the sunlit street, with labourers tramping by in either direction, the horsecars passing crowded to the

rails with the small clerks and floor help in the great wholesale houses, and men and women generally

coming out of doors and passing about the neighbourhood, Carrie felt slightly reassured. In the sunshine of

the morning, beneath the wide, blue heavens, with a fresh wind astir, what fears, except the most desperate,

can find a harbourage? In the night, or the gloomy chambers of the day, fears and misgivings wax strong, but

out in the sunlight there is, for a time, cessation even of the terror of death.

Carrie went straight forward until she crossed the river, and then turned into Fifth Avenue. The thoroughfare,

in this part, was like a walled canon of brown stone and dark red brick. The big windows looked shiny and

clean. Trucks were rumbling in increasing numbers; men and women, girls and boys were moving onward in

all directions. She met girls of her own age, who looked at her as if with contempt for her diffidence. She

wondered at the magnitude of this life and at the importance of knowing much in order to do anything in it at

all. Dread at her own inefficiency crept upon her. She would not know how, she would not be quick enough.

Had not all the other places refused her because she did not know something or other? She would be scolded,

It was with weak knees and a slight catch in her breathing that she came up to the great shoe company at

Adams and Fifth Avenue and entered the elevator. When she stepped out on the fourth floor there was no one

at hand, only great aisles of boxes piled to the ceiling. She stood, very much frightened, awaiting some one.

He led the way through dark, boxlined aisles which had the smell of new shoes, until they came to an iron

door which opened into the factory proper. There was a large, lowceiled room, with clacking, rattling

machines at which men in white shirt sleeves and blue gingham aprons were working. She followed him

diffidently through the clattering automatons, keeping her eyes straight before her, and flushing slightly. They

crossed to a far corner and took an elevator to the sixth floor. Out of the array of machines and benches, Mr.

"This is the girl," he said, and turning to Carrie, "You go with him." He then returned, and Carrie followed

her new superior to a little desk in a corner, which he used as a kind of official centre.

"You've never worked at anything like this before, have you?" he questioned, rather sternly.

He seemed rather annoyed at having to bother with such help, but put down her name and then led her across

to where a line of girls occupied stools in front of clacking machines. On the shoulder of one of the girls who

was punching eyeholes in one piece of the upper, by the aid of the machine, he put his hand.

"You," he said, "show this girl how to do what you're doing. When you get through, come to me."

"It isn't hard to do," she said, bending over. "You just take this so, fasten it with this clamp, and start the

She suited action to word, fastened the piece of leather, which was eventually to form the right half of the

upper of a man's shoe, by little adjustable clamps, and pushed a small steel rod at the side of the machine. The

latter jumped to the task of punching, with sharp, snapping clicks, cutting circular bits of leather out of the

side of the upper, leaving the holes which were to hold the laces. After observing a few times, the girl let her

The pieces of leather came from the girl at the machine to her right, and were passed on to the girl at her left.

Carrie saw at once that an average speed was necessary or the work would pile up on her and all those below

would be delayed. She had no time to look about, and bent anxiously to her task. The girls at her left and

right realised her predicament and feelings, and, in a way, tried to aid her, as much as they dared, by working

At this task she laboured incessantly for some time, finding relief from her own nervous fears and imaginings

in the humdrum, mechanical movement of the machine. She felt, as the minutes passed, that the room was not

very light. It had a thick odour of fresh leather, but that did not worry her. She felt the eyes of the other help

Once, when she was fumbling at the little clamp, having made a slight error in setting in the leather, a great

hand appeared before her eyes and fastened the clamp for her. It was the foreman. Her heart thumped so that

"Start your machine," he said, "start your machine. Don't keep the line waiting."

This recovered her sufficiently and she went excitedly on, hardly breathing until the shadow moved away

As the morning wore on the room became hotter. She felt the need of a breath of fresh air and a drink of

water, but did not venture to stir. The stool she sat on was without a back or footrest, and she began to feel

uncomfortable. She found, after a time, that her back was beginning to ache. She twisted and turned from one

position to another slightly different, but it did not ease her for long. She was beginning to weary.

"Stand up, why don't you?" said the girl at her right, without any form of introduction. "They won't care."

She stood up from her stool and worked that way for a while, but it was a more difficult position. Her neck

The spirit of the place impressed itself on her in a rough way. She did not venture to look around, but above

the clack of the machine she could hear an occasional remark. She could also note a thing or two out of the

"Did you see Harry last night?" said the girl at her left, addressing her neighbour.

"Sst," said the other girl, bending over her work. The first, silenced, instantly assumed a solemn face. The

foreman passed slowly along, eyeing each worker distinctly. The moment he was gone, the conversation was

"He said he saw us with Eddie Harris at Martin's last night." "No!" They both giggled.

A youth with tancoloured hair, that needed clipping very badly, came shuffling along between the machines,

bearing a basket of leather findings under his left arm, and pressed against his stomach. When near Carrie, he

"Rubber!" he called back as she looked after him. There was nothing of the gallant in him.

Carrie at last could scarcely sit still. Her legs began to tire and she wanted to get up and stretch. Would noon

never come? It seemed as if she had worked an entire day. She was not hungry at all, but weak, and her eyes

were tired, straining at the one point where the eyepunch came down. The girl at the right noticed her

squirmings and felt sorry for her. She was concentrating herself too thoroughlywhat she did really required

less mental and physical strain. There was nothing to be done, however. The halves of the uppers came piling

steadily down. Her hands began to ache at the wrists and then in the fingers, and towards the last she seemed

one mass of dull, complaining muscles, fixed in an eternal position and performing a single mechanical

movement which became more and more distasteful, until as last it was absolutely nauseating. When she was

wondering whether the strain would ever cease, a dullsounding bell clanged somewhere down an elevator

shaft, and the end came. In an instant there was a buzz of action and conversation. All the girls instantly left

their stools and hurried away in an adjoining room, men passed through, coming from some department

which opened on the right. The whirling wheels began to sing in a steadily modifying key, until at last they

died away in a low buzz. There was an audible stillness, in which the common voice sounded strange.

Carrie got up and sought her lunch box. She was stiff, a little dizzy, and very thirsty. On the way to the small

space portioned off by wood, where all the wraps and lunches were kept, she encountered the foreman, who

Under better material conditions, this kind of work would not have been so bad, but the new socialism which

involves pleasant working conditions for employees had not then taken hold upon manufacturing companies.

The place smelled of the oil of the machines and the new leather a combination which, added to the stale

odours of the building, was not pleasant even in cold weather. The floor, though regularly swept every

evening, presented a littered surface. Not the slightest provision had been made for the comfort of the

employees, the idea being that something was gained by giving them as little and making the work as hard

and unremunerative as possible. What we know of footrests, swivelback chairs, diningrooms for the girls,

clean aprons and curling irons supplied free, and a decent cloak room, were unthought of. The washrooms

were disagreeable, crude, if not foul places, and the whole atmosphere was sordid.

Carrie looked about her, after she had drunk a tinful of water from a bucket in one corner, for a place to sit

and eat. The other girls had ranged themselves about the windows or the workbenches of those of the men

who had gone out. She saw no place which did not hold a couple or a group of girls, and being too timid to

think of intruding herself, she sought out her machine and, seated upon her stool, opened her lunch on her lap.

There she sat listening to the chatter and comment about her. It was, for the most part, silly and graced by the

current slang. Several of the men in the room exchanged compliments with the girls at long range.

"Say, Kitty," called one to a girl who was doing a waltz step in a few feet of space near one of the windows,

As Carrie listened to this and much more of similar familiar badinage among the men and girls, she

instinctively withdrew into herself. She was not used to this type, and felt that there was something hard and

low about it all. She feared that the young boys about would address such remarks to herboys who, beside

Drouet, seemed uncouth and ridiculous. She made the average feminine distinction between clothes, putting

worth, goodness, and distinction in a dress suit, and leaving all the unlovely qualities and those beneath

She was glad when the short half hour was over and the wheels began to whirr again. Though wearied, she

would be inconspicuous. This illusion ended when another young man passed along the aisle and poked her

indifferently in the ribs with his thumb. She turned about, indignation leaping to her eyes, but he had gone on

and only once turned to grin. She found it difficult to conquer an inclination to cry.

The girl next her noticed her state of mind. "Don't you mind," she said. "He's too fresh."

Carrie said nothing, but bent over her work. She felt as though she could hardly endure such a life. Her idea

of work had been so entirely different. All during the long afternoon she thought of the city outside and its

imposing show, crowds, and fine buildings. Columbia City and the better side of her home life came back. By

three o'clock she was sure it must be six, and by four it seemed as if they had forgotten to note the hour and

were letting all work overtime. The foreman became a true ogre, prowling constantly about, keeping her tied

down to her miserable task. What she heard of the conversation about her only made her feel sure that she did

not want to make friends with any of these. When six o'clock came she hurried eagerly away, her arms aching

As she passed out along the hall after getting her hat, a young machine hand, attracted by her looks, made

It was thrown so straight in her direction that she knew who was meant, but never turned to look.

In the crowded elevator, another dusty, toilstained youth tried to make an impression on her by leering in

One young man, waiting on the walk outside for the appearance of another, grinned at her as she passed.

Carrie turned her face to the west with a subdued heart. As she turned the corner, she saw through the great

shiny window the small desk at which she had applied. There were the crowds, hurrying with the same buzz

and energyyielding enthusiasm. She felt a slight relief, but it was only at her escape. She felt ashamed in the

face of better dressed girls who went by. She felt as though she should be better served, and her heart

Drouet did not call that evening. After receiving the letter, he had laid aside all thought of Carrie for the time

being and was floating around having what he considered a gay time. On this particular evening he dined at

"Rector's," a restaurant of some local fame, which occupied a basement at Clark and Monroe Streets.

Thereafter he visited the resort of Fitzgerald and Moy's in Adams Street, opposite the imposing Federal

Building. There he leaned over the splendid bar and swallowed a glass of plain whiskey and purchased a

couple of cigars, one of which he lighted. This to him represented in part high lifea fair sample of what the

whole must be. Drouet was not a drinker in excess. He was not a moneyed man. He only craved the best, as

his mind conceived it, and such doings seemed to him a part of the 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 professional men, seemed to him the proper place for a successful man to go. He loved

fine clothes, good eating, and particularly the company and acquaintanceship of successful men. When

dining, it was a source of keen satisfaction to him to know that Joseph Jefferson was wont to come to this

same place, or that Henry E. Dixie, a wellknown performer of the day, was then only a few tables off. At

Rector's he could always obtain this satisfaction, for there one could encounter politicians, brokers, actors,

some rich young "rounders" of the town, all eating and drinking amid a buzz of popular commonplace

"That's Soandso over there," was a common remark of these gentlemen among themselves, particularly

among those who had not yet reached, but hoped to do so, the dazzling height which money to dine here

When these things would fall upon Drouet's ears, he would straighten himself a little more stiffly and eat with

solid comfort. If he had any vanity, this augmented it, and if he had any ambition, this stirred it. He would be

able to flash a roll of greenbacks too some day. As it was, he could eat where THEY did.

His preference for Fitzgerald and Moy's Adams Street place was another yard off the same cloth. This was

really a gorgeous saloon from a Chicago standpoint. Like Rector's, it was also ornamented with a blaze of

incandescent lights, held in handsome chandeliers. The floors were of brightly coloured tiles, the walls a

composition of rich, dark, polished wood, which reflected the light, and coloured stuccowork, which gave

the place a very sumptuous appearance. The long bar was a blaze of lights, polished woodwork, coloured and

cut glassware, and many fancy bottles. It was a truly swell saloon, with rich screens, fancy wines, and a line

At Rector's, Drouet had met Mr. G. W. Hurstwood, manager of Fitzgerald and Moy's. He had been pointed

out as a very successful and wellknown man about town. Hurstwood looked the part, for, besides being

slightly under forty, he had a good, stout constitution, an active manner, and a solid, substantial air, which

was composed in part of his fine clothes, his clean linen, his jewels, and, above all, his own sense of his

importance. Drouet immediately conceived a notion of him as being some one worth knowing, and was glad

not only to meet him, but to visit the Adams Street bar thereafter whenever he wanted a drink or a cigar.

Hurstwood was an interesting character after his kind. He was shrewd and clever in many little things, and

capable of creating a good impression. His managerial position was fairly important a kind of stewardship

which was imposing, but lacked financial control. He had risen by perseverance and industry, through long

years of service, from the position of barkeeper in a commonplace saloon to his present altitude. He had a

little office in the place, set off in polished cherry and grillwork, where he kept, in a rolltop desk, the rather

simple accounts of the place supplies ordered and needed. The chief executive and financial functions

devolved upon the ownersMessrs. Fitzgerald and Moy and upon a cashier who looked after the money

For the most part he lounged about, dressed in excellent tailored suits of imported goods, a solitaire ring, a

fine blue diamond in his tie, a striking vest of some new pattern, and a watchchain of solid gold, which held

a charm of rich design, and a watch of the latest make and engraving. He knew by name, and could greet

personally with a "Well, old fellow," hundreds of actors, merchants, politicians, and the general run of

successful characters 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 the

fifteendollaraweek clerks and office attaches, who, by long frequenting of the place, became aware of his

position, to the "Why, old man, how are you?" which he addressed to those noted or rich individuals who

knew him and were inclined to be friendly. There was a class, however, too rich, too famous, or too

successful, with whom he could not attempt any familiarity of address, and with these he was professionally

tactful, assuming a grave and dignified attitude, paying them the deference which would win their good

feeling without in the least compromising his own bearing and opinions. There were, in the last place, a few

good followers, neither rich nor poor, famous, nor yet remarkably successful, with whom he was friendly on

the score of goodfellowship. These were the kind of men with whom he would converse longest and most

seriously. He loved to go out and have a good time once in a whileto go to the races, the theatres, the

sporting entertainments at some of the clubs. He kept a horse and neat trap, had his wife and two children,

who were well established in a neat house on the North Side near Lincoln Park, and was altogether a very

acceptable individual of our great American upper classthe first grade below the luxuriously rich.

Hurstwood liked Drouet. The latter's genial nature and dressy appearance pleased him. He knew that Drouet

was only a travelling salesmanand not one of many years at thatbut the firm of Bartlett, Caryoe &

Company was a large and prosperous house, and Drouet stood well. Hurstwood knew Caryoe quite well,

having drunk a glass now and then with him, in company with several others, when the conversation was

general. Drouet had what was a help in his business, a moderate sense of humour, and could tell a good story

when the occasion required. He could talk races with Hurstwood, tell interesting incidents concerning himself

and his experiences with women, and report the state of trade in the cities which he visited, and so managed

to make himself almost invariably agreeable. Tonight he was particularly so, since his report to the company

had been favourably commented upon, his new samples had been satisfactorily selected, and his trip marked

"Why, hello, Charlie, old man," said Hurstwood, as Drouet came in that evening about eight o'clock. "How

"Glad of it," said Hurstwood, his black eyes lit with a warmth which half displaced the cold makebelieve

that usually dwelt in them. "What are you going to take?" he added, as the barkeeper, in snowy jacket and tie,

"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, Drouet filling his to within a third of full, as was considered proper, and Hurstwood taking the

"What's become of Caryoe?" remarked Hurstwood. "I haven't seen him around here in two weeks."

"Yes, wads of it," returned Drouet. "He won't live much longer. Barely comes down to the office now."

"I guess he can't hurt the business very much, though, with the other members all there."

Hurstwood was standing, his coat open, his thumbs in his pockets, the light on his jewels and rings relieving

To one not inclined to drink, and gifted with a more serious turn of mind, such a bubbling, chattering,

glittering chamber must ever seem an anomaly, a strange commentary on nature and life. Here come the

moths, in endless procession, to bask in the light of the flame. Such conversation as one may hear would not

warrant a commendation of the scene upon intellectual grounds. It seems plain that schemers would choose

more sequestered quarters to arrange their plans, that politicians would not gather here in company to discuss

anything save formalities, where the sharpeared may hear, and it would scarcely be justified on the score of

thirst, for the majority of those who frequent these more gorgeous places have no craving for liquor.

Nevertheless, the fact that here men gather, here chatter, here love to pass and rub elbows, must be explained

upon some grounds. It must be that a strange bundle of passions and vague desires give rise to such a curious

Drouet, for one, was lured as much by his longing for pleasure as by his desire to shine among his betters.

The many friends he met here dropped in because they craved, without, perhaps, consciously analysing it, the

company, the glow, the atmosphere which they found. One might take it, after all, as an augur of the better

social order, for the things which they satisfied here, though sensory, were not evil. No evil could come out of

the contemplation of an expensively decorated chamber. The worst effect of such a thing would be, perhaps,

to stir up in the materialminded an ambition to arrange their lives upon a similarly splendid basis. In the last

analysis, that would scarcely be called the fault of the decorations, but rather of the innate trend of the mind.

That such a scene might stir the less expensively dressed to emulate the more expensively dressed could

scarcely be laid at the door of anything save the false ambition of the minds of those so affected. Remove the

element so thoroughly and solely complained ofliquorand there would not be one to gainsay the

qualities of beauty and enthusiasm which would remain. The pleased eye with which our modern restaurants

Yet, here is the fact of the lighted chamber, the dressy, greedy company, the small, selfinterested palaver,

the disorganized, aimless, wandering mental action which it representsthe love of light and show and

finery which, to one outside, under the serene light of the eternal stars, must seem a strange and shiny thing.

Under the stars and sweeping night winds, what a lampflower it must bloom; a strange, glittering

"See that fellow coming in there?" said Hurstwood, glancing at a gentleman just entering, arrayed in a high

"There," said Hurstwood, indicating the direction by a cast of his eye, "the man with the silk hat."

"Oh, I don't know," returned Hurstwood. "He's got the money, all right," and a little twinkle passed over his

"Well, you never can tell," said Hurstwood. "There may be something to it. I wouldn't bother about it myself,

"'The Hole in the Ground,'" said Drouet, mentioning the popular farce 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 considerablysome bound for the theatres, some to their clubs, and

some to that most fascinating of all the pleasuresfor the type of man there represented, at leastthe ladies.

"Come around after the show. I have something I want to show you," said Hurstwood.

"I struck a little peach coming in on the train Friday," remarked Drouet, by way of parting. "By George, that's

"Say, she was a little dandy, I tell you," went on Drouet confidentially, and trying to impress his friend.

Thus was Carrie's name bandied about in the most frivolous and gay of places, and that also when the little

toiler was bemoaning her narrow lot, which was almost inseparable from the early stages of this, her

At the flat that evening Carrie felt a new phase of its atmosphere. The fact that it was unchanged, while her

feelings were different, increased her knowledge of its character. Minnie, after the good spirits Carrie

manifested at first, expected a fair report. Hanson supposed that Carrie would be satisfied.

"Well," he said, as he came in from the hall in his working clothes, and looked at Carrie through the

There was an air about her which showed plainer than any words that she was both weary and disappointed.

"What sort of work is it?" he asked, lingering a moment as he turned upon his heel to go into the bathroom.

It was very evident that it did not concern him much, save from the side of the flat's success. He was irritated

a shade because it could not have come about in the throw of fortune for Carrie to be pleased.

Minnie worked with less elation than she had just before Carrie arrived. The sizzle of the meat frying did not

sound quite so pleasing now that Carrie had reported her discontent. To Carrie, the one relief of the whole

day would have been a jolly home, a sympathetic reception, a bright supper table, and some one to say: "Oh,

well, stand it a little while. You will get something better," but now this was ashes. She began to see that they

looked upon her complaint as unwarranted, and that she was supposed to work on and say nothing. She knew

that she was to pay four dollars for her board and room, and now she felt that it would be an exceedingly

Minnie was no companion for her sistershe was too old. Her thoughts were staid and solemnly adapted to a

condition. If Hanson had any pleasant thoughts or happy feelings he concealed them. He seemed to do all his

mental operations without the aid of physical expression. He was as still as a deserted chamber. Carrie, on the

other hand, had the blood of youth and some imagination. Her day of love and the mysteries of courtship

were still ahead. She could think of things she would like to do, of clothes she would like to wear, and of

places she would like to visit. These were the things upon which her mind ran, and it was like meeting with

opposition at every turn to find no one here to call forth or respond to her feelings.

She had forgotten, in considering and explaining the result of her day, that Drouet might come. Now, when

she saw how unreceptive these two people were, she hoped he would not. She did not know exactly what she

would do or how she would explain to Drouet, if he came. After supper she changed her clothes. When she

was trimly dressed she was rather a sweet little being, with large eyes and a sad mouth. Her face expressed

the mingled expectancy, dissatisfaction, and depression she felt. She wandered about after the dishes were put

away, talked a little with Minnie, and then decided to go down and stand in the door at the foot of the stairs.

If Drouet came, she could meet him there. Her face took on the semblance of a look of happiness as she put

"Carrie doesn't seem to like her place very well," said Minnie to her husband when the latter came out, paper

"She ought to keep it for a time, anyhow," said Hanson. "Has she gone downstairs?"

"I'd tell her to keep it if I were you. She might be here weeks without getting another one."

"If I were you," he said a little later, "I wouldn't let her stand in the door down there. It don't look good."

The life of the streets continued for a long time to interest Carrie. She never wearied of wondering where the

people in the cars were going or what their enjoyments were. Her imagination trod a very narrow round,

always winding up at points which concerned money, looks, clothes, or enjoyment. She would have a faroff

thought of Columbia City now and then, or an irritating rush of feeling concerning her experiences of the

present day, but, on the whole, the little world about her enlisted her whole attention.

The first floor of the building, of which Hanson's flat was the third, was occupied by a bakery, and to this,

while she was standing there, Hanson came down to buy a loaf of bread. She was not aware of his presence

The contagion of thought here demonstrated itself. While Hanson really came for bread, the thought dwelt

with him that now he would see what Carrie was doing. No sooner did he draw near her with that in mind

than she felt it. Of course, she had no understanding of what put it into her head, but, nevertheless, it aroused

in her the first shade of real antipathy to him. She knew now that she did not like him. He was suspicious.

A thought will colour a world for us. The flow of Carrie's meditations had been disturbed, and Hanson had

not long gone upstairs before she followed. She had realised with the lapse of the quarter hours that Drouet

was not coming, and somehow she felt a little resentful, a little as if she had been forsaken was not good

enough. She went upstairs, where everything was silent. Minnie was sewing by a lamp at the table. Hanson

had already turned in for the night. In her weariness and disappointment Carrie did no more than announce

The morning was no better. Hanson was just going out the door as Carrie came from her room. Minnie tried

to talk with her during breakfast, but there was not much of interest which they could mutually discuss. As on

the previous morning, Carrie walked down town, for she began to realise now that her fourfifty would not

even allow her car fare after she paid her board. This seemed a miserable arrangement. But the morning light

swept away the first misgivings of the day, as morning light is ever wont to do.

At the shoe factory she put in a long day, scarcely so wearisome as the preceding, but considerably less

The machine girls impressed her even less favourably. They seemed satisfied with their lot, and were in a

sense "common." Carrie had more imagination than they. She was not used to slang. Her instinct in the matter

of dress was naturally better. She disliked to listen to the girl next to her, who was rather hardened by

"I'm going to quit this," she heard her remark to her neighbour. "What with the stipend and being up late, it's

They were free with the fellows, young and old, about the place, and exchanged banter in rude phrases, which

at first shocked her. She saw that she was taken to be of the same sort and addressed accordingly.

"Hello," remarked one of the stoutwristed soleworkers to her at noon. "You're a daisy." He really expected

to hear the common "Aw! go chase yourself!" in return, and was sufficiently abashed, by Carrie's silently

That night at the flat she was even more lonelythe dull situation was becoming harder to endure. She could

see that the Hansons seldom or never had any company. Standing at the street door looking out, she ventured

to walk out a little way. Her easy gait and idle manner attracted attention of an offensive but common sort.

She was slightly taken back at the overtures of a welldressed man of thirty, who in passing looked at her,

Carrie looked at him in amazement, and then summoned sufficient thought to reply: "Why, I don't know

She bandied no more words with him, but hurried away, reaching her own door quite out of breath. There

During the remainder of the week it was very much the same. One or two nights she found herself too tired to

walk home, and expended car fare. She was not very strong, and sitting all day affected her back. She went to

Transplantation is not always successful in the matter of flowers or maidens. It requires sometimes a richer

soil, a better atmosphere to continue even a natural growth. It would have been better if her acclimatization

had been more gradualless rigid. She would have done better if she had not secured a position so quickly,

On the first morning it rained she found that she had no umbrella. Minnie loaned her one of hers, which was

worn and faded. There was the kind of vanity in Carrie that troubled at this. She went to one of the great

department stores and bought herself one, using a dollar and a quarter of her small store to pay for it.

Carrie resented this, though she did not reply. She was not going to be a common shopgirl, she thought; they

On the first Saturday night Carrie paid her board, four dollars. Minnie had a quaver of conscience as she took

it, but did not know how to explain to Hanson if she took less. That worthy gave up just four dollars less

toward the household expenses with a smile of satisfaction. He contemplated increasing his Building and

Loan payments. As for Carrie, she studied over the problem of finding clothes and amusement on fifty cents a

"I want to see SOMETHING," said Carrie, and by the tone she put into the last word they realised for the first

"What's the matter with her?" asked Hanson, when she went into the front room to get her hat.

Carrie did not go very far, after all. She returned and stood in the door. The next day they went out to

Garfield Park, but it did not please her. She did not look well enough. In the shop next day she heard the

highly coloured reports which girls give of their trivial amusements. They had been happy. On several days it

rained and she used up car fare. One night she got thoroughly soaked, going to catch the car at Van Buren

Street. All that evening she sat alone in the front room looking out upon the street, where the lights were

reflected on the wet pavements, thinking. She had imagination enough to be moody.

On Saturday she paid another four dollars and pocketed her fifty cents in despair. The speaking

acquaintanceship which she formed with some of the girls at the shop discovered to her the fact that they had

more of their earnings to use for themselves than she did. They had young men of the kind whom she, since

her experience with Drouet, felt above, who took them about. She came to thoroughly dislike the

lightheaded young fellows of the shop. Not one of them had a show of refinement. She saw only their

There came a day when the first premonitory blast of winter swept over the city. It scudded the fleecy clouds

in the heavens, trailed long, thin streamers of smoke from the tall stacks, and raced about the streets and

corners in sharp and sudden puffs. Carrie now felt the problem of winter clothes. What was she to do? She

had no winter jacket, no hat, no shoes. It was difficult to speak to Minnie about this, but at last she summoned

"I don't know what I'm going to do about clothes," she said one evening when they were together. "I need a

"Why don't you keep part of your money and buy yourself one?" she suggested, worried over the situation

Carrie readily acquiesced, glad to escape the trying situation, and liberal now that she saw a way out. She was

elated and began figuring at once. She needed a hat first of all. How Minnie explained to Hanson she never

knew. He said nothing at all, but there were thoughts in the air which left disagreeable impressions.

The new arrangement might have worked if sickness had not intervened. It blew up cold after a rain one

afternoon when Carrie was still without a jacket. She came out of the warm shop at six and shivered as the

wind struck her. In the morning she was sneezing, and going down town made it worse. That day her bones

ached and she felt lightheaded. Towards evening she felt very ill, and when she reached home was not

She hung about the stove, suffered a chattering chill, and went to bed sick. The next morning she was

Minnie was truly distressed at this, but maintained a kindly demeanour. Hanson said perhaps she had better

go back home for a while. When she got up after three days, it was taken for granted that her position was

lost. The winter was near at hand, she had no clothes, and now she was out of work.

"I don't know," said Carrie; "I'll go down Monday and see if I can't get something."

If anything, her efforts were more poorly rewarded on this trial than the last. Her clothes were nothing

suitable for fall wearing. Her last money she had spent for a hat. For three days she wandered about, utterly

dispirited. The attitude of the flat was fast becoming unbearable. She hated to think of going back there each

evening. Hanson was so cold. She knew it could not last much longer. Shortly she would have to give up and

On the fourth day she was down town all day, having borrowed ten cents for lunch from Minnie. She had

applied in the cheapest kind of places without success. She even answered for a waitress in a small restaurant

where she saw a card in the window, but they wanted an experienced girl. She moved through the thick

throng of strangers, utterly subdued in spirit. Suddenly a hand pulled her arm and turned her about.

"Well, well!" said a voice. In the first glance she beheld Drouet. He was not only rosycheeked, but radiant.

He was the essence of sunshine and goodhumour. "Why, how are you, Carrie?" he said. "You're a daisy.

"Well," he said, "I saw you across the street there. I thought it was you. I was just coming out to your place.

"Well," he said, "I want to talk to you. You're not going anywhere in particular, are you?"

"Let's go up here and have something to eat. George! but I'm glad to see you again."

She felt so relieved in his radiant presence, so much looked after and cared for, that she assented gladly,

"Well," he said, as he took her armand there was an exuberance of goodfellowship in the word which

They went through Monroe Street to the old Windsor diningroom, which was then a large, comfortable

place, with an excellent cuisine and substantial service. Drouet selected a table close by the window, where

the busy rout of the street could be seen. He loved the changing panorama of the streetto see and be seen as

"Now," he said, getting Carrie and himself comfortably settled, "what will you have?"

Carrie looked over the large bill of fare which the waiter handed her without really considering it. She was

very hungry, and the things she saw there awakened her desires, but the high prices held her attention. "Half

broiled spring chickenseventyfive. Sirloin steak with mushroomsone twentyfive." She had dimly

heard of these things, but it seemed strange to be called to order from the list.

That officer of the board, a fullchested, roundfaced negro, approached, and inclined his ear.

Drouet turned to Carrie. "I haven't had a thing since breakfast. Just got in from Rock Island. I was going off

"What have you been doing?" he went on. "Tell me all about yourself. How is your sister?"

"Well, now, that's a blooming shame, isn't it? You don't look very well. I thought you looked a little pale.

"Rhodes, Morgenthau and Scottwhy, I know that house. over here on Fifth Avenue, isn't it? They're a

"Well, that's an outrage," said Drouet. "You oughtn't to be working for those people. Have the factory right

"That isn't a good house," said Drouet. "You don't want to work at anything like that, anyhow."

He chatted on at a great rate, asking questions, explaining things about himself, telling her what a good

restaurant it was, until the waiter returned with an immense tray, bearing the hot savoury dishes which had

been ordered. Drouet fairly shone in the matter of serving. He appeared to great advantage behind the white

napery and silver platters of the table and displaying his arms with a knife and fork. As he cut the meat his

rings almost spoke. His new suit creaked as he stretched to reach the plates, break the bread, and pour the

coffee. He helped Carrie to a rousing plateful and contributed the warmth of his spirit to her body until she

was a new girl. He was a splendid fellow in the true popular understanding of the term, and captivated Carrie

That little soldier of fortune took her good turn in an easy way. She felt a little out of place, but the great

room soothed her and the view of the welldressed throng outside seemed a splendid thing. Ah, what was it

not to have money! What a thing it was to be able to come in here and dine! Drouet must be fortunate. He

rode on trains, dressed in such nice clothes, was so strong, and ate in these fine places. He seemed quite a

"So you lost your place because you got sick, eh?" he said. "What are you going to do now?"

"Look around," she said, a thought of the need that hung outside this fine restaurant like a hungry dog at her

"Think of that!" he said, addressing some problematical individual. "You oughtn't to be doing anything like

that. These girls," and he waved an inclusion of all shop and factory girls, "don't get anything. Why, you can't

He was a brotherly sort of creature in his demeanour. When he had scouted the idea of that kind of toil, he

took another tack. Carrie was really very pretty. Even then, in her commonplace garb, her figure was

evidently not bad, and her eyes were large and gentle. Drouet looked at her and his thoughts reached home.

She felt his admiration. It was powerfully backed by his liberality and goodhumour. She felt that she liked

himthat she could continue to like him ever so much. There was something even richer than that, running

as a hidden strain, in her mind. Every little while her eyes would meet his, and by that means the

"Why don't you stay down town and go to the theatre with me?" he said, hitching his chair closer. The table

There was the least quaver in her voice as she said this. Somehow, the influence he was exerting was

powerful. They came to an understanding of each other without wordshe of her situation, she of the fact

that he realised it. "No," he said, "you can't make it!" genuine sympathy filling his mind for the time. "Let me

He looked at her quite tenderly for his kind. There were some loose bills in his vest pocketgreenbacks.

They were soft and noiseless, and he got his fingers about them and crumpled them up in his hand.

"Come on," he said, "I'll see you through all right. Get yourself some clothes."

It was the first reference he had made to that subject, and now she realised how bad off she was. In his crude

She had her hand out on the table before her. They were quite alone in their corner, and he put his larger,

He pressed her hand gently and she tried to withdraw it. At this he held it fast, and she no longer protested.

Then he slipped the greenbacks he had into her palm, and when she began to protest, he whispered:

He made her take it. She felt bound to him by a strange tie of affection now. They went out, and he walked

"You don't want to live with those people?" he said in one place, abstractedly. Carrie heard it, but it made

"Come down and meet me to morrow," he said, "and we'll go to the matinee. Will you?"

She scarcely gave a thought to the complication which would trouble her when he was gone. In his presence,

"Don't you bother about those people out there," he said at parting. "I'll help you."

Carrie left him, feeling as though a great arm had slipped out before her to draw off trouble. The money she

The true meaning of money yet remains to be popularly explained and comprehended. When each individual

realises for himself that this thing primarily stands for and should only be accepted as a moral duethat it

should be paid out as honestly stored energy, and not as a usurped privilegemany of our social, religious,

and political troubles will have permanently passed. As for Carrie, her understanding of the moral

significance of money was the popular understanding, nothing more. The old definition: "Money: something

everybody else has and I must get," would have expressed her understanding of it thoroughly. Some of it she

now held in her handtwo soft, green tendollar billsand she felt that she was immensely better off for

the having of them. It was something that was power in itself. One of her order of mind would have been

content to be cast away upon a desert island with a bundle of money, and only the long strain of starvation

would have taught her that in some cases it could have no value. Even then she would have had no

conception of the relative value of the thing; her one thought would, undoubtedly, have concerned the pity of

The poor girl thrilled as she walked away from Drouet. She felt ashamed in part because she had been weak

enough to take it, but her need was so dire, she was still glad. Now she would have a nice new jacket! Now

she would buy a nice pair of pretty button shoes. She would get stockings, too, and a skirt, and, and until

already, as in the matter of her prospective salary, she had got beyond, in her desires, twice the purchasing

She conceived a true estimate of Drouet. To her, and indeed to all the world, he was a nice, goodhearted

man. There was nothing evil in the fellow. He gave her the money out of a good heartout of a realisation of

her want. He would not have given the same amount to a poor young man, but we must not forget that a poor

young man could not, in the nature of things, have appealed to him like a poor young girl. Femininity

affected his feelings. He was the creature of an inborn desire. Yet no beggar could have caught his eye and

said, "My God, mister, I'm starving," but he would gladly have handed out what was considered the proper

portion to give beggars and thought no more about it. There would have been no speculation, no

philosophising. He had no mental process in him worthy the dignity of either of those terms. In his good

clothes and fine health, he was a merry, unthinking moth of the lamp. Deprived of his position, and struck by

a few of the involved and baffling forces which sometimes play upon man, he would have been as helpless as

Now, in regard to his pursuit of women, he meant them no harm, because he did not conceive of the relation

which he hoped to hold with them as being harmful. He loved to make advances to women, to have them

succumb to his charms, not because he was a coldblooded, dark, scheming villain, but because his inborn

desire urged him to that as a chief delight. He was vain, he was boastful, he was as deluded by fine clothes as

any sillyheaded girl. A truly deepdyed villain could have hornswaggled him as readily as he could have

flattered a pretty shopgirl. His fine success as a salesman lay in his geniality and the thoroughly reputable

standing of his house. He bobbed about among men, a veritable bundle of enthusiasmno power worthy the

name of intellect, no thoughts worthy the adjective noble, no feelings long continued in one strain. A

Madame Sappho would have called him a pig; a Shakespeare would have said "my merry child"; old,

drinking Caryoe thought him a clever, successful businessman. In short, he was as good as his intellect

The best proof that there was something open and commendable about the man was the fact that Carrie took

the money. No deep, sinister soul with ulterior motives could have given her fifteen cents under the guise of

friendship. The unintellectual are not so helpless. Nature has taught the beasts of the field to fly when some

unheralded danger threatens. She has put into the small, unwise head of the chipmunk the untutored fear of

poisons. "He keepeth His creatures whole," was not written of beasts alone. Carrie was unwise, and,

therefore, like the sheep in its unwisdom, strong in feeling. The instinct of selfprotection, strong in all such

When Carrie had gone, he felicitated himself upon her good opinion. By George, it was a shame young girls

had to be knocked around like that. Cold weather coming on and no clothes. Tough. He would go around to

Fitzgerald and Moy's and get a cigar. It made him feel light of foot as he thought about her.

Carrie reached home in high good spirits, which she could scarcely conceal. The possession of the money

involved a number of points which perplexed her seriously. How should she buy any clothes when Minnie

knew that she had no money? She had no sooner entered the flat than this point was settled for her. It could

Carrie had none of the small deception which could feel one thing and say something directly opposed. She

would prevaricate, but it would be in the line of her feelings at least. So instead of complaining when she felt

"Well, I'm to find out tomorrow," returned Carrie disliking to draw out a lie any longer than was necessary.

Minnie felt the atmosphere of good feeling which Carrie brought with her. She felt now was the time to

express to Carrie the state of Hanson's feeling about her entire Chicago venture.

The situation flashed on Carrie at once. They were unwilling to keep her any longer, out of work. She did not

blame Minnie, she did not blame Hanson very much. Now, as she sat there digesting the remark, she was glad

she had Drouet's money. "Yes," she said after a few moments, "I thought of doing that."

She did not explain that the thought, however, had aroused all the antagonism of her nature. Columbia City,

what was there for her? She knew its dull, little round by heart. Here was the great, mysterious city which

was still a magnet for her. What she had seen only suggested its possibilities. Now to turn back on it and live

She had reached home early and went in the front room to think. What could she do? She could not buy new

shoes and wear them here. She would need to save part of the twenty to pay her fare home. She did not want

to borrow of Minnie for that. And yet, how could she explain where she even got that money? If she could

She went over the tangle again and again. Here, in the morning, Drouet would expect to see her in a new

jacket, and that couldn't be. The Hansons expected her to go home, and she wanted to get away, and yet she

did not want to go home. In the light of the way they would look on her getting money without work, the

taking of it now seemed dreadful. She began to be ashamed. The whole situation depressed her. It was all so

clear when she was with Drouet. Now it was all so tangled, so hopelessmuch worse than it was before,

Her spirits sank so that at supper Minnie felt that she must have had another hard day. Carrie finally decided

that she would give the money back. It was wrong to take it. She would go down in the morning and hunt for

work. At noon she would meet Drouet as agreed and tell him. At this decision her heart sank, until she was

Curiously, she could not hold the money in her hand without feeling some relief. Even after all her depressing

conclusions, she could sweep away all thought about the matter and then the twenty dollars seemed a

wonderful and delightful thing. Ah, money, money, money! What a thing it was to have. How plenty of it

In the morning she got up and started out a little early. Her decision to hunt for work was moderately strong,

but the money in her pocket, after all her troubling over it, made the work question the least shade less

terrible. She walked into the wholesale district, but as the thought of applying came with each passing

concern, her heart shrank. What a coward she was, she thought to herself. Yet she had applied so often. It

would be the same old story. She walked on and on, and finally did go into one place, with the old result. She

Without much thinking, she reached Dearborn Street. Here was the great Fair store with its multitude of

delivery wagons about its long window display, its crowd of shoppers. It readily changed her thoughts, she

who was so weary of them. It was here that she had intended to come and get her new things. Now for relief

from distress; she thought she would go in and see. She would look at the jackets.

There is nothing in this world more delightful than that middle state in which we mentally balance at times,

possessed of the means, lured by desire, and yet deterred by conscience or want of decision. When Carrie

began wandering around the store amid the fine displays she was in this mood. Her original experience in this

same place had given her a high opinion of its merits. Now she paused at each individual bit of finery, where

before she had hurried on. Her woman's heart was warm with desire for them. How would she look in this,

how charming that would make her! She came upon the corset counter and paused in rich reverie as she noted

the dainty concoctions of colour and lace there displayed. If she would only make up her mind, she could

have one of those now. She lingered in the jewelry department. She saw the earrings, the bracelets, the pins,

the chains. What would she not have given if she could have had them all! She would look fine too, if only

The jackets were the greatest attraction. When she entered the store, she already had her heart fixed upon the

peculiar little tan jacket with large motherofpearl buttons which was all the rage that fall. Still she

delighted to convince herself that there was nothing she would like better. She went about among the glass

cases and racks where these things were displayed, and satisfied herself that the one she thought of was the

proper one. All the time she wavered in mind, now persuading herself that she could buy it right away if she

chose, now recalling to herself the actual condition. At last the noon hour was dangerously near, and she had

Carrie had thought to lead up to her decision in some intelligent way, but this swept the whole foreschemed

"Oh, that's it, is it?" he returned. "Well, you come on with me. Let's go over here to Partridge's."

Carrie walked with him. Behold, the whole fabric of doubt and impossibility had slipped from her mind. She

could not get at the points that were so serious, the things she was going to make plain to him.

"Have you had lunch yet? Of course you haven't. Let's go in here," and Drouet turned into one of the very

"I mustn't take the money," said Carrie, after they were settled in a cosey corner, and Drouet had ordered the

lunch. "I can't wear those things out there. Theythey wouldn't know where I got them."

"Oh, come," he said, "you've been thinking it over too long. I'll tell you what you do. You say you can't wear

them out there. Why don't you rent a furnished room and leave them in that for a week?"

Carrie shook her head. Like all women, she was there to object and be convinced. It was for him to brush the

"I'll tell you what you do," he said. "You come with me. I'll take care of you."

Carrie heard this passively. The peculiar state which she was in made it sound like the welcome breath of an

open door. Drouet seemed of her own spirit and pleasing. He was clean, handsome, welldressed, and

"What can you do back at Columbia City?" he went on, rousing by the words in Carrie's mind a picture of the

dull world she had left. "There isn't anything down there. Chicago's the place. You can get a nice room here

Carrie looked out through the window into the busy street. There it was, the admirable, great city, so fine

when you are not poor. An elegant coach, with a prancing pair of bays, passed by, carrying in its upholstered

"What will you have if you go back?" asked Drouet. There was no subtle undercurrent to the question. He

imagined that she would have nothing at all of the things he thought worth while.

Carrie sat still, looking out. She was wondering what she could do. They would be expecting her to go home

"Why not get yourself a nice little jacket? You've got to have it. I'll loan you the money. You needn't worry

about taking it. You can get yourself a nice room by yourself. I won't hurt you."

Carrie saw the drift, but could not express her thoughts. She felt more than ever the helplessness of her case.

"Maybe you can," went on Drouet, "if you stay here. You can't if you go away. They won't let you stay out

there. Now, why not let me get you a nice room? I won't bother youyou needn't be afraid. Then, when you

He looked at her pretty face and it vivified his mental resources. She was a sweet little mortal to himthere

was no doubt of that. She seemed to have some power back of her actions. She was not like the common run

In reality, Carrie had more imagination than hemore taste. It was a finer mental strain in her that made

possible her depression and loneliness. Her poor clothes were neat, and she held her head unconsciously in a

"Now I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll go over here to Partridge's and you pick out what you want. Then we'll

look around for a room for you. You can leave the things there. Then we'll go to the show tonight."

"Well, you can go out to the flat then, that's all right. You don't need to stay in the room. Just take it and leave

Together they went. In the store they found that shine and rustle of new things which immediately laid hold

of Carrie's heart. Under the influence of a good dinner and Drouet's radiating presence, the scheme proposed

seemed feasible. She looked about and picked a jacket like the one which she had admired at The Fair. When

she got it in her hand it seemed so much nicer. The saleswoman helped her on with it, and, by accident, it

fitted perfectly. Drouet's face lightened as he saw the improvement. She looked quite smart.

Carrie turned before the glass. She could not help feeling pleased as she looked at herself. A warm glow crept

She reached in her purse and took out one of the bills. The woman asked if she would wear the coat and went

From Partridge's they went to a shoe store, where Carrie was fitted for shoes. Drouet stood by, and when he

saw how nice they looked, said, "Wear them." Carrie shook her head, however. She was thinking of returning

to the flat. He bought her a purse for one thing, and a pair of gloves for another, and let her buy the stockings.

In all of Carrie's actions there was a touch of misgiving. The deeper she sank into the entanglement, the more

she imagined that the thing hung upon the few remaining things she had not done. Since she had not done

Drouet knew a place in Wabash Avenue where there were rooms. He showed Carrie the outside of these, and

said: "Now, you're my sister." He carried the arrangement off with an easy hand when it came to the

selection, looking around, criticising, opining. "Her trunk will be here in a day or so," he observed to the

When they were alone, Drouet did not change in the least. He talked in the same general way as if they were

He took that up as they walked along the avenue. It was a warm afternoon. The sun had come out and the

wind had died down. As he talked with Carrie, he secured an accurate detail of the atmosphere of the flat.

She listened until her misgivings vanished. He would show her about a little and then help her get something.

He really imagined that he would. He would be out on the road and she could be working.

"Now, I'll tell you what you do," he said, "you go out there and get whatever you want and come away."

She thought a long time about this. Finally she agreed. He would come out as far as Peoria Street and wait for

her. She was to meet him at halfpast eight. At halfpast five she reached home, and at six her determination

"So you didn't get it?" said Minnie, referring to Carrie's story of the Boston Store.

When Hanson came home he wore the same inscrutable demeanour. He washed in silence and went off to

read his paper. At dinner Carrie felt a little nervous. The strain of her own plans were considerable, and the

He turned to his eating again, the thought that it was a burden to have her here dwelling in his mind. She

would have to go home, that was all. Once she was away, there would be no more coming back in the spring.

Carrie was afraid of what she was going to do, but she was relieved to know that this condition was ending.

They would not care. Hanson particularly would be glad when she went. He would not care what became of

After dinner she went into the bathroom, where they could not disturb her, and wrote a little note.

"Goodbye, Minnie," it read. "I'm not going home. I'm going to stay in Chicago a little while and look for

In the front room Hanson was reading his paper. As usual, she helped Minnie clear away the dishes and

"I guess I'll stand down at the door a little while." She could scarcely prevent her voice from trembling.

She put on her hat and fidgeted around the table in the little bedroom, wondering where to slip the note.

When she had closed the halldoor, she paused a moment and wondered what they would think. Some

thought of the queerness of her deed affected her. She went slowly down the stairs. She looked back up the

lighted step, and then affected to stroll up the street. When she reached the corner she quickened her pace.

He went over to the baby where it was playing on the floor and began to poke his finger at it.

"Hello, Carrie," he said, as a sprightly figure of a girl drew near him. "Got here safe, did you? Well, we'll take

Among the forces which sweep and play throughout the universe, untutored man is but a wisp in the wind.

Our civilisation is still in a middle stage, scarcely beast, in that it is no longer wholly guided by instinct;

scarcely human, in that it is not yet wholly guided by reason. On the tiger no responsibility rests. We see him

aligned by nature with the forces of lifehe is born into their keeping and without thought he is protected.

We see man far removed from the lairs of the jungles, his innate instincts dulled by too near an approach to

freewill, his freewill not sufficiently developed to replace his instincts and afford him perfect guidance.

He is becoming too wise to hearken always to instincts and desires; he is still too weak to always prevail

against them. As a beast, the forces of life aligned him with them; as a man, he has not yet wholly learned to

align himself with the forces. In this intermediate stage he waversneither drawn in harmony with nature by

his instincts nor yet wisely putting himself into harmony by his own freewill. He is even as a wisp in the

wind, moved by every breath of passion, acting now by his will and now by his instincts, erring with one,

only to retrieve by the other, falling by one, only to rise by the othera creature of incalculable variability.

We have the consolation of knowing that evolution is ever in action, that the ideal is a light that cannot fail.

He will not forever balance thus between good and evil. When this jangle of freewill instinct shall have

been adjusted, when perfect under standing has given the former the power to replace the latter entirely, man

will no longer vary. The needle of understanding will yet point steadfast and unwavering to the distinct pole

In Carrieas in how many of our worldlings do they not? instinct and reason, desire and understanding,

were at war for the mastery. She followed whither her craving led. She was as yet more drawn than she drew.

When Minnie found the note next morning, after a night of mingled wonder and anxiety, which was not

exactly touched by yearning, sorrow, or love, she exclaimed: "Well, what do you think of that?"

Hanson jumped out of bed with more celerity than he usually displayed and looked at the note. The only

indication of his thoughts came in the form of a little clicking sound made by his tongue; the sound some

"I don't know," a touch of cynicism lighting his eye. "Now she has gone and done it."

"Well," said Hanson, after a while, sticking his hands out before him, "what can you do?"

Minnie's womanly nature was higher than this. She figured the possibilities in such cases.

At the time of this particular conversation, which occurred at 5 A.M., that little soldier of fortune was

Carrie's new state was remarkable in that she saw possibilities in it. She was no sensualist, longing to drowse

sleepily in the lap of luxury. She turned about, troubled by her daring, glad of her release, wondering whether

she would get something to do, wondering what Drouet would do. That worthy had his future fixed for him

beyond a peradventure. He could not help what he was going to do. He could not see clearly enough to wish

to do differently. He was drawn by his innate desire to act the old pursuing part. He would need to delight

himself with Carrie as surely as he would need to eat his heavy breakfast. He might suffer the least

rudimentary twinge of conscience in whatever he did, and in just so far he was evil and sinning. But whatever

The next day he called upon Carrie, and she saw him in her chamber. He was the same jolly, enlivening soul.

"Aw," he said, "what are you looking so blue about? Come on out to breakfast. You want to get your other

"You'll get that all right," said Drouet. "What's the use worrying right now? Get yourself fixed up. See the

"Got on the new shoes, haven't you? Stick 'em out. George, they look fine. Put on your jacket."

"Say, that fits like a T, don't it?" he remarked, feeling the set of it at the waist and eyeing it from a few paces

It went this way on every occasion. Drouet did not leave her much alone. She had time for some lone

wanderings, but mostly he filled her hours with sightseeing. At Carson, Pirie's he bought her a nice skirt and

shirt waist. With his money she purchased the little necessaries of toilet, until at last she looked quite another

maiden. The mirror convinced her of a few things which she had long believed. She was pretty, yes, indeed!

How nice her hat set, and weren't her eyes pretty. She caught her little red lip with her teeth and felt her first

They went to see "The Mikado" one evening, an opera which was hilariously popular at that time. Before

going, they made off for the Windsor diningroom, which was in Dearborn Street, a considerable distance

from Carrie's room. It was blowing up cold, and out of her window Carrie could see the western sky, still

pink with the fading light, but steely blue at the top where it met the darkness. A long, thin cloud of pink

hung in midair, shaped like some island in a faroff sea. Somehow the swaying of some dead branches of

trees across the way brought back the picture with which she was familiar when she looked from their front

They walked north on Wabash to Adams Street and then west. The lights in the stores were already shining

out in gushes of golden hue. The arc lights were sputtering overhead, and high up were the lighted windows

of the tall office buildings. The chill wind whipped in and out in gusty breaths. Homeward bound, the six

o'clock throng bumped and jostled. Light overcoats were turned up about the ears, hats were pulled down.

Little shopgirls went fluttering by in pairs and fours, chattering, laughing. It was a spectacle of

Suddenly a pair of eyes met Carrie's in recognition. They were looking out from a group of poorly dressed

girls. Their clothes were faded and loosehanging, their jackets old, their general makeup shabby.

Carrie recognised the glance and the girl. She was one of those who worked at the machines in the shoe

factory. The latter looked, not quite sure, and then turned her head and looked. Carrie felt as if some great

tide had rolled between them. The old dress and the old machine came back. She actually started. Drouet

They dined and went to the theatre. That spectacle pleased Carrie immensely. The colour and grace of it

caught her eye. She had vain imaginings about place and power, about faroff lands and magnificent people.

When it was over, the clatter of coaches and the throng of fine ladies made her stare.

"Wait a minute," said Drouet, holding her back in the showy foyer where ladies and gentlemen were moving

in a social crush, skirts rustling, lacecovered heads nodding, white teeth showing through parted lips. "Let's

"Sixtyseven," the coachcaller was saying, his voice lifted in a sort of euphonious cry. "Sixtyseven."

"Great," said Drouet. He was as much affected by this show of finery and gayety as she. He pressed her arm

warmly. Once she looked up, her even teeth glistening through her smiling lips, her eyes alight. As they were

moving out he whispered down to her, "You look lovely!" They were right where the coachcaller was

Carrie scarcely heard, her head was so full of the swirl of life. They stopped in at a restaurant for a little

aftertheatre lunch. Just a shade of a thought of the hour entered Carrie's head, but there was no household

law to govern her now. If any habits ever had time to fix upon her, they would have operated here. Habits are

peculiar things. They will drive the really nonreligious mind out of bed to say prayers that are only a custom

and not a devotion. The victim of habit, when he has neglected the thing which it was his custom to do, feels

a little scratching in the brain, a little irritating something which comes of being out of the rut, and imagines it

to be the prick of conscience, the still, small voice that is urging him ever to righteousness. If the digression is

unusual enough, the drag of habit will be heavy enough to cause the unreasoning victim to return and perform

the perfunctory thing. "Now, bless me," says such a mind, "I have done my duty," when, as a matter of fact, it

Carrie had no excellent home principles fixed upon her. If she had, she would have been more consciously

distressed. Now the lunch went off with considerable warmth. Under the influence of the varied occurrences,

the fine, invisible passion which was emanating from Drouet, the food, the still unusual luxury, she relaxed

and heard with open ears. She was again the victim of the city's hypnotic influence.

They had been dawdling over the dishes, and their eyes had frequently met. Carrie could not help but feel the

vibration of force which followed, which, indeed, was his gaze. He had a way of touching her hand in

explanation, as if to impress a fact upon her. He touched it now as he spoke of going.

They arose and went out into the street. The downtown section was now bare, save for a few whistling

strollers, a few owl cars, a few open resorts whose windows were still bright. Out Wabash Avenue they

strolled, Drouet still pouring forth his volume of small information. He had Carrie's arm in his, and held it

closely as he explained. Once in a while, after some witticism, he would look down, and his eyes would meet

hers. At last they came to the steps, and Carrie stood up on the first one, her head now coming even with his

own. He took her hand and held it genially. He looked steadily at her as she glanced about, warmly musing.

At about that hour, Minnie was soundly sleeping, after a long evening of troubled thought. She had her elbow

in an awkward position under her side. The muscles so held irritated a few nerves, and now a vague scene

floated in on the drowsy mind. She fancied she and Carrie were somewhere beside an old coalmine. She

could see the tall runway and the heap of earth and coal cast out. There was a deep pit, into which they were

looking; they could see the curious wet stones far down where the wall disappeared in vague shadows. An old

She began to pull the basket over, and now, in spite of all protest, she had swung over and was going down.

"Carrie," she called, "Carrie, come back"; but Carrie was far down now and the shadow had swallowed her

Now the mystic scenery merged queerly and the place was by waters she had never seen. They were upon

some board or ground or something that reached far out, and at the end of this was Carrie. They looked about,

and now the thing was sinking, and Minnie heard the low sip of the encroaching water.

"Come on, Carrie," she called, but Carrie was reaching farther out. She seemed to recede, and now it was

"Carrie," she called, "Carrie," but her own voice sounded far away, and the strange waters were blurring

everything. She came away suffering as though she had lost something. She was more inexpressibly sad than

It was this way through many shifts of the tired brain, those curious phantoms of the spirit slipping in,

blurring strange scenes, one with the other. The last one made her cry out, for Carrie was slipping away

somewhere over a rock, and her fingers had let loose and she had seen her falling.

"Minnie! What's the matter? Here, wake up," said Hanson, disturbed, and shaking her by the shoulder.

A week or so later Drouet strolled into Fitzgerald and Moy's, spruce in dress and manner.

Drouet strolled over and looked in upon the manager at his desk. "When do you go out on the road again?" he

"Say," said Drouet, as if struck by a sudden idea, "I want you to come out some evening."

Hurstwood looked up quizzically, the least suggestion of a smile hovering about his lips. He studied the face

of Drouet in his wise way, and then with the demeanour of a gentleman, said: "Certainly; glad to."

"May I bring a nice little bottle of Sec?" asked Hurstwood. "Certainly," said Drouet. "I'll introduce you."

Hurstwood's residence on the North Side, near Lincoln Park, was a brick building of a very popular type then,

a threestory affair with the first floor sunk a very little below the level of the street. It had a large bay

window bulging out from the second floor, and was graced in front by a small grassy plot, twentyfive feet

wide and ten feet deep. There was also a small rear yard, walled in by the fences of the neighbours and

The ten rooms of the house were occupied by himself, his wife Julia, and his son and daughter, George, Jr.,

and Jessica. There were besides these a maidservant, represented from time to time by girls of various

"George, I let Mary go yesterday," was not an unfrequent salutation at the dinner table.

"All right," was his only reply. He had long since wearied of discussing the rancorous subject.

A lovely home atmosphere is one of the flowers of the world, than which there is nothing more tender,

nothing more delicate, nothing more calculated to make strong and just the natures cradled and nourished

within it. Those who have never experienced such a beneficent influence will not understand wherefore the

tear springs glistening to the eyelids at some strange breath in lovely music. The mystic chords which bind

Hurstwood's residence could scarcely be said to be infused with this home spirit. It lacked that toleration and

regard without which the home is nothing. There was fine furniture, arranged as soothingly as the artistic

perception of the occupants warranted. There were soft rugs, rich, upholstered chairs and divans, a grand

piano, a marble carving of some unknown Venus by some unknown artist, and a number of small bronzes

gathered from heaven knows where, but generally sold by the large furniture houses along with everything

In the diningroom stood a sideboard laden with glistening decanters and other utilities and ornaments in

glass, the arrangement of which could not be questioned. Here was something Hurstwood knew about. He

had studied the subject for years in his business. He took no little satisfaction in telling each Mary, shortly

after she arrived, something of what the art of the thing required. He was not garrulous by any means. On the

contrary, there was a fine reserve in his manner toward the entire domestic economy of his life which was all

that is comprehended by the popular term, gentlemanly. He would not argue, he would not talk freely. In his

manner was something of the dogmatist. What he could not correct, he would ignore. There was a tendency

There was a time when he had been considerably enamoured of his Jessica, especially when he was younger

and more confined in his success. Now, however, in her seventeenth year, Jessica had developed a certain

amount of reserve and independence which was not inviting to the richest form of parental devotion. She was

in the high school, and had notions of life which were decidedly those of a patrician. She liked nice clothes

and urged for them constantly. Thoughts of love and elegant individual establishments were running in her

head. She met girls at the high school whose parents were truly rich and whose fathers had standing locally as

partners or owners of solid businesses. These girls gave themselves the airs befitting the thriving domestic

establishments from whence they issued. They were the only ones of the school about whom Jessica

Young Hurstwood, Jr., was in his twentieth year, and was already connected in a promising capacity with a

large real estate firm. He contributed nothing for the domestic expenses of the family, but was thought to be

saving his money to invest in real estate. He had some ability, considerable vanity, and a love of pleasure that

had not, as yet, infringed upon his duties, whatever they were. He came in and went out, pursuing his own

plans and fancies, addressing a few words to his mother occasionally, relating some little incident to his

father, but for the most part confining himself to those generalities with which most conversation concerns

itself. He was not laying bare his desires for any one to see. He did not find any one in the house who

Mrs. Hurstwood was the type of woman who has ever endeavoured to shine and has been more or less

chagrined at the evidences of superior capability in this direction elsewhere. Her knowledge of life extended

to that little conventional round of society of which she was notbut longed to bea member. She was not

without realisation already that this thing was impossible, so far as she was concerned. For her daughter, she

hoped better things. Through Jessica she might rise a little. Through George, Jr.'s, possible success she might

draw to herself the privilege of pointing proudly. Even Hurstwood was doing well enough, and she was

anxious that his small real estate adventures should prosper. His property holdings, as yet, were rather small,

but his income was pleasing and his position with Fitzgerald and Moy was fixed. Both those gentlemen were

The atmosphere which such personalities would create must be apparent to all. It worked out in a thousand

"I'm going up to Fox Lake tomorrow," announced George, Jr., at the dinner table one Friday evening.

"Eddie Fahrway's got a new steam launch, and he wants me to come up and see how it works."

"He is, I guess. Jack told me they were shipping Vegacura to Australia nowsaid they sent a whole box to

"Just think of that!" said Mrs. Hurstwood, "and only four years ago they had that basement in Madison

"Jack told me they were going to put up a sixstory building next spring in Robey Street."

They went on dining, while he went upstairs for his hat and coat. Presently the door clicked.

"They're going to give a performance in the Lyceum, upstairs," she reported one day, "and I'm going to be in

"Yes, and I'll have to have a new dress. Some of the nicest girls in the school are going to be in it. Miss

"Her family doesn't amount to anything, does it?" said Mrs. Hurstwood sympathetically. "They haven't

She distinguished very carefully between the young boys of the school, many of whom were attracted by her

"What do you think?" she remarked to her mother one evening; "that Herbert Crane tried to make friends

"Oh, no one," said Jessica, pursing her pretty lips. "He's just a student there. He hasn't anything."

The other half of this picture came when young Blyford, son of Blyford, the soap manufacturer, walked home

with her. Mrs. Hurstwood was on the third floor, sitting in a rockingchair reading, and happened to look out

"Yes, and he wants me to stroll over into the park with him," explained Jessica, a little flushed with running

As the two went down the street, she glanced interestedly out of the window. It was a most satisfactory

In this atmosphere Hurstwood had moved for a number of years, not thinking deeply concerning it. His was

not the order of nature to trouble for something better, unless the better was immediately and sharply

contrasted. As it was, he received and gave, irritated sometimes by the little displays of selfish indifference,

pleased at times by some show of finery which supposedly made for dignity and social distinction. The life of

the resort which he managed was his life. There he spent most of his time. When he went home evenings the

house looked nice. With rare exceptions the meals were acceptable, being the kind that an ordinary servant

can arrange. In part, he was interested in the talk of his son and daughter, who always looked well. The vanity

of Mrs. Hurstwood caused her to keep her person rather showily arrayed, but to Hurstwood this was much

better than plainness. There was no love lost between them. There was no great feeling of dissatisfaction. Her

opinion on any subject was not startling. They did not talk enough together to come to the argument of any

one point. In the accepted and popular phrase, she had her ideas and he had his. Once in a while he would

meet a woman whose youth, sprightliness, and humour would make his wife seem rather deficient by

contrast, but the temporary dissatisfaction which such an encounter might arouse would be counterbalanced

by his social position and a certain matter of policy. He could not complicate his home life, because it might

affect his relations with his employers. They wanted no scandals. A man, to hold his position, must have a

dignified manner, a clean record, a respectable home anchorage. Therefore he was circumspect in all he did,

and whenever he appeared in the public ways in the afternoon, or on Sunday, it was with his wife, and

sometimes his children. He would visit the local resorts, or those near by in Wisconsin, and spend a few stiff,

polished days strolling about conventional places doing conventional things. He knew the need of it.

When some one of the many middleclass individuals whom he knew, who had money, would get into

trouble, he would shake his head. It didn't do to talk about those things. If it came up for discussion among

such friends as with him passed for close, he would deprecate the folly of the thing. "It was all right to do

itall men do those thingsbut why wasn't he careful? A man can't be too careful." He lost sympathy for

On this account he still devoted some time to showing his wife abouttime which would have been

wearisome indeed if it had not been for the people he would meet and the little enjoyments which did not

depend upon her presence or absence. He watched her with considerable curiosity at times, for she was still

attractive in a way and men looked at her. She was affable, vain, subject to flattery, and this combination, he

knew quite well, might produce a tragedy in a woman of her home position. Owing to his order of mind, his

confidence in the sex was not great. His wife never possessed the virtues which would win the confidence

and admiration of a man of his nature. As long as she loved him vigorously he could see how confidence

could be, but when that was no longer the binding chainwell, something might happen.

During the last year or two the expenses of the family seemed a large thing. Jessica wanted fine clothes, and

Mrs. Hurstwood, not to be outshone by her daughter, also frequently enlivened her apparel. Hurstwood had

Hurstwood was arraying himself in one of his perfection vests before the glass at the time.

"It seems to me," returned Hurstwood, "that she's spending a good deal for dresses of late."

"Well, she's going out more," concluded his wife, but the tone of his voice impressed her as containing

He was not a man who traveled much, but when he did, he had been accustomed to take her along. On one

occasion recently a local aldermanic junket had been arranged to visit Philadelphiaa junket that was to last

"Nobody knows us down there," said one, a gentleman whose face was a slight improvement over gross

ignorance and sensuality. He always wore a silk hat of most imposing proportions. "We can have a good

time." His left eye moved with just the semblance of a wink. "You want to come along, George."

"All right," she replied, but he could see that she was thinking that it was a curious thing. Before he went she

asked him a few more questions, and that irritated him. He began to feel that she was a disagreeable

On this trip he enjoyed himself thoroughly, and when it was over he was sorry to get back. He was not

willingly a prevaricator, and hated thoroughly to make explanations concerning it. The whole incident was

glossed over with general remarks, but Mrs. Hurstwood gave the subject considerable thought. She drove out

Such an atmosphere could hardly come under the category of home life. It ran along by force of habit, by

force of conventional opinion. With the lapse of time it must necessarily become dryer and dryermust

In the light of the world's attitude toward woman and her duties, the nature of Carrie's mental state deserves

consideration. Actions such as hers are measured by an arbitrary scale. Society possesses a conventional

standard whereby it judges all things. All men should be good, all women virtuous. Wherefore, villain, hast

For all the liberal analysis of Spencer and our modern naturalistic philosophers, we have but an infantile

perception of morals. There is more in the subject than mere conformity to a law of evolution. It is yet deeper

than conformity to things of earth alone. It is more involved than we, as yet, perceive. Answer, first, why the

heart thrills; explain wherefore some plaintive note goes wandering about the world, undying; make clear the

rose's subtle alchemy evolving its ruddy lamp in light and rain. In the essence of these facts lie the first

Before this worldold proposition we stand, serious, interested, confused; endeavouring to evolve the true

In the view of a certain stratum of society, Carrie was comfortably establishedin the eyes of the starveling,

beaten by every wind and gusty sheet of rain, she was safe in a halcyon harbour. Drouet had taken three

rooms, furnished, in Ogden Place, facing Union Park, on the West Side. That was a little, greencarpeted

breathing spot, than which, today, there is nothing more beautiful in Chicago. It afforded a vista pleasant to

contemplate. The best room looked out upon the lawn of the park, now sear and brown, where a little lake lay

sheltered. Over the bare limbs of the trees, which now swayed in the wintry wind, rose the steeple of the

The rooms were comfortably enough furnished. There was a good Brussels carpet on the floor, rich in dull

red and lemon shades, and representing large jardinieres filled with gorgeous, impossible flowers. There was

a large pierglass mirror between the two windows. A large, soft, green, plushcovered couch occupied one

corner, and several rockingchairs were set about. Some pictures, several rugs, a few small pieces of

In the bedroom, off the front room, was Carrie's trunk, bought by Drouet, and in the wardrobe built into the

wall quite an array of clothingmore than she had ever possessed before, and of very becoming designs.

There was a third room for possible use as a kitchen, where Drouet had Carrie establish a little portable gas

stove for the preparation of small lunches, oysters, Welsh rarebits, and the like, of which he was exceedingly

fond; and, lastly, a bath. The whole place was cosey, in that it was lighted by gas and heated by furnace

registers, possessing also a small grate, set with an asbestos back, a method of cheerful warming which was

then first coming into use. By her industry and natural love of order, which now developed, the place

Here, then, was Carrie, established in a pleasant fashion, free of certain difficulties which most ominously

confronted her, laden with many new ones which were of a mental order, and altogether so turned about in all

of her earthly relationships that she might well have been a new and different individual. She looked into her

glass and saw a prettier Carrie than she had seen before; she looked into her mind, a mirror prepared of her

own and the world's opinions, and saw a worse. Between these two images she wavered, hesitating which to

"Oh, I don't know," she would reply, feeling delight in the fact that one should think so, hesitating to believe,

Her conscience, however, was not a Drouet, interested to praise. There she heard a different voice, with

which she argued, pleaded, excused. It was no just and sapient counsellor, in its last analysis. It was only an

average little conscience, a thing which represented the world, her past environment, habit, convention, in a

"Look at those about," came the whispered answer. "Look at those who are good. How would they scorn to

do what you have done. Look at the good girls; how will they draw away from such as you when they know

It was when Carrie was alone, looking out across the park, that she would be listening to this. It would come

infrequentlywhen something else did not interfere, when the pleasant side was not too apparent, when

Drouet was not there. It was somewhat clear in utterance at first, but never wholly convincing. There was

always an answer, always the December days threatened. She was alone; she was desireful; she was fearful of

Once the bright days of summer pass by, a city takes on that sombre garb of grey, wrapt in which it goes

about its labours during the long winter. Its endless buildings look grey, its sky and its streets assume a

sombre hue; the scattered, leafless trees and windblown dust and paper but add to the general solemnity of

colour. There seems to be something in the chill breezes which scurry through the long, narrow thoroughfares

productive of rueful thoughts. Not poets alone, nor artists, nor that superior order of mind which arrogates to

itself all refinement, feel this, but dogs and all men. These feel as much as the poet, though they have not the

same power of expression. The sparrow upon the wire, the cat in the doorway, the dray horse tugging his

weary load, feel the long, keen breaths of winter. It strikes to the heart of all life, animate and inanimate. If it

were not for the artificial fires of merriment, the rush of profitseeking trade, and pleasureselling

amusements; if the various merchants failed to make the customary display within and without their

establishments; if our streets were not strung with signs of gorgeous hues and thronged with hurrying

purchasers, we would quickly discover how firmly the chill hand of winter lays upon the heart; how

dispiriting are the days during which the sun withholds a portion of our allowance of light and warmth. We

are more dependent upon these things than is often thought. We are insects produced by heat, and pass

In the drag of such a grey day the secret voice would reassert itself, feebly and more feebly.

Such mental conflict was not always uppermost. Carrie was not by any means a gloomy soul. More, she had

not the mind to get firm hold upon a definite truth. When she could not find her way out of the labyrinth of

Drouet, all the time, was conducting himself in a model way for one of his sort. He took her about a great

deal, spent money upon her, and when he travelled took her with him. There were times when she would be

alone for two or three days, while he made the shorter circuits of his business, but, as a rule, she saw a great

"Say, Carrie," he said one morning, shortly after they had so established themselves, "I've invited my friend

Carrie puzzled a moment. She was wondering what Drouet had told him, what her attitude would be.

"That's all right," said Drouet, feeling her thought. "He doesn't know anything. You're Mrs. Drouet now."

There was something about this which struck Carrie as slightly inconsiderate. She could see that Drouet did

"Why don't we get married?" she inquired, thinking of the voluble promises he had made.

"Well, we will," he said, "just as soon as I get this little deal of mine closed up."

He was referring to some property which he said he had, and which required so much attention, adjustment,

and what not, that somehow or other it interfered with his free moral, personal actions.

Carrie accepted this as basis for hopeit was a sort of salve to her conscience, a pleasant way out. Under the

circumstances, things would be righted. Her actions would be justified. She really was not enamoured of

Drouet. She was more clever than he. In a dim way, she was beginning to see where he lacked. If it had not

been for this, if she had not been able to measure and judge him in a way, she would have been worse off

than she was. She would have adored him. She would have been utterly wretched in her fear of not gaining

his affection, of losing his interest, of being swept away and left without an anchorage. As it was, she

wavered a little, slightly anxious, at first, to gain him completely, but later feeling at ease in waiting. She was

When Hurstwood called, she met a man who was more clever than Drouet in a hundred ways. He paid that

peculiar deference to women which every member of the sex appreciates. He was not overawed, he was not

overbold. His great charm was attentiveness. Schooled in winning those birds of fine feather among his own

sex, the merchants and professionals who visited his resort, he could use even greater tact when endeavouring

to prove agreeable to some one who charmed him. In a pretty woman of any refinement of feeling whatsoever

he found his greatest incentive. He was mild, placid, assured, giving the impression that he wished to be of

Drouet had ability in this line himself when the game was worth the candle, but he was too much the egotist

to reach the polish which Hurstwood possessed. He was too buoyant, too full of ruddy life, too assured. He

succeeded with many who were not quite schooled in the art of love. He failed dismally where the woman

was slightly experienced and possessed innate refinement. In the case of Carrie he found a woman who was

all of the latter, but none of the former. He was lucky in the fact that opportunity tumbled into his lap, as it

were. A few years later, with a little more experience, the slightest tide of success, and he had not been able

"You ought to have a piano here, Drouet," said Hurstwood, smiling at Carrie, on the evening in question, "so

"It isn't very difficult," returned Hurstwood. "You could do very well in a few weeks."

He was in the best form for entertaining this evening. His clothes were particularly new and rich in

appearance. The coat lapels stood out with that medium stiffness which excellent cloth possesses. The vest

was of a rich Scotch plaid, set with a double row of round motherofpearl buttons. His cravat was a shiny

combination of silken threads, not loud, not inconspicuous. What he wore did not strike the eye so forcibly as

that which Drouet had on, but Carrie could see the elegance of the material. Hurstwood's shoes were of soft,

black calf, polished only to a dull shine. Drouet wore patent leather but Carrie could not help feeling that

there was a distinction in favour of the soft leather, where all else was so rich. She noticed these things almost

unconsciously. They were things which would naturally flow from the situation. She was used to Drouet's

"Suppose we have a little game of euchre?" suggested Hurstwood, after a light round of conversation. He was

rather dexterous in avoiding everything that would suggest that he knew anything of Carrie's past. He kept

away from personalities altogether, and confined himself to those things which did not concern individuals at

all. By his manner, he put Carrie at her ease, and by his deference and pleasantries he amused her. He

"Charlie, you are neglecting a part of your duty," he observed to Drouet most affably. "Between us, though,"

By his tact he made Drouet feel that he admired his choice. There was something in his manner that showed

that he was pleased to be there. Drouet felt really closer to him than ever before. It gave him more respect for

Carrie. Her appearance came into a new light, under Hurstwood's appreciation. The situation livened

"Now, let me see," said Hurstwood, looking over Carrie's shoulder very deferentially. "What have you?" He

"You're lucky. Now, I'll show you how to trounce your husband. You take my advice."

"Here," said Drouet, "if you two are going to scheme together, I won't stand a ghost of a show. Hurstwood's a

Carrie looked gratefully at Hurstwood, and smiled at Drouet. The former took the air of a mere friend. He

was simply there to enjoy himself. Anything that Carrie did was pleasing to him, nothing more.

"There," he said, holding back one of his own good cards, and giving Carrie a chance to take a trick. "I count

The latter laughed gleefully as she saw the hand coming her way. It was as if she were invincible when

He did not look at her often. When he did, it was with a mild light in his eye. Not a shade was there of

anything save geniality and kindness. He took back the shifty, clever gleam, and replaced it with one of

innocence. Carrie could not guess but that it was pleasure with him in the immediate thing. She felt that he

"It's unfair to let such playing go without earning something," he said after a time, slipping his finger into the

Hurstwood was quicker. His fingers were full of new tencent pieces. "Here we are," he said, supplying each

"No," said Drouet, "only fun. If you never play for more than that, you will go to Heaven."

"Don't you moralise," said Hurstwood to Carrie gently, "until you see what becomes of the money."

There was such an ingratiating tone about Hurstwood's voice, the insinuation was so perceptible that even

"It's rather hard to have your husband running about like that, isn't it?" said Hurstwood, addressing Carrie.

Hurstwood did his best to see that Carrie won the money. He rejoiced in her success, kept counting her

winnings, and finally gathered and put them in her extended hand. They spread a little lunch, at which he

"Now," he said, addressing first Carrie and then Drouet with his eyes, "you must be ready at 7.30. I'll come

They went with him to the door and there was his cab waiting, its red lamps gleaming cheerfully in the

"Now," he observed to Drouet, with a tone of goodfellowship, "when you leave your wife alone, you must

He smiled and went lightly away. Carrie was thoroughly impressed. She had never come in contact with such

"There's a nice man," he remarked to Carrie, as they returned to their cosey chamber. "A good friend of mine,

Carrie was an apt student of fortune's waysof fortune's superficialities. Seeing a thing, she would

immediately set to inquiring how she would look, properly related to it. Be it known that this is not fine

feeling, it is not wisdom. The greatest minds are not so afflicted; and on the contrary, the lowest order of

mind is not so disturbed. Fine clothes to her were a vast persuasion; they spoke tenderly and Jesuitically for

themselves. When she came within earshot of their pleading, desire in her bent a willing ear. The voice of the

"My dear," said the lace collar she secured from Partridge's, "I fit you beautifully; don't give me up."

"Ah, such little feet," said the leather of the soft new shoes; "how effectively I cover them. What a pity they

Once these things were in her hand, on her person, she might dream of giving them up; the method by which

they came might intrude itself so forcibly that she would ache to be rid of the thought of it, but she would not

give them up. "Put on the old clothesthat torn pair of shoes," was called to her by her conscience in vain.

She could possibly have conquered the fear of hunger and gone back; the thought of hard work and a narrow

round of suffering would, under the last pressure of conscience, have yielded, but spoil her appearance?be

Drouet heightened her opinion on this and allied subjects in such a manner as to weaken her power of

resisting their influence. It is so easy to do this when the thing opined is in the line of what we desire. In his

hearty way, he insisted upon her good looks. He looked at her admiringly, and she took it at its full value.

Under the circumstances, she did not need to carry herself as pretty women do. She picked that knowledge up

fast enough for herself. Drouet had a habit, characteristic of his kind, of looking after stylishly dressed or

pretty women on the street and remarking upon them. He had just enough of the feminine love of dress to be

a good judgenot of intellect, but of clothes. He saw how they set their little feet, how they carried their

chins, with what grace and sinuosity they swung their bodies. A dainty, selfconscious swaying of the hips

by a woman was to him as alluring as the glint of rare wine to a toper. He would turn and follow the

disappearing vision with his eyes. He would thrill as a child with the unhindered passion that was in him. He

loved the thing that women love in themselves, grace. At this, their own shrine, he knelt with them, an ardent

"Did you see that woman who went by just now?" he said to Carrie on the first day they took a walk together.

"Yes, she is," she returned, cheerfully, a little suggestion of possible defect in herself awakening in her mind.

If that was so fine, she must look at it more closely. Instinctively, she felt a desire to imitate it. Surely she

When one of her mind sees many things emphasized and reemphasized and admired, she gathers the logic of

it and applies accordingly. Drouet was not shrewd enough to see that this was not tactful. He could not see

that it would be better to make her feel that she was competing with herself, not others better than herself. He

would not have done it with an older, wiser woman, but in Carrie he saw only the novice. Less clever than

she, he was naturally unable to comprehend her sensibility. He went on educating and wounding her, a thing

rather foolish in one whose admiration for his pupil and victim was apt to grow.

Carrie took the instructions affably. She saw what Drouet liked; in a vague way she saw where he was weak.

It lessens a woman's opinion of a man when she learns that his admiration is so pointedly and generously

distributed. She sees but one object of supreme compliment in this world, and that is herself. If a man is to

In the same house with her lived an official of one of the theatres, Mr. Frank A. Hale, manager of the

Standard, and his wife, a pleasinglooking brunette of thirtyfive. They were people of a sort very common

in America today, who live respectably from hand to mouth. Hale received a salary of fortyfive dollars a

week. His wife, quite attractive, affected the feeling of youth, and objected to that sort of home life which

means the care of a house and the raising of a family. Like Drouet and Carrie, they also occupied three rooms

Not long after she arrived Mrs. Hale established social relations with her, and together they went about. For a

long time this was her only companionship, and the gossip of the manager's wife formed the medium through

which she saw the world. Such trivialities, such praises of wealth, such conventional expression of morals as

sifted through this passive creature's mind, fell upon Carrie and for the while confused her.

On the other hand, her own feelings were a corrective influence. The constant drag to something better was

not to be denied. By those things which address the heart was she steadily recalled. In the apartments across

the hall were a young girl and her mother. They were from Evansville, Indiana, the wife and daughter of a

railroad treasurer. The daughter was here to study music, the mother to keep her company.

Carrie did not make their acquaintance, but she saw the daughter coming in and going out. A few times she

had seen her at the piano in the parlour, and not infrequently had heard her play. This young woman was

particularly dressy for her station, and wore a jewelled ring or two which flashed upon her white fingers as

Now Carrie was affected by music. Her nervous composition responded to certain strains, much as certain

strings of a harp vibrate when a corresponding key of a piano is struck. She was delicately moulded in

sentiment, and answered with vague ruminations to certain wistful chords. They awoke longings for those

things which she did not have. They caused her to cling closer to things she possessed. One short song the

young lady played in a most soulful and tender mood. Carrie heard it through the open door from the parlour

below. It was at that hour between afternoon and night when, for the idle, the wanderer, things are apt to take

on a wistful aspect. The mind wanders forth on far journeys and returns with sheaves of withered and

departed joys. Carrie sat at her window looking out. Drouet had been away since ten in the morning. She had

amused herself with a walk, a book by Bertha M. Clay which Drouet had left there, though she did not wholly

enjoy the latter, and by changing her dress for the evening. Now she sat looking out across the park as wistful

and depressed as the nature which craves variety and life can be under such circumstances. As she

contemplated her new state, the strain from the parlour below stole upward. With it her thoughts became

coloured and enmeshed. She reverted to the things which were best and saddest within the small limit of her

While she was in this mood Drouet came in, bringing with him an entirely different atmosphere. It was dusk

and Carrie had neglected to light the lamp. The fire in the grate, too, had burned low.

There was something delicate and lonely in her voice, but he could not hear it. He had not the poetry in him

that would seek a woman out under such circumstances and console her for the tragedy of life. Instead, he

He took her hand, feeling in his goodnatured egotism that it was probably lack of his presence which had

"Come on, now," he went on; "it's all right. Let's waltz a little to that music."

He could not have introduced a more incongruous proposition. It made clear to Carrie that he could not

sympathise with her. She could not have framed thoughts which would have expressed his defect or made

clear the difference between them, but she felt it. It was his first great mistake.

What Drouet said about the girl's grace, as she tripped out evenings accompanied by her mother, caused

Carrie to perceive the nature and value of those little modish ways which women adopt when they would

presume to be something. She looked in the mirror and pursed up her lips, accompanying it with a little toss

of the head, as she had seen the railroad treasurer's daughter do. She caught up her skirts with an easy swing,

for had not Drouet remarked that in her and several others, and Carrie was naturally imitative. She began to

get the hang of those little things which the pretty woman who has vanity invariably adopts. In short, her

knowledge of grace doubled, and with it her appearance changed. She became a girl of considerable taste.

Drouet noticed this. He saw the new bow in her hair and the new way of arranging her locks which she

"Do I?" she replied, sweetly. It made her try for other effects that selfsame day.

She used her feet less heavily, a thing that was brought about by her attempting to imitate the treasurer's

daughter's graceful carriage. How much influence the presence of that young woman in the same house had

upon her it would be difficult to say. But, because of all these things, when Hurstwood called he had found a

young woman who was much more than the Carrie to whom Drouet had first spoken. The primary defects of

dress and manner had passed. She was pretty, graceful, rich in the timidity born of uncertainty, and with a

something childlike in her large eyes which captured the fancy of this starched and conventional poser among

men. It was the ancient attraction of the fresh for the stale. If there was a touch of appreciation left in him for

the bloom and unsophistication which is the charm of youth, it rekindled now. He looked into her pretty face

and felt the subtle waves of young life radiating therefrom. In that large clear eye he could see nothing that

his blase nature could understand as guile. The little vanity, if he could have perceived it there, would have

The cab plopped along between the farreceding lines of gas lamps on either hand. He folded his gloved

hands and saw only the lighted chamber and Carrie's face. He was pondering over the delight of youthful

"I'll have a bouquet for her," he thought. "Drouet won't mind." He never for a moment concealed the fact of

her attraction for himself. He troubled himself not at all about Drouet's priority. He was merely floating those

gossamer threads of thought which, like the spider's, he hoped would lay hold somewhere. He did not know,

A few weeks later Drouet, in his peregrinations, encountered one of his welldressed lady acquaintances in

Chicago on his return from a short trip to Omaha. He had intended to hurry out to Ogden Place and surprise

Carrie, but now he fell into an interesting conversation and soon modified his original intention.

"Let's go to dinner," he said, little recking any chance meeting which might trouble his way.

They visited one of the better restaurants for a social chat. It was five in the afternoon when they met; it was

Drouet was just finishing a little incident he was relating, and his face was expanding into a smile, when

Hurstwood's eye caught his own. The latter had come in with several friends, and, seeing Drouet and some

"Ah, the rascal," he thought, and then, with a touch of righteous sympathy, "that's pretty hard on the little

Drouet jumped from one easy thought to another as he caught Hurstwood's eye. He felt but very little

misgiving, until he saw that Hurstwood was cautiously pretending not to see. Then some of the latter's

impression forced itself upon him. He thought of Carrie and their last meeting. By George, he would have to

explain this to Hurstwood. Such a chance halfhour with an old friend must not have anything more attached

For the first time he was troubled. Here was a moral complication of which he could not possibly get the

ends. Hurstwood would laugh at him for being a fickle boy. He would laugh with Hurstwood. Carrie would

never hear, his present companion at table would never know, and yet he could not help feeling that he was

getting the worst of itthere was some faint stigma attached, and he was not guilty. He broke up the dinner

"He hasn't talked to me about any of these later flames," thought Hurstwood to himself. "He thinks I think he

"He ought not to think I'm knocking around, since I have just introduced him out there," thought Drouet.

"I saw you," Hurstwood said, genially, the next time Drouet drifted in to his polished resort, from which he

could not stay away. He raised his forefinger indicatively, as parents do to children.

"An old acquaintance of mine that I ran into just as I was coming up from the station," explained Drouet.

"You must bring the girl down and take dinner with me," he said. "I'm afraid you keep her cooped up out

This pleased Hurstwood immensely. He gave Drouet no credit for any feelings toward Carrie whatever. He

envied him, and now, as he looked at the welldressed jolly salesman, whom he so much liked, the gleam of

the rival glowed in his eye. He began to "size up" Drouet from the standpoints of wit and fascination. He

began to look to see where he was weak. There was no disputing that, whatever he might think of him as a

good fellow, he felt a certain amount of contempt for him as a lover. He could hoodwink him all right. Why,

if he would just let Carrie see one such little incident as that of Thursday, it would settle the matter. He ran on

in thought, almost exulting, the while he laughed and chatted, and Drouet felt nothing. He had no power of

analysing the glance and the atmosphere of a man like Hurstwood. He stood and smiled and accepted the

The object of this peculiarly involved comedy was not thinking of either. She was busy adjusting her

thoughts and feelings to newer conditions, and was not in danger of suffering disturbing pangs from either

"Well, you're mighty pretty," he went on, slipping his arm around her. "Put on that navyblue dress of yours

"Oh, I've promised Mrs. Hale to go with her to the Exposition tonight," she returned, apologetically.

"You did, eh?" he said, studying the situation abstractedly. "I wouldn't care to go to that myself."

"Well, I don't know," answered Carrie, puzzling, but not offering to break her promise in his favour.

"It's from Hurstwood," said Drouet, noting the superscription as he tore it open.

"You are to come down and see Joe Jefferson with me tonight," it ran in part. "It's my turn, as we agreed the

"Well, what do you say to this?" asked Drouet, innocently, while Carrie's mind bubbled with favourable

"I guess we had better go, if you can break that engagement upstairs," said Drouet.

Drouet selected writing paper while Carrie went to change her dress. She hardly explained to herself why this

"Shall I wear my hair as I did yesterday?" she asked, as she came out with several articles of apparel pending.

She was relieved to see that he felt nothing. She did not credit her willingness to go to any fascination

Hurstwood held for her. It seemed that the combination of Hurstwood, Drouet, and herself was more

agreeable than anything else that had been suggested. She arrayed herself most carefully and they started off,

"I say," said Hurstwood, as they came up the theatre lobby, "we are exceedingly charming this evening."

If ever there was dressiness it was here. It was the personification of the old term spick and span.

"Did you ever see Jefferson?" he questioned, as he leaned toward Carrie in the box.

"He's delightful, delightful," he went on, giving the commonplace rendition of approval which such men

know. He sent Drouet after a programme, and then discoursed to Carrie concerning Jefferson as he had heard

of him. The former was pleased beyond expression, and was really hypnotised by the environment, the

trappings of the box, the elegance of her companion. Several times their eyes accidentally met, and then there

poured into hers such a flood of feeling as she had never before experienced. She could not for the moment

explain it, for in the next glance or the next move of the hand there was seeming indifference, mingled only

Drouet shared in the conversation, but he was almost dull in comparison. Hurstwood entertained them both,

and now it was driven into Carrie's mind that here was the superior man. She instinctively felt that he was

stronger and higher, and yet withal so simple. By the end of the third act she was sure that Drouet was only a

kindly soul, but otherwise defective. He sank every moment in her estimation by the strong comparison.

"I have had such a nice time," said Carrie, when it was all over and they were coming out.

"Yes, indeed," added Drouet, who was not in the least aware that a battle had been fought and his defences

weakened. He was like the Emperor of China, who sat glorying in himself, unaware that his fairest provinces

He took Carrie's little hand, and a current of feeling swept from one to the other.

"Well, you rest a little while I smoke," he said, rising, and then he foolishly went to the forward platform of

Mrs. Hurstwood was not aware of any of her husband's moral defections, though she might readily have

suspected his tendencies, which she well understood. She was a woman upon whose action under provocation

you could never count. Hurstwood, for one, had not the slightest idea of what she would do under certain

circumstances. He had never seen her thoroughly aroused. In fact, she was not a woman who would fly into a

passion. She had too little faith in mankind not to know that they were erring. She was too calculating to

jeopardize any advantage she might gain in the way of information by fruitless clamour. Her wrath would

never wreak itself in one fell blow. She would wait and brood, studying the details and adding to them until

her power might be commensurate with her desire for revenge. At the same time, she would not delay to

inflict any injury, big or little, which would wound the object of her revenge and still leave him uncertain as

to the source of the evil. She was a cold, selfcentred woman, with many a thought of her own which never

Hurstwood felt some of this in her nature, though he did not actually perceive it. He dwelt with her in peace

and some satisfaction. He did not fear her in the leastthere was no cause for it. She still took a faint pride in

him, which was augmented by her desire to have her social integrity maintained. She was secretly somewhat

pleased by the fact that much of her husband's property was in her name, a precaution which Hurstwood had

taken when his home interests were somewhat more alluring than at present. His wife had not the slightest

reason to feel that anything would ever go amiss with their household, and yet the shadows which run before

gave her a thought of the good of it now and then. She was in a position to become refractory with

considerable advantage, and Hurstwood conducted himself circumspectly because he felt that he could not be

It so happened that on the night when Hurstwood, Carrie, and Drouet were in the box at McVickar's, George,

Jr., was in the sixth row of the parquet with the daughter of H. B. Carmichael, the third partner of a wholesale

drygoods house of that city. Hurstwood did not see his son, for he sat, as was his wont, as far back as

possible, leaving himself just partially visible, when he bent forward, to those within the first six rows in

question. It was his wont to sit this way in every theatreto make his personality as inconspicuous as

He never moved but what, if there was any danger of his conduct being misconstrued or illreported, he

Mrs. Hurstwood directed an inquiring glance at her husband, but could not judge from his appearance

whether it was any more than a casual look into the theatre which was referred to.

"Very good," returned Hurstwood, "only it's the same old thing, 'Rip Van Winkle.'"

Owing to the peculiar nature of his position, such a disclosure as this would ordinarily create no difficulty.

His wife took it for granted that his situation called for certain social movements in which she might not be

included. But of late he had pleaded office duty on several occasions when his wife asked for his company to

any evening entertainment. He had done so in regard to the very evening in question only the morning before.

"So I was," he exclaimed. "I couldn't help the interruption, but I made up for it afterward by working until

This settled the discussion for the time being, but there was a residue of opinion which was not satisfactory.

There was no time at which the claims of his wife could have been more unsatisfactorily pushed. For years he

had been steadily modifying his matrimonial devotion, and found her company dull. Now that a new light

shone upon the horizon, this older luminary paled in the west. He was satisfied to turn his face away entirely,

She, on the contrary, was not at all inclined to accept anything less than a complete fulfilment of the letter of

"We are coming down town this afternoon," she remarked, a few days later. "I want you to come over to

Kinsley's and meet Mr. Phillips and his wife. They're stopping at the Tremont, and we're going to show them

After the occurrence of Wednesday, he could not refuse, though the Phillips were about as uninteresting as

vanity and ignorance could make them. He agreed, but it was with short grace. He was angry when he left the

"I'll put a stop to this," he thought. "I'm not going to be bothered fooling around with visitors when I have

Not long after this Mrs. Hurstwood came with a similar proposition, only it was to a matinee this time.

"You find time to go with other people, though," she replied, with considerable irritation.

"Nothing of the kind," he answered. "I can't avoid business relations, and that's all there is to it."

"Well, never mind," she exclaimed. Her lips tightened. The feeling of mutual antagonism was increased.

On the other hand, his interest in Drouet's little shopgirl grew in an almost evenly balanced proportion. That

young lady, under the stress of her situation and the tutelage of her new friend, changed effectively. She had

the aptitude of the struggler who seeks emancipation. The glow of a more showy life was not lost upon her.

She did not grow in knowledge so much as she awakened in the matter of desire. Mrs. Hale's extended

harangues upon the subjects of wealth and position taught her to distinguish between degrees of wealth.

Mrs. Hale loved to drive in the afternoon in the sun when it was fine, and to satisfy her soul with a sight of

those mansions and lawns which she could not afford. On the North Side had been erected a number of

elegant mansions along what is now known as the North Shore Drive. The present lake wall of stone and

granitoid was not then in place, but the road had been well laid out, the intermediate spaces of lawn were

lovely to look upon, and the houses were thoroughly new and imposing. When the winter season had passed

and the first fine days of the early spring appeared, Mrs. Hale secured a buggy for an afternoon and invited

Carrie. They rode first through Lincoln Park and on far out towards Evanston, turning back at four and

arriving at the north end of the Shore Drive at about five o'clock. At this time of year the days are still

comparatively short, and the shadows of the evening were beginning to settle down upon the great city.

Lamps were beginning to burn with that mellow radiance which seems almost watery and translucent to the

eye. There was a softness in the air which speaks with an infinite delicacy of feeling to the flesh as well as to

the soul. Carrie felt that it was a lovely day. She was ripened by it in spirit for many suggestions. As they

drove along the smooth pavement an occasional carriage passed. She saw one stop and the footman dismount,

opening the door for a gentleman who seemed to be leisurely returning from some afternoon pleasure. Across

the broad lawns, now first freshening into green, she saw lamps faintly glowing upon rich interiors. Now it

was but a chair, now a table, now an ornate corner, which met her eye, but it appealed to her as almost

nothing else could. Such childish fancies as she had had of fairy palaces and kingly quarters now came back.

She imagined that across these richly carved entranceways, where the globed and crystalled lamps shone

upon panelled doors set with stained and designed panes of glass, was neither care nor unsatisfied desire. She

was perfectly certain that here was happiness. If she could but stroll up yon broad walk, cross that rich

entranceway, which to her was of the beauty of a jewel, and sweep in grace and luxury to possession and

commandoh! how quickly would sadness flee; how, in an instant, would the heartache end. She gazed and

gazed, wondering, delighting, longing, and all the while the siren voice of the unrestful was whispering in her

"If we could have such a home as that," said Mrs. Hale sadly, "how delightful it would be."

"I notice," said Mrs. Hale, "that they all try mighty hard, though, to take their misery in a mansion."

When she came to her own rooms, Carrie saw their comparative insignificance. She was not so dull but that

she could perceive they were but three small rooms in a moderately wellfurnished boardinghouse. She was

not contrasting it now with what she had had, but what she had so recently seen. The glow of the palatial

doors was still in her eye, the roll of cushioned carriages still in her ears. What, after all, was Drouet? What

was she? At her window, she thought it over, rocking to and fro, and gazing out across the lamplit park

toward the lamplit houses on Warren and Ashland avenues. She was too wrought up to care to go down to

eat, too pensive to do aught but rock and sing. Some old tunes crept to her lips, and, as she sang them, her

heart sank. She longed and longed and longed. It was now for the old cottage room in Columbia City, now

the mansion upon the Shore Drive, now the fine dress of some lady, now the elegance of some scene. She

was sad beyond measure, and yet uncertain, wishing, fancying. Finally, it seemed as if all her state was one of

loneliness and forsakenness, and she could scarce refrain from trembling at the lip. She hummed and

hummed as the moments went by, sitting in the shadow by the window, and was therein as happy, though she

While Carrie was still in this frame of mind, the houseservant brought up the intelligence that Mr.

She had seen comparatively little of the manager during the winter, but had been kept constantly in mind of

him by one thing and another, principally by the strong impression he had made. She was quite disturbed for

the moment as to her appearance, but soon satisfied herself by the aid of the mirror, and went below.

Hurstwood was in his best form, as usual. He hadn't heard that Drouet was out of town. He was but slightly

affected by the intelligence, and devoted himself to the more general topics which would interest Carrie. It

was surprisingthe ease with which he conducted a conversation. He was like every man who has had the

advantage of practice and knows he has sympathy. He knew that Carrie listened to him pleasurably, and,

without the least effort, he fell into a train of observation which absorbed her fancy. He drew up his chair and

modulated his voice to such a degree that what he said seemed wholly confidential. He confined himself

almost exclusively to his observation of men and pleasures. He had been here and there, he had seen this and

that. Somehow he made Carrie wish to see similar things, and all the while kept her aware of himself. She

could not shut out the consciousness of his individuality and presence for a moment. He would raise his eyes

slowly in smiling emphasis of something, and she was fixed by their magnetism. He would draw out, with the

easiest grace, her approval. Once he touched her hand for emphasis and she only smiled. He seemed to

radiate an atmosphere which suffused her being. He was never dull for a minute, and seemed to make her

clever. At least, she brightened under his influence until all her best side was exhibited. She felt that she was

more clever with him than with others. At least, he seemed to find so much in her to applaud. There was not

There had been something so personal, so subtle, in each meeting between them, both when Drouet was

present and when he was absent, that Carrie could not speak of it without feeling a sense of difficulty. She

was no talker. She could never arrange her thoughts in fluent order. It was always a matter of feeling with

her, strong and deep. Each time there had been no sentence of importance which she could relate, and as for

the glances and sensations, what woman would reveal them? Such things had never been between her and

Drouet. As a matter of fact, they could never be. She had been dominated by distress and the enthusiastic

forces of relief which Drouet represented at an opportune moment when she yielded to him. Now she was

persuaded by secret current feelings which Drouet had never understood. Hurstwood's glance was as effective

as the spoken words of a lover, and more. They called for no immediate decision, and could not be answered.

People in general attach too much importance to words. They are under the illusion that talking effects great

results. As a matter of fact, words are, as a rule, the shallowest portion of all the argument. They but dimly

represent the great surging feelings and desires which lie behind. When the distraction of the tongue is

In this conversation she heard, instead of his words, the voices of the things which he represented. How suave

was the counsel of his appearance! How feelingly did his superior state speak for itself! The growing desire

he felt for her lay upon her spirit as a gentle hand. She did not need to tremble at all, because it was invisible;

she did not need to worry over what other people would saywhat she herself would saybecause it had no

tangibility. She was being pleaded with, persuaded, led into denying old rights and assuming new ones, and

yet there were no words to prove it. Such conversation as was indulged in held the same relationship to the

actual mental enactments of the twain that the low music of the orchestra does to the dramatic incident which

"Have you ever seen the houses along the Lake Shore on the North Side?" asked Hurstwood.

"Why, I was just over there this afternoonMrs. Hale and I. Aren't they beautiful?"

He had raised his eyes solemnly and was looking into her own. He assumed that he had struck a deep chord.

Now was a slight chance to say a word in his own behalf. He leaned over quietly and continued his steady

gaze. He felt the critical character of the period. She endeavoured to stir, but it was useless. The whole

strength of a man's nature was working. He had good cause to urge him on. He looked and looked, and the

longer the situation lasted the more difficult it became. The little shopgirl was getting into deep water. She

He saw he was the master of the situationhe felt it. He reached over and touched her hand.

She did not run away, as she might have done. She did not terminate the interview, but he drifted off into a

pleasant field of thought with the readiest grace. Not long after he rose to go, and she felt that he was in

"You mustn't feel bad," he said, kindly; "things will straighten out in the course of time."

"You must be more generous than that," he said, in such a simple way that she was touched.

He went down the steps and into his cab. Carrie closed the door and ascended into her room. She undid her

broad lace collar before the mirror and unfastened her pretty alligator belt which she had recently bought.

"I'm getting terrible," she said, honestly affected by a feeling of trouble and shame. "I don't seem to do

She unloosed her hair after a time, and let it hang in loose brown waves. Her mind was going over the events

The aroused manager whistled merrily for a good four miles to his office an old melody that he had not

It was not quite two days after the scene between Carrie and Hurstwood in the Ogden Place parlour before he

again put in his appearance. He had been thinking almost uninterruptedly of her. Her leniency had, in a way,

The reason for his interest, not to say fascination, was deeper than mere desire. It was a flowering out of

feelings which had been withering in dry and almost barren soil for many years. It is probable that Carrie

represented a better order of woman than had ever attracted him before. He had had no love affair since that

which culminated in his marriage, and since then time and the world had taught him how raw and erroneous

was his original judgment. Whenever he thought of it, he told himself that, if he had it to do over again, he

would never marry such a woman. At the same time, his experience with women in general had lessened his

respect for the sex. He maintained a cynical attitude, well grounded on numerous experiences. Such women

as he had known were of nearly one type, selfish, ignorant, flashy. The wives of his friends were not inspiring

to look upon. His own wife had developed a cold, commonplace nature which to him was anything but

pleasing. What he knew of that underworld where grovel the beatmen of society (and he knew a great

deal) had hardened his nature. He looked upon most women with suspiciona single eye to the utility of

beauty and dress. He followed them with a keen, suggestive glance. At the same time, he was not so dull but

that a good woman commanded his respect. Personally, he did not attempt to analyse the marvel of a saintly

woman. He would take off his hat, and would silence the lighttongued and the vicious in her

presencemuch as the Irish keeper of a Bowery hall will humble himself before a Sister of Mercy, and pay

toll to charity with a willing and reverent hand. But he would not think much upon the question of why he did

A man in his situation who comes, after a long round of worthless or hardening experiences, upon a young,

unsophisticated, innocent soul, is apt either to hold aloof, out of a sense of his own remoteness, or to draw

near and become fascinated and elated by his discovery. It is only by a roundabout process that such men

ever do draw near such a girl. They have no method, no understanding of how to ingratiate themselves in

youthful favour, save when they find virtue in the toils. If, unfortunately, the fly has got caught in the net, the

spider can come forth and talk business upon its own terms. So when maidenhood has wandered into the moil

of the city, when it is brought within the circle of the "rounder" and the roue, even though it be at the

Hurstwood had gone, at Drouet's invitation, to meet a new baggage of fine clothes and pretty features. He

entered, expecting to indulge in an evening of lightsome frolic, and then lose track of the newcomer forever.

Instead he found a woman whose youth and beauty attracted him. In the mild light of Carrie's eye was

nothing of the calculation of the mistress. In the diffident manner was nothing of the art of the courtesan. He

saw at once that a mistake had been made, that some difficult conditions had pushed this troubled creature

into his presence, and his interest was enlisted. Here sympathy sprang to the rescue, but it was not unmixed

with selfishness. He wanted to win Carrie because he thought her fate mingled with his was better than if it

were united with Drouet's. He envied the drummer his conquest as he had never envied any man in all the

Carrie was certainly better than this man, as she was superior, mentally, to Drouet. She came fresh from the

air of the village, the light of the country still in her eye. Here was neither guile nor rapacity. There were

slight inherited traits of both in her, but they were rudimentary. She was too full of wonder and desire to be

greedy. She still looked about her upon the great maze of the city without understanding. Hurstwood felt the

bloom and the youth. He picked her as he would the fresh fruit of a tree. He felt as fresh in her presence as

Carrie, left alone since the scene in question, and having no one with whom to counsel, had at first wandered

from one strange mental conclusion to another, until at last, tired out, she gave it up. She owed something to

Drouet, she thought. It did not seem more than yesterday that he had aided her when she was worried and

distressed. She had the kindliest feelings for him in every way. She gave him credit for his good looks, his

generous feelings, and even, in fact, failed to recollect his egotism when he was absent; but she could not feel

any binding influence keeping her for him as against all others. In fact, such a thought had never had any

The truth is, that this goodly drummer carried the doom of all enduring relationships in his own lightsome

manner and unstable fancy. He went merrily on, assured that he was alluring all, that affection followed

tenderly in his wake, that things would endure unchangingly for his pleasure. When he missed some old face,

or found some door finally shut to him, it did not grieve him deeply. He was too young, too successful. He

As for Hurstwood, he was alive with thoughts and feelings concerning Carrie. He had no definite plans

regarding her, but he was determined to make her confess an affection for him. He thought he saw in her

drooping eye, her unstable glance, her wavering manner, the symptoms of a budding passion. He wanted to

stand near her and make her lay her hand in hishe wanted to find out what her next step would bewhat

the next sign of feeling for him would be. Such anxiety and enthusiasm had not affected him for years. He

In his position opportunity for taking his evenings out was excellent. He was a most faithful worker in

general, and a man who commanded the confidence of his employers in so far as the distribution of his time

was concerned. He could take such hours off as he chose, for it was well known that he fulfilled his

managerial duties successfully, whatever time he might take. His grace, tact, and ornate appearance gave the

place an air which was most essential, while at the same time his long experience made him a most excellent

judge of its stock necessities. Bartenders and assistants might come and go, singly or in groups, but, so long

as he was present, the host of oldtime customers would barely notice the change. He gave the place the

atmosphere to which they were used. Consequently, he arranged his hours very much to suit himself, taking

now an afternoon, now an evening, but invariably returning between eleven and twelve to witness the last

"You see that things are safe and all the employees are out when you go home, George," Moy had once

remarked to him, and he never once, in all the period of his long service, neglected to do this. Neither of the

owners had for years been in the resort after five in the afternoon, and yet their manager as faithfully fulfilled

On this Friday afternoon, scarcely two days after his previous visit, he made up his mind to see Carrie. He

"Evans," he said, addressing the head barkeeper, "if any one calls, I will be back between four and five."

He hurried to Madison Street and boarded a horsecar, which carried him to Ogden Place in half an hour.

Carrie had thought of going for a walk, and had put on a light grey woollen dress with a jaunty

doublebreasted jacket. She had out her hat and gloves, and was fastening a white lace tie about her throat

when the housemaid brought up the information that Mr. Hurstwood wished to see her.

She started slightly at the announcement, but told the girl to say that she would come down in a moment, and

Carrie could not have told herself at this moment whether she was glad or sorry that the impressive manager

was awaiting her presence. She was slightly flurried and tingling in the cheeks, but it was more nervousness

than either fear or favour. She did not try to conjecture what the drift of the conversation would be. She only

felt that she must be careful, and that Hurstwood had an indefinable fascination for her. Then she gave her tie

The deepfeeling manager was himself a little strained in the nerves by the thorough consciousness of his

mission. He felt that he must make a strong play on this occasion, but now that the hour was come, and he

heard Carrie's feet upon the stair, his nerve failed him. He sank a little in determination, for he was not so

When she entered the room, however, her appearance gave him courage. She looked simple and charming

enough to strengthen the daring of any lover. Her apparent nervousness dispelled his own.

"How are you?" he said, easily. "I could not resist the temptation to come out this afternoon, it was so

"Yes," said Carrie, halting before him, "I was just preparing to go for a walk myself."

They crossed the park and went west along Washington Boulevard, beautiful with its broad macadamised

road, and large frame houses set back from the sidewalks. It was a street where many of the more prosperous

residents of the West Side lived, and Hurstwood could not help feeling nervous over the publicity of it. They

had gone but a few blocks when a livery stable sign in one of the side streets solved the difficulty for him. He

The Boulevard at that time was little more than a country road. The part he intended showing her was much

farther out on this same West Side, where there was scarcely a house. It connected Douglas Park with

Washington or South Park, and was nothing more than a neatly MADE road, running due south for some five

miles over an open, grassy prairie, and then due east over the same kind of prairie for the same distance.

There was not a house to be encountered anywhere along the larger part of the route, and any conversation

At the stable he picked a gentle horse, and they were soon out of range of either public observation or

"You can handle a horse as well as any one, after a little practice," he added, encouragingly.

He had been looking for some time for a break in the conversation when he could give it a serious turn. Once

or twice he had held his peace, hoping that in silence her thoughts would take the colour of his own, but she

had lightly continued the subject. Presently, however, his silence controlled the situation. The drift of his

thoughts began to tell. He gazed fixedly at nothing in particular, as if he were thinking of something which

concerned her not at all. His thoughts, however, spoke for themselves. She was very much aware that a

"Do you know," he said, "I have spent the happiest evenings in years since I have known you?"

"Have you?" she said, with assumed airiness, but still excited by the conviction which the tone of his voice

"I was going to tell you the other evening," he added, "but somehow the opportunity slipped away."

Carrie was listening without attempting to reply. She could think of nothing worth while to say. Despite all

the ideas concerning right which had troubled her vaguely since she had last seen him, she was now

"I came out here today," he went on, solemnly, "to tell you just how I feelto see if you wouldn't listen to

Hurstwood was something of a romanticist after his kind. He was capable of strong feelingsoften poetic

onesand under a stress of desire, such as the present, he waxed eloquent. That is, his feelings and his voice

were coloured with that seeming repression and pathos which is the essence of eloquence.

"You know," he said, putting his hand on her arm, and keeping a strange silence while he formulated words,

"that I love you?" Carrie did not stir at the words. She was bound up completely in the man's atmosphere. He

would have churchlike silence in order to express his feelings, and she kept it. She did not move her eyes

from the flat, open scene before her. Hurstwood waited for a few moments, and then repeated the words.

Her words were not convincing at all. They were the result of a feeble thought that something ought to be

"Carrie," he said, using her first name with sympathetic familiarity, "I want you to love me. You don't know

how much I need some one to waste a little affection on me. I am practically alone. There is nothing in my

life that is pleasant or delightful. It's all work and worry with people who are nothing to me."

As he said this, Hurstwood really imagined that his state was pitiful. He had the ability to get off at a distance

and view himself objectivelyof seeing what he wanted to see in the things which made up his existence.

Now, as he spoke, his voice trembled with that peculiar vibration which is the result of tensity. It went

"Why, I should think," she said, turning upon him large eyes which were full of sympathy and feeling, "that

"That is it," he said, his voice dropping to a soft minor, "I know too much of the world."

It was an important thing to her to hear one so wellpositioned and powerful speaking in this manner. She

could not help feeling the strangeness of her situation. How was it that, in so little a while, the narrow life of

the country had fallen from her as a garment, and the city, with all its mystery, taken its place? Here was this

greatest mystery, the man of money and affairs sitting beside her, appealing to her. Behold, he had ease and

comfort, his strength was great, his position high, his clothing rich, and yet he was appealing to her. She

could formulate no thought which would be just and right. She troubled herself no more upon the matter. She

only basked in the warmth of his feeling, which was as a grateful blaze to one who is cold. Hurstwood

glowed with his own intensity, and the heat of his passion was already melting the wax of his companion's

"You think," he said, "I am happy; that I ought not to complain? If you were to meet all day with people who

care absolutely nothing about you, if you went day after day to a place where there was nothing but show and

indifference, if there was not one person in all those you knew to whom you could appeal for sympathy or

He was striking a chord now which found sympathetic response in her own situation. She knew what it was

to meet with people who were indifferent, to walk alone amid so many who cared absolutely nothing about

you. Had not she? Was not she at this very moment quite alone? Who was there among all whom she knew to

whom she could appeal for sympathy? Not one. She was left to herself to brood and wonder.

"I could be content," went on Hurstwood, "if I had you to love me. If I had you to go to; you for a companion.

As it is, I simply move about from place to place without any satisfaction. Time hangs heavily on my hands.

Before you came I did nothing but idle and drift into anything that offered itself. Since you camewell, I've

The old illusion that here was some one who needed her aid began to grow in Carrie's mind. She truly pitied

this sad, lonely figure. To think that all his fine state should be so barren for want of her; that he needed to

make such an appeal when she herself was lonely and without anchor. Surely, this was too bad.

"I am not very bad," he said, apologetically, as if he owed it to her to explain on this score. "You think,

probably, that I roam around, and get into all sorts of evil? I have been rather reckless, but I could easily

come out of that. I need you to draw me back, if my life ever amounts to anything."

Carrie looked at him with the tenderness which virtue ever feels in its hope of reclaiming vice. How could

such a man need reclaiming? His errors, what were they, that she could correct? Small they must be, where

all was so fine. At worst, they were gilded affairs, and with what leniency are gilded errors viewed. He put

He slipped his arm about her waist, and she could not find the heart to draw away. With his free hand he

seized upon her fingers. A breath of soft spring wind went bounding over the road, rolling some brown twigs

"Tell me," he said, richly, drawing her so close that their lips were near together. He pressed her hand

"Now," he said, joyously, his fine eyes ablaze, "you're my own girl, aren't you?"

Carrie in her rooms that evening was in a fine glow, physically and mentally. She was deeply rejoicing in her

affection for Hurstwood and his love, and looked forward with fine fancy to their next meeting Sunday night.

They had agreed, without any feeling of enforced secrecy, that she should come down town and meet him,

"Um," she thought to herself, "she goes riding with another man when her husband is out of the city. He had

The truth is that Mrs. Hale was not the only one who had a thought on this score. The housemaid who had

welcomed Hurstwood had her opinion also. She had no particular regard for Carrie, whom she took to be cold

and disagreeable. At the same time, she had a fancy for the merry and easymannered Drouet, who threw her

a pleasant remark now and then, and in other ways extended her the evidence of that regard which he had for

all members of the sex. Hurstwood was more reserved and critical in his manner. He did not appeal to this

bodiced functionary in the same pleasant way. She wondered that he came so frequently, that Mrs. Drouet

should go out with him this afternoon when Mr. Drouet was absent. She gave vent to her opinions in the

kitchen where the cook was. As a result, a hum of gossip was set going which moved about the house in that

Carrie, now that she had yielded sufficiently to Hurstwood to confess her affection, no longer troubled about

her attitude towards him. Temporarily she gave little thought to Drouet, thinking only of the dignity and

grace of her lover and of his consuming affection for her. On the first evening, she did little but go over the

details of the afternoon. It was the first time her sympathies had ever been thoroughly aroused, and they

threw a new light on her character. She had some power of initiative, latent before, which now began to exert

itself. She looked more practically upon her state and began to see glimmerings of a way out. Hurstwood

seemed a drag in the direction of honour. Her feelings were exceedingly creditable, in that they constructed

out of these recent developments something which conquered freedom from dishonour. She had no idea what

Hurstwood's next word would be. She only took his affection to be a fine thing, and appended better, more

As yet, Hurstwood had only a thought of pleasure without responsibility. He did not feel that he was doing

anything to complicate his life. His position was secure, his homelife, if not satisfactory, was at least

undisturbed, his personal liberty rather untrammelled. Carrie's love represented only so much added pleasure.

He would enjoy this new gift over and above his ordinary allowance of pleasure. He would be happy with her

On Sunday evening Carrie dined with him at a place he had selected in East Adams Street, and thereafter they

took a cab to what was then a pleasant evening resort out on Cottage Grove Avenue near 39th Street. In the

process of his declaration he soon realised that Carrie took his love upon a higher basis than he had

anticipated. She kept him at a distance in a rather earnest way, and submitted only to those tender tokens of

affection which better become the inexperienced lover. Hurstwood saw that she was not to be possessed for

Since he feigned to believe in her married state he found that he had to carry out the part. His triumph, he

"I'll tell you what I'll do," he added. "I'll write you, care of this West Side Postoffice. Could you call next

Unfortunately for the smooth progression of this affair, Drouet returned. Hurstwood was sitting in his

"I remembered the little girl out there," said Hurstwood, "and called once. Thought you wouldn't want her left

"Very well," said Hurstwood. "Rather anxious about you though. You'd better go out now and cheer her up."

"Like to have you both come down and go to the show with me Wednesday," concluded Hurstwood at

"Thanks, old man," said his friend, "I'll see what the girl says and let you know."

"There's a nice fellow," Drouet thought to himself as he turned the corner towards Madison.

"Drouet is a good fellow," Hurstwood thought to himself as he went back into his office, "but he's no man for

The thought of the latter turned his mind into a most pleasant vein, and he wandered how he would get ahead

When Drouet entered Carrie's presence, he caught her in his arms as usual, but she responded to his kiss with

"Did you? How did you come out with that La Crosse man you were telling me about?"

"Oh, fine; sold him a complete line. There was another fellow there, representing Burnstein, a regular

As he undid his collar and unfastened his studs, preparatory to washing his face and changing his clothes, he

dilated upon his trip. Carrie could not help listening with amusement to his animated descriptions.

"I tell you," he said, "I surprised the people at the office. I've sold more goods this last quarter than any other

man of our house on the road. I sold three thousand dollars' worth in La Crosse."

He plunged his face in a basin of water, and puffed and blew as he rubbed his neck and ears with his hands,

while Carrie gazed upon him with mingled thoughts of recollection and present judgment. He was still

"I'm going to strike for a raise in June. They can afford to pay it, as much business as I turn in. I'll get it too,

"And then if that little real estate deal I've got on goes through, we'll get married," he said with a great show

of earnestness, the while he took his place before the mirror and began brushing his hair.

"I don't believe you ever intend to marry me, Charlie," Carrie said ruefully. The recent protestations of

He had stopped his trifling before the mirror now and crossed over to her. For the first time Carrie felt as if

"But you've been saying that so long," she said, looking with her pretty face upturned into his.

"Well, and I mean it too, but it takes money to live as I want to. Now, when I get this increase, I can come

pretty near fixing things all right, and I'll do it. Now, don't you worry, girlie."

He patted her reassuringly upon the shoulder, but Carrie felt how really futile had been her hopes. She could

clearly see that this easygoing soul intended no move in her behalf. He was simply letting things drift

because he preferred the free round of his present state to any legal trammellings.

In contrast, Hurstwood appeared strong and sincere. He had no easy manner of putting her off. He

sympathised with her and showed her what her true value was. He needed her, while Drouet did not care.

"Oh, no," she said remorsefully, her tone reflecting some of her own success and more of her helplessness,

"Well, you wait a little while and see," he concluded. "I'll marry you all right."

Carrie looked at him and felt justified. She was looking for something which would calm her conscience, and

here it was, a light, airy disregard of her claims upon his justice. He had faithfully promised to marry her, and

"Say," he said, after he had, as he thought, pleasantly disposed of the marriage question, "I saw Hurstwood

"If you think so," she answered, her manner being so enforcedly reserved as to almost excite suspicion.

Drouet noticed something but he thought it was due to her feelings concerning their talk about marriage.

"Was he?" said Drouet. "I thought from what he said that he had called a week or so ago."

"So he did," answered Carrie, who was wholly unaware of what conversation her lovers might have held. She

was all at sea mentally, and fearful of some entanglement which might ensue from what she would answer.

"Oh, then he called twice?" said Drouet, the first shade of misunderstanding showing in his face.

"Yes," said Carrie innocently, feeling now that Hurstwood must have mentioned but one call.

Drouet imagined that he must have misunderstood his friend. He did not attach particular importance to the

"He said he came because he thought I might be lonely. You hadn't been in there so long he wondered what

"George is a fine fellow," said Drouet, rather gratified by his conception of the manager's interest. "Come on

"I told him I called on you, dearest, when he was away. I did not say how often, but he probably thought

once. Let me know of anything you may have said. Answer by special messenger when you get this, and,

darling, I must see you. Let me know if you can't meet me at Jackson and Throop Streets Wednesday

afternoon at two o'clock. I want to speak with you before we meet at the theatre."

Carrie received this Tuesday morning when she called at the West Side branch of the postoffice, and

"I said you called twice," she wrote. "He didn't seem to mind. I will try and be at Throop Street if nothing

"You mustn't worry, sweetheart," he said. "Just as soon as he goes on the road again we will arrange

Carrie imagined that he would marry her at once, though he had not directly said so, and her spirits rose. She

"Don't show any more interest in me than you ever have," Hurstwood counselled concerning the evening at

"You mustn't look at me steadily then," she answered, mindful of the power of his eyes.

"I won't," he said, squeezing her hand at parting and giving the glance she had just cautioned against.

He watched her walk from him with tender solicitation. Such youth and prettiness reacted upon him more

At the theatre things passed as they had in Hurstwood's favour. If he had been pleasing to Carrie before, how

much more so was he now. His grace was more permeating because it found a readier medium. Carrie

watched his every movement with pleasure. She almost forgot poor Drouet, who babbled on as if he were the

Hurstwood was too clever to give the slightest indication of a change. He paid, if anything, more attention to

his old friend than usual, and yet in no way held him up to that subtle ridicule which a lover in favour may so

secretly practise before the mistress of his heart. If anything, he felt the injustice of the game as it stood, and

The scene was one in "The Covenant," in which the wife listened to the seductive voice of a lover in the

"Served him right," said Drouet afterward, even in view of her keen expiation of her error. "I haven't any pity

"Well, you never can tell," returned Hurstwood gently. "He probably thought he was right."

"Well, a man ought to be more attentive than that to his wife if he wants to keep her."

They had come out of the lobby and made their way through the showy crush about the entrance way.

"Say, mister," said a voice at Hurstwood's side, "would you mind giving me the price of a bed?"

The plea was that of a gauntfaced man of about thirty, who looked the picture of privation and

wretchedness. Drouet was the first to see. He handed over a dime with an upwelling feeling of pity in his

The complete ignoring by Hurstwood of his own home came with the growth of his affection for Carrie. His

actions, in all that related to his family, were of the most perfunctory kind. He sat at breakfast with his wife

and children, absorbed in his own fancies, which reached far without the realm of their interests. He read his

paper, which was heightened in interest by the shallowness of the themes discussed by his son and daughter.

Now that Carrie had come, he was in a fair way to be blissful again. There was delight in going down town

evenings. When he walked forth in the short days, the street lamps had a merry twinkle. He began to

experience the almost forgotten feeling which hastens the lover's feet. When he looked at his fine clothes, he

When in the flush of such feelings he heard his wife's voice, when the insistent demands of matrimony

recalled him from dreams to a stale practice, how it grated. He then knew that this was a chain which bound

"George," said Mrs. Hurstwood, in that tone of voice which had long since come to be associated in his mind

The races in question were soon to open at Washington Park, on the South Side, and were considered quite

society affairs among those who did not affect religious rectitude and conservatism. Mrs. Hurstwood had

never asked for a whole season ticket before, but this year certain considerations decided her to get a box. For

one thing, one of her neighbours, a certain Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey, who were possessors of money, made out

of the coal business, had done so. In the next place, her favourite physician, Dr. Beale, a gentleman inclined

to horses and betting, had talked with her concerning his intention to enter a twoyearold in the Derby. In the

third place, she wished to exhibit Jessica, who was gaining in maturity and beauty, and whom she hoped to

marry to a man of means. Her own desire to be about in such things and parade among her acquaintances and

Hurstwood thought over the proposition a few moments without answering. They were in the sitting room on

the second floor, waiting for supper. It was the evening of his engagement with Carrie and Drouet to see "The

"You're sure separate tickets wouldn't do as well?" he asked, hesitating to say anything more rugged.

"Well," he said, taking offence at her manner, "you needn't get mad about it. I'm just asking you."

"And I'm telling you," he returned, fixing a clear, steady eye on her, "that it's no easy thing to get. I'm not sure

"You talk easy," he said. "A season family ticket costs one hundred and fifty dollars."

"I'll not argue with you," she replied with determination. "I want the ticket and that's all there is to it."

The next morning he had cooled down considerably, and later the ticket was duly secured, though it did not

heal matters. He did not mind giving his family a fair share of all that he earned, but he did not like to be

"Did you know, mother," said Jessica another day, "the Spencers are getting ready to go away?"

"Europe," said Jessica. "I met Georgine yesterday and she told me. She just put on more airs about it."

"'We sail for Liverpool from New York,'" Jessica exclaimed, mocking her acquaintance. "'Expect to spend

most of the "summah" in France,'vain thing. As If it was anything to go to Europe."

"Did George get off?" asked Jessica of her mother another day, thus revealing something that Hurstwood had

"Where has he gone?" he asked, looking up. He had never before been kept in ignorance concerning

"He was going to Wheaton," said Jessica, not noticing the slight put upon her father.

"What's out there?" he asked, secretly irritated and chagrined to think that he should be made to pump for

"He didn't say anything to me," Hurstwood concluded, finding it difficult to refrain from a bitter tone.

"I guess he must have forgotten," exclaimed his wife blandly. In the past he had always commanded a certain

amount of respect, which was a compound of appreciation and awe. The familiarity which in part still existed

between himself and his daughter he had courted. As it was, it did not go beyond the light assumption of

words. The TONE was always modest. Whatever had been, however, had lacked affection, and now he saw

that he was losing track of their doings. His knowledge was no longer intimate. He sometimes saw them at

table, and sometimes did not. He heard of their doings occasionally, more often not. Some days he found that

he was all at sea as to what they were talking aboutthings they had arranged to do or that they had done in

his absence. More affecting was the feeling that there were little things going on of which he no longer heard.

Jessica was beginning to feel that her affairs were her own. George, Jr., flourished about as if he were a man

entirely and must needs have private matters. All this Hurstwood could see, and it left a trace of feeling, for

he was used to being consideredin his official position, at leastand felt that his importance should not

begin to wane here. To darken it all, he saw the same indifference and independence growing in his wife,

He consoled himself with the thought, however, that, after all, he was not without affection. Things might go

as they would at his house, but he had Carrie outside of it. With his mind's eye he looked into her comfortable

room in Ogden Place, where he had spent several such delightful evenings, and thought how charming it

would be when Drouet was disposed of entirely and she was waiting evenings in cosey little quarters for him.

That no cause would come up whereby Drouet would be led to inform Carrie concerning his married state, he

felt hopeful. Things were going so smoothly that he believed they would not change. Shortly now he would

The day after their theatre visit he began writing her regularly a letter every morning, and begging her to

do as much for him. He was not literary by any means, but experience of the world and his growing affection

gave him somewhat of a style. This he exercised at his office desk with perfect deliberation. He purchased a

box of delicately coloured and scented writing paper in monogram, which he kept locked in one of the

drawers. His friends now wondered at the cleric and very officiallooking nature of his position. The five

bartenders viewed with respect the duties which could call a man to do so much deskwork and penmanship.

Hurstwood surprised himself with his fluency. By the natural law which governs all effort, what he wrote

reacted upon him. He began to feel those subtleties which he could find words to express. With every

expression came increased conception. Those inmost breathings which there found words took hold upon

Carrie was indeed worth loving if ever youth and grace are to command that token of acknowledgment from

life in their bloom. Experience had not yet taken away that freshness of the spirit which is the charm of the

body. Her soft eyes contained in their liquid lustre no suggestion of the knowledge of disappointment. She

had been troubled in a way by doubt and longing, but these had made no deeper impression than could be

traced in a certain open wistfulness of glance and speech. The mouth had the expression at times, in talking

and in repose, of one who might be upon the verge of tears. It was not that grief was thus ever present. The

pronunciation of certain syllables gave to her lips this peculiarity of formationa formation as suggestive

There was nothing bold in her manner. Life had not taught her dominationsuperciliousness of grace, which

is the lordly power of some women. Her longing for consideration was not sufficiently powerful to move her

to demand it. Even now she lacked selfassurance, but there was that in what she had already experienced

which left her a little less than timid. She wanted pleasure, she wanted position, and yet she was confused as

to what these things might be. Every hour the kaleidoscope of human affairs threw a new lustre upon

something, and therewith it became for her the desiredthe all. Another shift of the box, and some other had

On her spiritual side, also, she was rich in feeling, as such a nature well might be. Sorrow in her was aroused

by many a spectaclean uncritical upwelling of grief for the weak and the helpless. She was constantly

pained by the sight of the whitefaced, ragged men who slopped desperately by her in a sort of wretched

mental stupor. The poorly clad girls who went blowing by her window evenings, hurrying home from some

of the shops of the West Side, she pitied from the depths of her heart. She would stand and bite her lips as

they passed, shaking her little head and wondering. They had so little, she thought. It was so sad to be ragged

On the street sometimes she would see men workingIrishmen with picks, coalheavers with great loads to

shovel, Americans busy about some work which was a mere matter of strengthand they touched her fancy.

Toil, now that she was free of it, seemed even a more desolate thing than when she was part of it. She saw it

through a mist of fancya pale, sombre halflight, which was the essence of poetic feeling. Her old father,

in his flourdusted miller's suit, sometimes returned to her in memory, revived by a face in a window. A

shoemaker pegging at his last, a blastman seen through a narrow window in some basement where iron was

being melted, a benchworker seen high aloft in some window, his coat off, his sleeves rolled up; these took

her back in fancy to the details of the mill. She felt, though she seldom expressed them, sad thoughts upon

this score. Her sympathies were ever with that underworld of toil from which she had so recently sprung,

Though Hurstwood did not know it, he was dealing with one whose feelings were as tender and as delicate as

this. He did not know, but it was this in her, after all, which attracted him. He never attempted to analyse the

nature of his affection. It was sufficient that there was tenderness in her eye, weakness in her manner, good

nature and hope in her thoughts. He drew near this lily, which had sucked its waxen beauty and perfume from

below a depth of waters which he had never penetrated, and out of ooze and mould which he could not

understand. He drew near because it was waxen and fresh. It lightened his feelings for him. It made the

In a material way, she was considerably improved. Her awkwardness had all but passed, leaving, if anything,

a quaint residue which was as pleasing as perfect grace. Her little shoes now fitted her smartly and had high

heels. She had learned much about laces and those little neckpieces which add so much to a woman's

appearance. Her form had filled out until it was admirably plump and wellrounded.

Hurstwood wrote her one morning, asking her to meet him in Jefferson Park, Monroe Street. He did not

The next afternoon he was in the pretty little park by one, and had found a rustic bench beneath the green

leaves of a lilac bush which bordered one of the paths. It was at that season of the year when the fulness of

spring had not yet worn quite away. At a little pond near by some cleanly dressed children were sailing white

canvas boats. In the shade of a green pagoda a bebuttoned officer of the law was resting, his arms folded, his

club at rest in his belt. An old gardener was upon the lawn, with a pair of pruning shears, looking after some

bushes. High overhead was the clean blue sky of the new summer, and in the thickness of the shiny green

Hurstwood had come out of his own home that morning feeling much of the same old annoyance. At his store

he had idled, there being no need to write. He had come away to this place with the lightness of heart which

characterises those who put weariness behind. Now, in the shade of this cool, green bush, he looked about

him with the fancy of the lover. He heard the carts go lumbering by upon the neighbouring streets, but they

were far off, and only buzzed upon his ear. The hum of the surrounding city was faint, the clang of an

occasional bell was as music. He looked and dreamed a new dream of pleasure which concerned his present

fixed condition not at all. He got back in fancy to the old Hurstwood, who was neither married nor fixed in a

solid position for life. He remembered the light spirit in which he once looked after the girlshow he had

danced, escorted them home, hung over their gates. He almost wished he was back there againhere in this

At two Carrie came tripping along the walk toward him, rosy and clean. She had just recently donned a sailor

hat for the season with a band of pretty whitedotted blue silk. Her skirt was of a rich blue material, and her

shirt waist matched it, with a thinstripe of blue upon a snowwhite groundstripes that were as fine as hairs.

Her brown shoes peeped occasionally from beneath her skirt. She carried her gloves in her hand.

He looked at her forehead, which was moist from her brisk walk. Then he took out one of his own soft,

They were happy in being near one anotherin looking into each other's eyes. Finally, when the long flush

"I don't know," she answered. "He says he has some things to do for the house here now."

Hurstwood grew serious, and he lapsed into quiet thought. He looked up after a time to say:

He turned his eyes to the boys with the boats, as if the request were of little importance.

"Where would we go?" she asked in much the same manner, rolling her gloves, and looking into a

There was something in the tone in which he said this which made her feel as if she must record her feelings

He listened to this with but dull perception of what it meant. It had no serious ring to it. The question was not

The tone he used made it seem as if the matter deserved only slight consideration. Carrie thought a little, the

"I wouldn't like to live in Chicago and him here," she said, thinking of Drouet.

"It's a big town, dearest," Hurstwood answered. "It would be as good as moving to another part of the country

"Anyhow," said Carrie, "I shouldn't want to get married as long as he is here. I wouldn't want to run away."

The suggestion of marriage struck Hurstwood forcibly. He saw clearly that this was her ideahe felt that it

was not to be gotten over easily. Bigamy lightened the horizon of his shadowy thoughts for a moment. He

wondered for the life of him how it would all come out. He could not see that he was making any progress

save in her regard. When he looked at her now, he thought her beautiful. What a thing it was to have her love

him, even if it be entangling! She increased in value in his eyes because of her objection. She was something

to struggle for, and that was everything. How different from the women who yielded willingly! He swept the

"You're a determined little miss, aren't you?" he said, after a few moments, looking up into her eyes.

She felt a wave of feeling sweep over her at this. It was pride at what seemed his admirationaffection for

"I wish," he said pathetically, "you would come to me. I don't like to be away from you this way. What good

"Here we are then," he went on in the same tone, "wasting our days. If you are not happy, do you think I am?

I sit and write to you the biggest part of the time. I'll tell you what, Carrie," he exclaimed, throwing sudden

force of expression into his voice and fixing her with his eyes, "I can't live without you, and that's all there is

to it. Now," he concluded, showing the palm of one of his white hands in a sort of atanend, helpless

This shifting of the burden to her appealed to Carrie. The semblance of the load without the weight touched

"Can't you wait a little while yet?" she said tenderly. "I'll try and find out when he's going."

She really did not see anything clearer than before, but she was getting into that frame of mind where, out of

Hurstwood did not understand. He was wondering how she was to be persuadedwhat appeal would move

her to forsake Drouet. He began to wonder how far her affection for him would carry her. He was thinking of

Finally he hit upon one of those problematical propositions which often disguise our own desires while

leading us to an understanding of the difficulties which others make for us, and so discover for us a way. It

had not the slightest connection with anything intended on his part, and was spoken at random before he had

"Carrie," he said, looking into her face and assuming a serious look which he did not feel, "suppose I were to

come to you next week, or this week for that mattertonight sayand tell you I had to go awaythat I

couldn't stay another minute and wasn't coming back any morewould you come with me?" His sweetheart

viewed him with the most affectionate glance, her answer ready before the words were out of his mouth.

He smiled when he saw that she took him seriously, and he thought what a chance it would afford for a

possible junket of a week or two. He had a notion to tell her that he was joking and so brush away her sweet

"Suppose we didn't have time to get married here?" he added, an afterthought striking him.

"If we got married as soon as we got to the other end of the journey it would be all right."

The morning seemed peculiarly bright to him now. He wondered whatever could have put such a thought into

his head. Impossible as it was, he could not help smiling at its cleverness. It showed how she loved him.

"Well," he said, jokingly, "I'll come and get you one of these evenings," and then he laughed.

"I wouldn't stay with you, though, if you didn't marry me," Carrie added reflectively.

She was extremely happy now that she understood. She loved him the more for thinking that he would rescue

her so. As for him, the marriage clause did not dwell in his mind. He was thinking that with such affection

In the course of his present stay in Chicago, Drouet paid some slight attention to the secret order to which he

"I tell you," said another drummer to him, "it's a great thing. Look at Hazenstab. He isn't so deuced clever. Of

course he's got a good house behind him, but that won't do alone. I tell you it's his degree. He's a wayup

Mason, and that goes a long way. He's got a secret sign that stands for something."

Drouet resolved then and there that he would take more interest in such matters. So when he got back to

"I say, Drouet," said Mr. Harry Quincel, an individual who was very prominent in this local branch of the

It was after the business meeting and things were going socially with a hum. Drouet was bobbing around

"What are you up to?" he inquired genially, turning a smiling face upon his secret brother.

"We're trying to get up some theatricals for two weeks from today, and we want to know if you don't know

"Sure," said Drouet, "what is it?" He did not trouble to remember that he knew no one to whom he could

appeal on this score. His innate goodnature, however, dictated a favourable reply.

"Well, now, I'll tell you what we are trying to do," went on Mr. Quincel. "We are trying to get a new set of

furniture for the lodge. There isn't enough money in the treasury at the present time, and we thought we

"Several of the boys around here have got talent. There's Harry Burbeck, he does a fine blackface turn. Mac

Lewis is all right at heavy dramatics. Did you ever hear him recite 'Over the Hills'?"

"And you want me to get some woman to take a part?" questioned Drouet, anxious to terminate the subject

"'Under the Gaslight,'" said Mr. Quincel, mentioning Augustin Daly's famous production, which had worn

from a great public success down to an amateur theatrical favourite, with many of the troublesome

accessories cut out and the dramatis personae reduced to the smallest possible number.

"That's it," he said; "that's a fine play. It will go all right. You ought to make a lot of money out of that."

"We think we'll do very well," Mr. Quincel replied. "Don't you forget now," he concluded, Drouet showing

He moved away, forgetting almost all about it the moment Mr. Quincel had ceased talking. He had not even

Drouet was reminded of his promise a day or two later by the receipt of a letter announcing that the first

rehearsal was set for the following Friday evening, and urging him to kindly forward the young lady's address

"Now, who the deuce do I know?" asked the drummer reflectively, scratching his rosy ear. "I don't know any

He went over in memory the names of a number of women he knew, and finally fixed on one, largely because

of the convenient location of her home on the West Side, and promised himself that as he came out that

evening he would see her. When, however, he started west on the car he forgot, and was only reminded of his

delinquency by an item in the "Evening News"a small threeline affair under the head of Secret Society

Noteswhich stated the Custer Lodge of the Order of Elks would give a theatrical performance in Avery

They were at their little table in the room which might have been used for a kitchen, where Carrie

occasionally served a meal. Tonight the fancy had caught her, and the little table was spread with a pleasing

"Why, my lodge entertainment. They're going to give a play, and they wanted me to get them some young

Nevertheless, she was pleased to think he would ask. Her eyes brightened, for if there was anything that

enlisted her sympathies it was the art of the stage. True to his nature, Drouet clung to this idea as an easy way

"No, I can't," said Carrie weakly, very much drawn toward the proposition and yet fearful.

"Yes, you can. Now, why don't you do it? They need some one, and it will be lots of fun for you."

"You'd like that. I know you would. I've seen you dancing around here and giving imitations and that's why I

"Now, I'll tell you what you do. You go down and see about it. It'll be fun for you. The rest of the company

isn't going to be any good. They haven't any experience. What do they know about theatricals?"

"I don't believe I could act, Charlie," Carrie went on pettishly. "You don't think I could, do you?"

"Sure. Out o' sight. I bet you make a hit. Now you want to go, I know you do. I knew it when I came home.

"Well," said Drouet, whose memory for such things was not the best, "it's about a girl who gets kidnapped by

a couple of crooksa man and a woman that live in the slums. She had some money or something and they

"No, I don't, to tell the truth." He thought a moment. "Yes, I do, too. Laura, that's the thingyou're to be

"To save me, Cad, I can't," he answered. "I ought to, too; I've seen the play enough. There's a girl in it that

was stolen when she was an infantwas picked off the street or somethingand she's the one that's

hounded by the two old criminals I was telling you about." He stopped with a mouthful of pie poised on a

fork before his face. "She comes very near getting drownedno, that's not it. I'll tell you what I'll do," he

concluded hopelessly, "I'll get you the book. I can't remember now for the life of me."

"Well, I don't know," said Carrie, when he had concluded, her interest and desire to shine dramatically

struggling with her timidity for the mastery. "I might go if you thought I'd do all right."

"Of course, you'll do," said Drouet, who, in his efforts to enthuse Carrie, had interested himself. "Do you

think I'd come home here and urge you to do something that I didn't think you would make a success of? You

"All right," said Carrie resignedly, "I'll do it, but if I make a failure now it's your fault."

"You won't fail," assured Drouet. "Just act as you do around here. Be natural. You're all right. I've often

He little knew as he went out of the door that night what a secret flame he had kindled in the bosom of the

girl he left behind. Carrie was possessed of that sympathetic, impressionable nature which, ever in the most

developed form, has been the glory of the drama. She was created with that passivity of soul which is always

the mirror of the active world. She possessed an innate taste for imitation and no small ability. Even without

practice, she could sometimes restore dramatic situations she had witnessed by recreating, before her mirror,

the expressions of the various faces taking part in the scene. She loved to modulate her voice after the

conventional manner of the distressed heroine, and repeat such pathetic fragments as appealed most to her

sympathies. Of late, seeing the airy grace of the ingenue in several wellconstructed plays, she had been

moved to secretly imitate it, and many were the little movements and expressions of the body in which she

indulged from time to time in the privacy of her chamber. On several occasions, when Drouet had caught her

admiring herself, as he imagined, in the mirror, she was doing nothing more than recalling some little grace

of the mouth or the eyes which she had witnessed in another. Under his airy accusation she mistook this for

vanity and accepted the blame with a faint sense of error, though, as a matter of fact, it was nothing more than

the first subtle outcroppings of an artistic nature, endeavouring to recreate the perfect likeness of some

phase of beauty which appealed to her. In such feeble tendencies, be it known, such outworking of desire to

Now, when Carrie heard Drouet's laudatory opinion of her dramatic ability, her body tingled with

satisfaction. Like the flame which welds the loosened particles into a solid mass, his words united those

floating wisps of feeling which she had felt, but never believed, concerning her possible ability, and made

them into a gaudy shred of hope. Like all human beings, she had a touch of vanity. She felt that she could do

things if she only had a chance. How often had she looked at the welldressed actresses on the stage and

wondered how she would look, how delightful she would feel if only she were in their place. The glamour,

the tense situation, the fine clothes, the applause, these had lured her until she felt that she, too, could

actthat she, too, could compel acknowledgment of power. Now she was told that she really couldthat

little things she had done about the house had made even him feel her power. It was a delightful sensation

When Drouet was gone, she sat down in her rockingchair by the window to think about it. As usual,

imagination exaggerated the possibilities for her. It was as if he had put fifty cents in her hand and she had

exercised the thoughts of a thousand dollars. She saw herself in a score of pathetic situations in which she

assumed a tremulous voice and suffering manner. Her mind delighted itself with scenes of luxury and

refinement, situations in which she was the cynosure of all eyes, the arbiter of all fates. As she rocked to and

fro she felt the tensity of woe in abandonment, the magnificence of wrath after deception, the languour of

sorrow after defeat. Thoughts of all the charming women she had seen in playsevery fancy, every illusion

which she had concerning the stagenow came back as a returning tide after the ebb. She built up feelings

Drouet dropped in at the lodge when he went down town, and swashed around with a great AIR, as Quincel

"Have you?" said Quincel, rather surprised by his promptness; "that's good. What's her address?" and he

"What did you say her address was? We only want it in case we have any information to send her."

"Carrie Madenda," said the drummer, firing at random. The lodge members knew him to be single.

He took the part home to Carrie and handed it to her with the manner of one who does a favour.

"I don't know until I look it over. You know I'm afraid, now that I've said I would."

"Oh, go on. What have you got to be afraid of? It's a cheap company. The rest of them aren't as good as you

"Well, I'll see," said Carrie, pleased to have the part, for all her misgivings.

He sidled around, dressing and fidgeting before he arranged to make his next remark.

"They were getting ready to print the programmes," he said, "and I gave them the name of Carrie Madenda.

"Yes, I guess so," said his companion, looking up at him. She was thinking it was slightly strange.

"Oh, yes," she answered, rather pleased now with his caution. It was clever for Drouet.

"I didn't want to introduce you as my wife, because you'd feel worse then if you didn't GO. They all know me

so well. But you'll GO all right. Anyhow, you'll probably never meet any of them again."

"Oh, I don't care," said Carrie desperately. She was determined now to have a try at the fascinating game.

Drouet breathed a sigh of relief. He had been afraid that he was about to precipitate another conversation

The part of Laura, as Carrie found out when she began to examine it, was one of suffering and tears. As

delineated by Mr. Daly, it was true to the most sacred traditions of melodrama as he found it when he began

his career. The sorrowful demeanour, the tremolo music, the long, explanatory, cumulative addresses, all

"Poor fellow," read Carrie, consulting the text and drawing her voice out pathetically. "Martin, be sure and

She was surprised at the briefness of the entire part, not knowing that she must be on the stage while others

were talking, and not only be there, but also keep herself in harmony with the dramatic movement of the

When Drouet came the next night, she was very much satisfied with her day's study.

"Oh, I don't know whether I can get up and say it off here," she said bashfully.

"Well, I don't know why you shouldn't. It'll be easier here than it will there."

"I don't know about that," she answered. Eventually she took off the ballroom episode with considerable

feeling, forgetting, as she got deeper in the scene, all about Drouet, and letting herself rise to a fine state of

He was really moved by her excellent representation and the general appearance of the pathetic little figure as

it swayed and finally fainted to the floor. He had bounded up to catch her, and now held her laughing in his

"Well, you can bet that you're all right," said Drouet. "You can take my word for that. You won't fail."

The, to Carrie, very important theatrical performance was to take place at the Avery on conditions which

were to make it more noteworthy than was at first anticipated. The little dramatic student had written to

Hurstwood the very morning her part was brought her that she was going to take part in a play.

"I really am," she wrote, feeling that he might take it as a jest; "I have my part now, honest, truly."

He answered at once, making a pleasant reference to her ability. "I haven't the slightest doubt you will make a

Carrie gladly complied, and revealed all the details of the undertaking as she understood it.

"Well," he said, "that's fine. I'm glad to hear it. Of course, you will do well, you're so clever."

He had truly never seen so much spirit in the girl before. Her tendency to discover a touch of sadness had for

the nonce disappeared. As she spoke her eyes were bright, her cheeks red. She radiated much of the pleasure

which her undertakings gave her. For all her misgivingsand they were as plentiful as the moments of the

dayshe was still happy. She could not repress her delight in doing this little thing which, to an ordinary

Hurstwood was charmed by the development of the fact that the girl had capabilities. There is nothing so

inspiring in life as the sight of a legitimate ambition, no matter how incipient. It gives colour, force, and

Carrie was now lightened by a touch of this divine afflatus. She drew to herself commendation from her two

admirers which she had not earned. Their affection for her naturally heightened their perception of what she

was trying to do and their approval of what she did. Her inexperience conserved her own exuberant fancy,

which ran riot with every straw of opportunity, making of it a golden divining rod whereby the treasure of life

"Let's see," said Hurstwood, "I ought to know some of the boys in the lodge. I'm an Elk myself."

"I'd like for you to be there, if you want to come, but I don't see how you can unless he asks you."

"I'll be there," said Hurstwood affectionately. "I can fix it so he won't know you told me. You leave it to me."

This interest of the manager was a large thing in itself for the performance, for his standing among the Elks

was something worth talking about. Already he was thinking of a box with some friends, and flowers for

Within a day or two, Drouet dropped into the Adams Street resort, and he was at once spied by Hurstwood. It

was at five in the afternoon and the place was crowded with merchants, actors, managers, politicians, a

goodly company of rotund, rosy figures, silkhatted, starchybosomed, beringed and bescarfpinned to the

queen's taste. John L. Sullivan, the pugilist, was at one end of the glittering bar, surrounded by a company of

loudly dressed sports, who were holding a most animated conversation. Drouet came across the floor with a

"Well, sir," said Hurstwood, "I was wondering what had become of you. I thought you had gone out of town

They strolled over toward the bar amid the noisy, shifting company of notables. The dressy manager was

"I hear your lodge is going to give a performance," observed Hurstwood, in the most offhand manner.

"No one," said Hurstwood. "They just sent me a couple of tickets, which I can have for two dollars. Is it

"I don't know," replied the drummer. "They've been trying to get me to get some woman to take a part."

"I wasn't intending to go," said the manager easily. "I'll subscribe, of course. How are things over there?"

He did not intend to say any more. Now, if he should appear on the scene with a few friends, he could say

that he had been urged to come along. Drouet had a desire to wipe out the possibility of confusion.

"I think the girl is going to take a part in it," he said abruptly, after thinking it over.

"Well, they were short and wanted me to find them some one. I told Carrie, and she seems to want to try."

"Good for her," said the manager. "It'll be a real nice affair. Do her good, too. Has she ever had any

"She's clever, though," said Drouet, casting off any imputation against Carrie's ability. "She picks up her part

"We must give her a nice little sendoff," said the manager. "I'll look after the flowers."

"I want to see her. She's got to do all right. We'll make her," and the manager gave one of his quick, steely

Carrie, meanwhile, attended the first rehearsal. At this performance Mr. Quincel presided, aided by Mr.

Millice, a young man who had some qualifications of past experience, which were not exactly understood by

any one. He was so experienced and so businesslike, however, that he came very near being rude failing

to remember, as he did, that the individuals he was trying to instruct were volunteer players and not salaried

"Now, Miss Madenda," he said, addressing Carrie, who stood in one part uncertain as to what move to make,

"you don't want to stand like that. Put expression in your face. Remember, you are troubled over the intrusion

of the stranger. Walk so," and he struck out across the Avery stage in almost drooping manner.

Carrie did not exactly fancy the suggestion, but the novelty of the situation, the presence of strangers, all

more or less nervous, and the desire to do anything rather than make a failure, made her timid. She walked in

imitation of her mentor as requested, inwardly feeling that there was something strangely lacking.

"Now, Mrs. Morgan," said the director to one young married woman who was to take the part of Pearl, "you

"Explain," said Mr. Bamberger feebly. He had the part of Ray, Laura's lover, the society individual who was

to waver in his thoughts of marrying her, upon finding that she was a waif and a nobody by birth.

"Yes, but it also says," the director remarked, "that you are to look shocked. Now, say it again, and see if you

"One night," resumed Mrs. Morgan, whose lines came next, "father and mother were going to the opera.

When they were crossing Broadway, the usual crowd of children accosted them for alms"

"Hold on," said the director, rushing forward, his arm extended. "Put more feeling into what you are saying."

Mrs. Morgan looked at him as if she feared a personal assault. Her eye lightened with resentment.

"Remember, Mrs. Morgan," he added, ignoring the gleam, but modifying his manner, "that you're detailing a

pathetic story. You are now supposed to be telling something that is a grief to you. It requires feeling,

"As mother felt in her pocket for some change, her fingers touched a cold and trembling hand which had

"A pickpocket! Well!" exclaimed Mr. Bamberger, speaking the lines that here fell to him.

"No, no, Mr. Bamberger," said the director, approaching, "not that way. 'A pickpocketwell?' so. That's the

"Don't you think," said Carrie weakly, noticing that it had not been proved yet whether the members of the

company knew their lines, let alone the details of expression, "that it would be better if we just went through

"A very good idea, Miss Madenda," said Mr. Quincel, who sat at the side of the stage, looking serenely on

"All right," said the latter, somewhat abashed, "it might be well to do it." Then brightening, with a show of

authority, "Suppose we run right through, putting in as much expression as we can."

"This hand," resumed Mrs. Morgan, glancing up at Mr. Bamberger and down at her book, as the lines

proceeded, "my mother grasped in her own, and so tight that a small, feeble voice uttered an exclamation of

"Louder," put in the director, finding it almost impossible to keep his hands off.

"Yes, but a thief hardly six years old, with a face like an angel's. 'Stop,' said my mother. 'What are you

"'Shethere,' said the child, pointing to a squalid woman in a doorway opposite, who fled suddenly down

Mrs. Morgan read this rather flatly, and the director was in despair. He fidgeted around, and then went over to

"Oh, I guess we'll be able to whip them into shape," said the latter, with an air of strength under difficulties.

"I don't know," said the director. "That fellow Bamberger strikes me as being a pretty poor shift for a lover."

"He's all we've got," said Quincel, rolling up his eyes. "Harrison went back on me at the last minute. Who

"Look at that now," said the director, whispering behind his hand. "My Lord! what can you do with a man

The rendition ran on in this wise until it came to where Carrie, as Laura, comes into the room to explain to

Ray, who, after hearing Pearl's statement about her birth, had written the letter repudiating her, which,

however, he did not deliver. Bamberger was just concluding the words of Ray, "I must go before she returns.

Her step! Too late," and was cramming the letter in his pocket, when she began sweetly with:

Carrie looked at him a moment and forgot all about the company present. She began to feel the part, and

summoned an indifferent smile to her lips, turning as the lines directed and going to a window, as if he were

"Who is that woman?" asked the director, watching Carrie in her little scene with Bamberger.

"Well, she's got more gumption than any one I've seen here so farseems to take an interest in what she's

In the second scene, where she was supposed to face the company in the ballroom, she did even better,

winning the smile of the director, who volunteered, because of her fascination for him, to come over and

He walked away to listen to Bamberger, who was feebly spouting some ardent line.

Mrs. Morgan saw the drift of things and gleamed at Carrie with envious and snapping black eyes.

"She's some cheap professional," she gave herself the satisfaction of thinking, and scorned and hated her

The rehearsal ended for one day, and Carrie went home feeling that she had acquitted herself satisfactorily.

The words of the director were ringing in her ears, and she longed for an opportunity to tell Hurstwood. She

wanted him to know just how well she was doing. Drouet, too, was an object for her confidences. She could

hardly wait until he should ask her, and yet she did not have the vanity to bring it up. The drummer, however,

had another line of thought tonight, and her little experience did not appeal to him as important. He let the

conversation drop, save for what she chose to recite without solicitation, and Carrie was not good at that. He

took it for granted that she was doing very well and he was relieved of further worry. Consequently he threw

Carrie into repression, which was irritating. She felt his indifference keenly and longed to see Hurstwood. It

was as if he were now the only friend she had on earth. The next morning Drouet was interested again, but

She got a pretty letter from the manager, saying that by the time she got it he would be waiting for her in the

"Well, that's delightful," said Hurstwood. "I'm so glad. I must get over there to see you. When is the next

She was completely restored and delighted by his consideration, but she made him promise not to come

"Now, you must do your best to please me," he said encouragingly. "Just remember that I want you to

"That's the girl," said Hurstwood fondly. "Now, remember," shaking an affectionate finger at her, "your best."

The whole earth was brimming sunshine that morning. She tripped along, the clear sky pouring liquid blue

into her soul. Oh, blessed are the children of endeavour in this, that they try and are hopeful. And blessed also

By the evening of the 16th the subtle hand of Hurstwood had made itself apparent. He had given the word

among his friendsand they were many and influentialthat here was something which they ought to

attend, and, as a consequence, the sale of tickets by Mr. Quincel, acting for the lodge, had been large. Small

fourline notes had appeared in all of the daily newspapers. These he had arranged for by the aid of one of

"Say, Harry," Hurstwood said to him one evening, as the latter stood at the bar drinking before wending his

"The Custer Lodge is getting up a little entertainment for their own good, and they'd like a little newspaper

notice. You know what I meana squib or two saying that it's going to take place."

At the same time Hurstwood kept himself wholly in the background. The members of Custer Lodge could

scarcely understand why their little affair was taking so well. Mr. Harry Quincel was looked upon as quite a

By the time the 16th had arrived Hurstwood's friends had rallied like Romans to a senator's call. A

welldressed, goodnatured, flatteringlyinclined audience was assured from the moment he thought of

That little student had mastered her part to her own satisfaction, much as she trembled for her fate when she

should once face the gathered throng, behind the glare of the footlights. She tried to console herself with the

thought that a score of other persons, men and women, were equally tremulous concerning the outcome of

their efforts, but she could not disassociate the general danger from her own individual liability. She feared

that she would forget her lines, that she might be unable to master the feeling which she now felt concerning

her own movements in the play. At times she wished that she had never gone into the affair; at others, she

trembled lest she should be paralysed with fear and stand white and gasping, not knowing what to say and

In the matter of the company, Mr. Bamberger had disappeared. That hopeless example had fallen under the

lance of the director's criticism. Mrs. Morgan was still present, but envious and determined, if for nothing

more than spite, to do as well as Carrie at least. A loafing professional had been called in to assume the role

of Ray, and, while he was a poor stick of his kind, he was not troubled by any of those qualms which attack

the spirit of those who have never faced an audience. He swashed about (cautioned though he was to maintain

silence concerning his past theatrical relationships) in such a selfconfident manner that he was like to

"It is so easy," he said to Mrs. Morgan, in the usual affected stage voice. "An audience would be the last thing

Carrie disliked his appearance, but she was too much the actress not to swallow his qualities with

At six she was ready to go. Theatrical paraphernalia had been provided over and above her care. She had

practised her makeup in the morning, had rehearsed and arranged her material for the evening by one

o'clock, and had gone home to have a final look at her part, waiting for the evening to come.

On this occasion the lodge sent a carriage. Drouet rode with her as far as the door, and then went about the

neighbouring stores, looking for some good cigars. The little actress marched nervously into her

dressingroom and began that painfully anticipated matter of makeup which was to transform her, a simple

The flare of the gasjets, the open trunks, suggestive of travel and display, the scattered contents of the

makeup boxrouge, pearl powder, whiting, burnt cork, India ink, pencils for the eyelids, wigs, scissors,

lookingglasses, draperyin short, all the nameless paraphernalia of disguise, have a remarkable

atmosphere of their own. Since her arrival in the city many things had influenced her, but always in a

farremoved manner. This new atmosphere was more friendly. It was wholly unlike the great brilliant

mansions which waved her coldly away, permitting her only awe and distant wonder. This took her by the

hand kindly, as one who says, "My dear, come in." It opened for her as if for its own. She had wondered at

the greatness of the names upon the billboards, the marvel of the long notices in the papers, the beauty of

the dresses upon the stage, the atmosphere of carriages, flowers, refinement. Here was no illusion. Here was

an open door to see all of that. She had come upon it as one who stumbles upon a secret passage and, behold,

As she dressed with a flutter, in her little stage room, hearing the voices outside, seeing Mr. Quincel hurrying

here and there, noting Mrs. Morgan and Mrs. Hoagland at their nervous work of preparation, seeing all the

twenty members of the cast moving about and worrying over what the result would be, she could not help

thinking what a delight this would be if it would endure; how perfect a state, if she could only do well now,

and then some time get a place as a real actress. The thought had taken a mighty hold upon her. It hummed in

Outside in the little lobby another scene was begin enacted. Without the interest of Hurstwood, the little hall

would probably have been comfortably filled, for the members of the lodge were moderately interested in its

welfare. Hurstwood's word, however, had gone the rounds. It was to be a fulldress affair. The four boxes

had been taken. Dr. Norman McNeill Hale and his wife were to occupy one. This was quite a card. C. R.

Walker, drygoods merchant and possessor of at least two hundred thousand dollars, had taken another; a

wellknown coal merchant had been induced to take the third, and Hurstwood and his friends the fourth.

Among the latter was Drouet. The people who were now pouring here were not celebrities, nor even local

notabilities, in a general sense. They were the lights of a certain circlethe circle of small fortunes and

secret order distinctions. These gentlemen Elks knew the standing of one another. They had regard for the

ability which could amass a small fortune, own a nice home, keep a barouche or carriage, perhaps, wear fine

clothes, and maintain a good mercantile position. Naturally, Hurstwood, who was a little above the order of

mind which accepted this standard as perfect, who had shrewdness and much assumption of dignity, who

held an imposing and authoritative position, and commanded friendship by intuitive tact in handling people,

was quite a figure. He was more generally known than most others in the same circle, and was looked upon

as some one whose reserve covered a mine of influence and solid financial prosperity.

Tonight he was in his element. He came with several friends directly from Rector's in a carriage. In the

lobby he met Drouet, who was just returning from a trip for more cigars. All five now joined in an animated

conversation concerning the company present and the general drift of lodge affairs.

"Who's here?" said Hurstwood, passing into the theatre proper, where the lights were turned up and a

company of gentlemen were laughing and talking in the open space back of the seats.

"Well, George," said another rotund citizen, whose avoirdupois made necessary an almost alarming display

"I remember Mrs. Hurstwood when she was travelling once with you over to St. Joe" and here the

newcomer launched off in a trivial recollection, which was terminated by the arrival of more friends.

"Why, George, how are you?" said another genial West Side politician and lodge member. "My, but I'm glad

"I didn't know that," said the manager. "Felt pretty sore, I suppose, over his defeat."

Some of the more favoured of his friends whom he had invited began to roll up in carriages now. They came

shuffling in with a great show of finery and much evident feeling of content and importance.

"Here we are," said Hurstwood, turning to one from a group with whom he was talking.

"And say," he whispered, jovially, pulling Hurstwood over by the shoulder so that he might whisper in his

"I don't know. I don't suppose so." Then, lifting his hand graciously, "For the lodge."

It was thus that the little theatre resounded to a babble of successful voices, the creak of fine clothes, the

commonplace of goodnature, and all largely because of this man's bidding. Look at him any time within the

half hour before the curtain was up, he was a member of an eminent groupa rounded company of five or

more whose stout figures, large white bosoms, and shining pins bespoke the character of their success. The

gentlemen who brought their wives called him out to shake hands. Seats clicked, ushers bowed while he

looked blandly on. He was evidently a light among them, reflecting in his personality the ambitions of those

who greeted him. He was acknowledged, fawned upon, in a way lionised. Through it all one could see the

At last the curtain was ready to go up. All the details of the makeup had been completed, and the company

settled down as the leader of the small, hired orchestra tapped significantly upon his music rack with his

baton and began the soft curtainraising strain. Hurstwood ceased talking, and went with Drouet and his

"Now, we'll see how the little girl does," he said to Drouet, in a tone which no one else could hear.

On the stage, six of the characters had already appeared in the opening parlour scene. Drouet and Hurstwood

saw at a glance that Carrie was not among them, and went on talking in a whisper. Mrs. Morgan, Mrs.

Hoagland, and the actor who had taken Bamberger's part were representing the principal roles in this scene.

The professional, whose name was Patton, had little to recommend him outside of his assurance, but this at

the present moment was most palpably needed. Mrs. Morgan, as Pearl, was stiff with fright. Mrs. Hoagland

was husky in the throat. The whole company was so weakkneed that the lines were merely spoken, and

nothing more. It took all the hope and uncritical goodnature of the audience to keep from manifesting pity

Hurstwood was perfectly indifferent. He took it for granted that it would be worthless. All he cared for was to

After the first rush of fright, however, the players got over the danger of collapse. They rambled weakly

forward, losing nearly all the expression which was intended, and making the thing dull in the extreme, when

One glance at her, and both Hurstwood and Drouet saw plainly that she also was weakkneed. She came

"And you, sir; we have been looking for you since eight o'clock," but with so little colour and in such a feeble

It came out so flat, however, that it was a deathly thing. Drouet fidgeted. Hurstwood moved his toe the least

There was another place in which Laura was to rise and, with a sense of impending disaster, say, sadly:

"I wish you hadn't said that, Pearl. You know the old proverb, 'Call a maid by a married name.'"

The lack of feeling in the thing was ridiculous. Carrie did not get it at all. She seemed to be talking in her

sleep. It looked as if she were certain to be a wretched failure. She was more hopeless than Mrs. Morgan,

who had recovered somewhat, and was now saying her lines clearly at least. Drouet looked away from the

stage at the audience. The latter held out silently, hoping for a general change, of course. Hurstwood fixed his

eye on Carrie, as if to hypnotise her into doing better. He was pouring determination of his own in her

In a few more minutes it fell to her to read the letter sent in by the strange villain. The audience had been

slightly diverted by a conversation between the professional actor and a character called Snorky,

impersonated by a short little American, who really developed some humour as a halfcrazed, onearmed

soldier, turned messenger for a living. He bawled his lines out with such defiance that, while they really did

not partake of the humour intended, they were funny. Now he was off, however, and it was back to pathos,

with Carrie as the chief figure. She did not recover. She wandered through the whole scene between herself

and the intruding villain, straining the patience of the audience, and finally exiting, much to their relief.

"She's too nervous," said Drouet, feeling in the mildness of the remark that he was lying for once.

Drouet was glad to do anything for relief. He fairly hustled around to the side entrance, and was let in by the

friendly doorkeeper. Carrie was standing in the wings, weakly waiting her next cue, all the snap and nerve

"Say, Cad," he said, looking at her, "you mustn't be nervous. Wake up. Those guys out there don't amount to

She was grateful for the drummer's presence, though. She had found the company so nervous that her own

"Come on," said Drouet. "Brace up. What are you afraid of? Go on out there now, and do the trick. What do

"Not a bit. All you need is a little more ginger. Do it as you showed me. Get that toss of your head you had

"Well, now you do that lively," said the drummer. "Put in snap, that's the thing. Act as if you didn't care."

"Well, you're a chump for being afraid," said Drouet. "Come on now, brace up. I'll watch you from right

She started out, weak as ever, but suddenly her nerve partially returned. She thought of Drouet looking.

"Ray," she said, gently, using a tone of voice much more calm than when she had last appeared. It was the

She did not do the part as she had at rehearsal, but she was better. The audience was at least not irritated. The

improvement of the work of the entire company took away direct observation from her. They were making

very fair progress, and now it looked as if the play would be passable, in the less trying parts at least.

"Well, I should say so. That's the way. Put life into it. You did that about a thousand per cent. better than you

"Why, woman," he exclaimed, "you did it for me! Now you go out there and do it. It'll be fun for you. Just do

as you did in the room. If you'll reel it off that way, I'll bet you make a hit. Now, what'll you bet? You do it."

The drummer usually allowed his ardent goodnature to get the better of his speech. He really did think that

Carrie had acted this particular scene very well, and he wanted her to repeat it in public. His enthusiasm was

When the time came, he buoyed Carrie up most effectually. He began to make her feel as if she had done

very well. The old melancholy of desire began to come back as he talked at her, and by the time the situation

Carrie listened, and caught the infection of somethingshe did not know what. Her nostrils sniffed thinly.

"It means," the professional actor began, speaking as Ray, "that society is a terrible avenger of insult. Have

you ever heard of the Siberian wolves? When one of the pack falls through weakness, the others devour him.

It is not an elegant comparison, but there is something wolfish in society. Laura has mocked it with a

pretence, and society, which is made up of pretence, will bitterly resent the mockery."

At the sound of her stage name Carrie started. She began to feel the bitterness of the situation. The feelings of

the outcast descended upon her. She hung at the wing's edge, wrapt in her own mounting thoughts. She

"Come, girls," said Mrs. Van Dam, solemnly, "let us look after our things. They are no longer safe when such

"Cue," said the prompter, close to her side, but she did not hear. Already she was moving forward with a

steady grace, born of inspiration. She dawned upon the audience, handsome and proud, shifting, with the

necessity of the situation, to a cold, white, helpless object, as the social pack moved away from her

Hurstwood blinked his eyes and caught the infection. The radiating waves of feeling and sincerity were

already breaking against the farthest walls of the chamber. The magic of passion, which will yet dissolve the

There was a drawing, too, of attention, a riveting of feeling, heretofore wandering.

Every eye was fixed on Carrie, still proud and scornful. They moved as she moved. Their eyes were with her

"No," answered Carrie, her voice assuming for the first time a penetrating quality which it had never known.

She pointed an almost accusing hand toward her lover. Then, with a pathos which struck home because of its

Hurstwood realised that he was seeing something extraordinarily good. It was heightened for him by the

applause of the audience as the curtain descended and the fact that it was Carrie. He thought now that she was

beautiful. She had done something which was above his sphere. He felt a keen delight in realising that she

"Fine," he said, and then, seized by a sudden impulse, arose and went about to the stage door.

When he came in upon Carrie she was still with Drouet. His feelings for her were most exuberant. He was

almost swept away by the strength and feeling she exhibited. His desire was to pour forth his praise with the

unbounded feelings of a lover, but here was Drouet, whose affection was also rapidly reviving. The latter was

more fascinated, if anything, than Hurstwood. At least, in the nature of things, it took a more ruddy form.

"Well, well," said Drouet, "you did out of sight. That was simply great. I knew you could do it. Oh, but you're

Just then Hurstwood came in. Instinctively he felt the change in Drouet. He saw that the drummer was near to

Carrie, and jealousy leaped alight in his bosom. In a flash of thought, he reproached himself for having sent

him back. Also, he hated him as an intruder. He could scarcely pull himself down to the level where he would

have to congratulate Carrie as a friend. Nevertheless, the man mastered himself, and it was a triumph. He

"I thought," he said, looking at Carrie, "I would come around and tell you how well you did, Mrs. Drouet. It

"I was just telling her," put in Drouet, now delighted with his possession, "that I thought she did fine."

"Indeed you did," said Hurstwood, turning upon Carrie eyes in which she read more than the words.

"If you do as well in the rest of the play, you will make us all think you are a born actress."

Carrie smiled again. She felt the acuteness of Hurstwood's position, and wished deeply that she could be

alone with him, but she did not understand the change in Drouet. Hurstwood found that he could not talk,

repressed as he was, and grudging Drouet every moment of his presence, he bowed himself out with the

"Damn it!" he said, "is he always going to be in the way?" He was moody when he got back to the box, and

As the curtain for the next act arose, Drouet came back. He was very much enlivened in temper and inclined

to whisper, but Hurstwood pretended interest. He fixed his eyes on the stage, although Carrie was not there, a

short bit of melodramatic comedy preceding her entrance. He did not see what was going on, however. He

The progress of the play did not improve matters for him. Carrie, from now on, was easily the centre of

interest. The audience, which had been inclined to feel that nothing could be good after the first gloomy

impression, now went to the other extreme and saw power where it was not. The general feeling reacted on

Carrie. She presented her part with some felicity, though nothing like the intensity which had aroused the

Both Hurstwood and Drouet viewed her pretty figure with rising feelings. The fact that such ability should

reveal itself in her, that they should see it set forth under such effective circumstances, framed almost in

massy gold and shone upon by the appropriate lights of sentiment and personality, heightened her charm for

them. She was more than the old Carrie to Drouet. He longed to be at home with her until he could tell her.

Hurstwood, on the contrary, saw in the strength of her new attractiveness his miserable predicament. He

could have cursed the man beside him. By the Lord, he could not even applaud feelingly as he would. For

It was in the last act that Carrie's fascination for her lovers assumed its most effective character.

Hurstwood listened to its progress, wondering when Carrie would come on. He had not long to wait. The

author had used the artifice of sending all the merry company for a drive, and now Carrie came in alone. It

was the first time that Hurstwood had had a chance to see her facing the audience quite alone, for nowhere

else had she been without a foil of some sort. He suddenly felt, as she entered, that her old strengththe

power that had grasped him at the end of the first acthad come back. She seemed to be gaining feeling,

now that the play was drawing to a close and the opportunity for great action was passing.

"Poor Pearl," she said, speaking with natural pathos. "It is a sad thing to want for happiness, but it is a terrible

thing to see another groping about blindly for it, when it is almost within the grasp."

She was gazing now sadly out upon the open sea, her arm resting listlessly upon the polished doorpost.

Hurstwood began to feel a deep sympathy for her and for himself. He could almost feel that she was talking

to him. He was, by a combination of feelings and entanglements, almost deluded by that quality of voice and

manner which, like a pathetic strain of music, seems ever a personal and intimate thing. Pathos has this

"And yet, she can be very happy with him," went on the little actress. "Her sunny temper, her joyous face will

She turned slowly toward the audience without seeing. There was so much simplicity in her movements that

she seemed wholly alone. Then she found a seat by a table, and turned over some books, devoting a thought

"With no longings for what I may not have," she breathed in conclusionand it was almost a sigh"my

existence hidden from all save two in the wide world, and making my joy out of the joy of that innocent girl

Hurstwood was sorry when a character, known as Peach Blossom, interrupted her. He stirred irritably, for he

wished her to go on. He was charmed by the pale face, the lissome figure, draped in pearl grey, with a coiled

string of pearls at the throat. Carrie had the air of one who was weary and in need of protection, and, under

the fascinating makebelieve of the moment, he rose in feeling until he was ready in spirit to go to her and

"I must return to the city, no matter what dangers may lurk here. I must go, secretly if I can; openly, if I

He entered, and then began a scene which had as much to do with the creation of the tragedy of affection in

Hurstwood as anything in his peculiar and involved career. For Carrie had resolved to make something of this

scene, and, now that the cue had come, it began to take a feeling hold upon her. Both Hurstwood and Drouet

"Noyes; that is, we always have. Our social barometers always stand at 'cloudy' and 'overcast.'"

"Not mine," he answered, pettishly. "I know I do all I canI say all I canbut she"

This was rather awkwardly put by Patton, but Carrie redeemed it with a grace which was inspiring.

"But she is your wife," she said, fixing her whole attention upon the stilled actor, and softening the quality of

her voice until it was again low and musical. "Ray, my friend, courtship is the text from which the whole

sermon of married life takes its theme. Do not let yours be discontented and unhappy."

Hurstwood gazed with slightly parted lips. Drouet was fidgeting with satisfaction.

"To be my wife, yes," went on the actor in a manner which was weak by comparison, but which could not

now spoil the tender atmosphere which Carrie had created and maintained. She did not seem to feel that he

was wretched. She would have done nearly as well with a block of wood. The accessories she needed were

"I lost you," he said, seizing her little hand, "and I was at the mercy of any flirt who chose to give me an

Carrie turned slowly away, and seemed to be mastering some impulse in silence. Then she turned back.

"Ray," she said, "the greatest happiness I have ever felt has been the thought that all your affection was

forever bestowed upon a virtuous woman, your equal in family, fortune, and accomplishments. What a

revelation do you make to me now! What is it makes you continually war with your happiness?"

The last question was asked so simply that it came to the audience and the lover as a personal thing.

At last it came to the part where the lover exclaimed, "Be to me as you used to be."

Carrie answered, with affecting sweetness, "I cannot be that to you, but I can speak in the spirit of the Laura

"Let the woman you look upon be wise or vain," said Carrie, her eyes bent sadly upon the lover, who had

sunk into a seat, "beautiful or homely, rich or poor, she has but one thing she can really give or refuseher

"Her beauty, her wit, her accomplishments, she may sell to you; but her love is the treasure without money

The manager suffered this as a personal appeal. It came to him as if they were alone, and he could hardly

restrain the tears for sorrow over the hopeless, pathetic, and yet dainty and appealing woman whom he loved.

Drouet also was beside himself. He was resolving that he would be to Carrie what he had never been before.

"She asks only in return," said Carrie, scarcely hearing the small, scheduled reply of her lover, and putting

herself even more in harmony with the plaintive melody now issuing from the orchestra, "that when you look

upon her your eyes shall speak devotion; that when you address her your voice shall be gentle, loving, and

kind; that you shall not despise her because she cannot understand all at once your vigorous thoughts and

ambitious designs; for, when misfortune and evil have defeated your greatest purposes, her love remains to

console you. You look to the trees," she continued, while Hurstwood restrained his feelings only by the

grimmest repression, "for strength and grandeur; do not despise the flowers because their fragrance is all they

have to give. Remember," she concluded, tenderly, "love is all a woman has to give," and she laid a strange,

sweet accent on the all, "but it is the only thing which God permits us to carry beyond the grave."

The two men were in the most harrowed state of affection. They scarcely heard the few remaining words with

which the scene concluded. They only saw their idol, moving about with appealing grace, continuing a power

Hurstwood resolved a thousands things, Drouet as well. They joined equally in the burst of applause which

called Carrie out. Drouet pounded his hands until they ached. Then he jumped up again and started out. As he

went, Carrie came out, and, seeing an immense basket of flowers being hurried down the aisle toward her she

waited. They were Hurstwood's. She looked toward the manager's box for a moment, caught his eye, and

smiled. He could have leaped out of the box to enfold her. He forgot the need of circumspectness which his

married state enforced. He almost forgot that he had with him in the box those who knew him. By the Lord,

he would have that lovely girl if it took his all. He would act at once. This should be the end of Drouet, and

don't you forget it. He would not wait another day. The drummer should not have her.

He was so excited that he could not stay in the box. He went into the lobby, and then into the street, thinking.

Drouet did not return. In a few minutes the last act was over, and he was crazy to have Carrie alone. He

cursed the luck that could keep him smiling, bowing, shamming, when he wanted to tell her that he loved her,

when he wanted to whisper to her alone. He groaned as he saw that his hopes were futile. He must even take

her to supper, shamming. He finally went about and asked how she was getting along. The actors were all

dressing, talking, hurrying about. Drouet was palavering himself with the looseness of excitement and

"We are going to supper, of course," he said, with a voice that was a mockery of his heart.

The little actress was in fine feather. She was realising now what it was to be petted. For once she was the

admired, the soughtfor. The independence of success now made its first faint showing. With the tables

turned, she was looking down, rather than up, to her lover. She did not fully realise that this was so, but there

was something in condescension coming from her which was infinitely sweet. When she was ready they

climbed into the waiting coach and drove down town; once, only, did she find an opportunity to express her

feeling, and that was when the manager preceded Drouet in the coach and sat beside her. Before Drouet was

fully in she had squeezed Hurstwood's hand in a gentle, impulsive manner. The manager was beside himself

with affection. He could have sold his soul to be with her alone. "Ah," he thought, "the agony of it."

Drouet hung on, thinking he was all in all. The dinner was spoiled by his enthusiasm. Hurstwood went home

feeling as if he should die if he did not find affectionate relief. He whispered "tomorrow" passionately to

Carrie, and she understood. He walked away from the drummer and his prize at parting feeling as if he could

"The fool!" he said, now hating Drouet. "The idiot! I'll do him yet, and that quick! We'll see tomorrow."

"Well, if you aren't a wonder," Drouet was saying, complacently, squeezing Carrie's arm. "You are the

Passion in a man of Hurstwood's nature takes a vigorous form. It is no musing, dreamy thing. There is none

of the tendency to sing outside of my lady's windowto languish and repine in the face of difficulties. In the

night he was long getting to sleep because of too much thinking, and in the morning he was early awake,

seizing with alacrity upon the same dear subject and pursuing it with vigour. He was out of sorts physically,

as well as disordered mentally, for did he not delight in a new manner in his Carrie, and was not Drouet in the

way? Never was man more harassed than he by the thoughts of his love being held by the elated,

flushmannered drummer. He would have given anything, it seemed to him, to have the complication

endedto have Carrie acquiesce to an arrangement which would dispose of Drouet effectually and forever.

What to do. He dressed thinking. He moved about in the same chamber with his wife, unmindful of her

At breakfast he found himself without an appetite. The meat to which he helped himself remained on his plate

untouched. His coffee grew cold, while he scanned the paper indifferently. Here and there he read a little

thing, but remembered nothing. Jessica had not yet come down. His wife sat at one end of the table revolving

thoughts of her own in silence. A new servant had been recently installed and had forgot the napkins. On this

"I've told you about this before, Maggie," said Mrs. Hurstwood. "I'm not going to tell you again."

Hurstwood took a glance at his wife. She was frowning. Just now her manner irritated him excessively. Her

It was customary for them to discuss the regular summer outing at this season of the year.

"Well, you'll want to make up your mind pretty soon, won't you, if we're going?" she returned.

"There you go again," he observed. "One would think I never did anything, the way you begin."

"You've got a few days yet," he insisted. "You'll not want to start before the races are over."

He was irritated to think that this should come up when he wished to have his thoughts for other purposes.

"Uh!" she said, using the sound as an exclamation of disgust, "I'll not argue with you," and therewith arose to

"Say," he said, rising, putting a note of determination in his voice which caused her to delay her departure,

"Well, you wouldn't think so by the way you act. Now, you want to know when I'll be readynot for a

He was astonished at the woman's determination, but it only irritated him the more.

"Well, we'll see about that. It seems to me you're trying to run things with a pretty high hand of late. You talk

as though you settled my affairs for me. Well, you don't. You don't regulate anything that's connected with

He was thoroughly aroused now. His dark eyes snapped, and he crunched his paper as he laid it down. Mrs.

Hurstwood said nothing more. He was just finishing when she turned on her heel and went out into the hall

and upstairs. He paused for a moment, as if hesitating, then sat down and drank a little coffee, and thereafter

His wife had really not anticipated a row of this character. She had come down to the breakfast table feeling a

little out of sorts with herself and revolving a scheme which she had in her mind. Jessica had called her

attention to the fact that the races were not what they were supposed to be. The social opportunities were not

what they had thought they would be this year. The beautiful girl found going every day a dull thing. There

was an earlier exodus this year of people who were anybody to the watering places and Europe. In her own

circle of acquaintances several young men in whom she was interested had gone to Waukesha. She began to

Accordingly, Mrs. Hurstwood decided to broach the subject. She was thinking this over when she came down

to the table, but for some reason the atmosphere was wrong. She was not sure, after it was all over, just how

the trouble had begun. She was determined now, however, that her husband was a brute, and that, under no

circumstances, would she let this go by unsettled. She would have more ladylike treatment or she would

For his part, the manager was loaded with the care of this new argument until he reached his office and

started from there to meet Carrie. Then the other complications of love, desire, and opposition possessed him.

His thoughts fled on before him upon eagles' wings. He could hardly wait until he should meet Carrie face to

face. What was the night, after all, without herwhat the day? She must and should be his.

For her part, Carrie had experienced a world of fancy and feeling since she had left him, the night before. She

had listened to Drouet's enthusiastic maunderings with much regard for that part which concerned herself,

with very little for that which affected his own gain. She kept him at such lengths as she could, because her

thoughts were with her own triumph. She felt Hurstwood's passion as a delightful background to her own

achievement, and she wondered what he would have to say. She was sorry for him, too, with that peculiar

sorrow which finds something complimentary to itself in the misery of another. She was now experiencing

the first shades of feeling of that subtle change which removes one out of the ranks of the suppliants into the

On the morrow, however, there was nothing in the papers concerning the event, and, in view of the flow of

common, everyday things about, it now lost a shade of the glow of the previous evening. Drouet himself was

not talking so much OF as FOR her. He felt instinctively that, for some reason or other, he needed

"I think," he said, as he spruced around their chambers the next morning, preparatory to going down town,

"that I'll straighten out that little deal of mine this month and then we'll get married. I was talking with

"No, you won't," said Carrie, who was coming to feel a certain faint power to jest with the drummer.

"Yes, I will," he exclaimed, more feelingly than usual, adding, with the tone of one who pleads, "Don't you

Drouet's assurance now misgave him. Shallow as was his mental observation, there was that in the things

which had happened which made his little power of analysis useless. Carrie was still with him, but not

helpless and pleading. There was a lilt in her voice which was new. She did not study him with eyes

expressive of dependence. The drummer was feeling the shadow of something which was coming. It coloured

his feelings and made him develop those little attentions and say those little words which were mere

Shortly afterward he departed, and Carrie prepared for her meeting with Hurstwood. She hurried at her toilet,

which was soon made, and hastened down the stairs. At the corner she passed Drouet, but they did not see

The drummer had forgotten some bills which he wished to turn into his house. He hastened up the stairs and

"That's strange," thought Drouet. "She didn't say a word to me. I wonder where she went?"

He hastened about, rummaging in his valise for what he wanted, and finally pocketing it. Then he turned his

attention to his fair neighbour, who was goodlooking and kindly disposed towards him.

"Just cleaning," she replied, stopping and winding a dusting towel about her hand.

"Let me show you something," he said, affably, coming over and taking out of his pocket a little lithographed

card which had been issued by a wholesale tobacco company. On this was printed a picture of a pretty girl,

holding a striped parasol, the colours of which could be changed by means of a revolving disk in the back,

which showed red, yellow, green, and blue through little interstices made in the ground occupied by the

"Isn't that clever?" he said, handing it to her and showing her how it worked. "You never saw anything like

"That's a pretty ring you have," he said, touching a commonplace setting which adorned the hand holding the

"That's right," he answered, making use of a pretence at examination to secure her finger. "That's fine."

The ice being thus broken, he launched into further observation pretending to forget that her fingers were still

retained by his. She soon withdrew them, however, and retreated a few feet to rest against the windowsill.

"I didn't see you for a long time," she said, coquettishly, repulsing one of his exuberant approaches. "You

"What has become of your friend, Mr. Hurstwood?" she suddenly asked, bethinking herself of the manager,

"Get out," said the drummer, lightly. "He hasn't called more than half a dozen times since we've been here."

Drouet took on a slightly more serious tone. He was uncertain as to whether she was joking or not.

She was a mischievous newsmonger, and was keenly wondering what the effect of her words would be.

He looked rather foolish at this answer, and then attempted to correct himself so as not to appear a dupe.

He would have gone on further with his little flirtation, but the taste for it was temporarily removed. He was

"I'll see you later," he said, with a pretence of disturbance at being interrupted.

When she was gone, he gave freer play to his feelings. His face, never easily controlled by him, expressed all

the perplexity and disturbance which he felt. Could it be that Carrie had received so many visits and yet said

nothing about them? Was Hurstwood lying? What did the chambermaid mean by it, anyway? He had thought

there was something odd about Carrie's manner at the time. Why did she look so disturbed when he had asked

her how many times Hurstwood had called? By George! He remembered now. There was something strange

He sat down in a rockingchair to think the better, drawing up one leg on his knee and frowning mightily.

And yet Carrie hadn't acted out of the ordinary. It couldn't be, by George, that she was deceiving him. She

hadn't acted that way. Why, even last night she had been as friendly toward him as could be, and Hurstwood

too. Look how they acted! He could hardly believe they would try to deceive him.

"She did act sort of funny at times. Here she had dressed, and gone out this morning and never said a word."

He scratched his head and prepared to go down town. He was still frowning. As he came into the hall he

encountered the girl, who was now looking after another chamber. She had on a white dusting cap, beneath

which her chubby face shone goodnaturedly. Drouet almost forgot his worry in the fact that she was smiling

on him. He put his hand familiarly on her shoulder, as if only to greet her in passing.

"Certainly," she answered. Then, with an air of one who did not intentionally mean to create trouble, "He

The game of deception was up with Drouet. He did not try to simulate indifference further.

"Don't say anything, will you?" he asked, giving the girl's arm a gentle squeeze.

"All right," he said, passing on, seriously brooding for once, and yet not wholly unconscious of the fact that

"I'll see her about that," he said to himself, passionately, feeling that he had been unduly wronged. "I'll find

When Carrie came Hurstwood had been waiting many minutes. His blood was warm; his nerves wrought up.

He was anxious to see the woman who had stirred him so profoundly the night before.

"Here you are," he said, repressedly, feeling a spring in his limbs and an elation which was tragic in itself.

They walked on as if bound for some objective point, while Hurstwood drank in the radiance of her presence.

He was dwelling on her attractiveness as he had felt it the evening before, and mingling it with the feeling her

Carrie was dwelling in the atmosphere which this man created for her. Already she was enlivened and

suffused with a glow. She felt his drawing toward her in every sound of his voice.

"Those were such nice flowers you sent me," she said, after a moment or two. "They were beautiful."

He was thinking all the time that the subject of his desire was being delayed. He was anxious to turn the talk

to his own feelings. All was ripe for it. His Carrie was beside him. He wanted to plunge in and expostulate

"You got home all right," he said, gloomily, of a sudden, his tune modifying itself to one of

He looked at her steadily for a moment, slowing his pace and fixing her with his eye.

This confused Carrie considerably, for she realised the floodgates were open. She didn't know exactly what to

He took his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, and then let it go. He stopped by the walk side and

kicked the grass with his toe. He searched her face with a tender, appealing glance.

"I don't know," returned Carrie, still illogically drifting and finding nothing at which to catch.

As a matter of fact, she was in a most hopeless quandary. Here was a man whom she thoroughly liked, who

exercised an influence over her, sufficient almost to delude her into the belief that she was possessed of a

lively passion for him. She was still the victim of his keen eyes, his suave manners, his fine clothes. She

looked and saw before her a man who was most gracious and sympathetic, who leaned toward her with a

feeling that was a delight to observe. She could not resist the glow of his temperament, the light of his eye.

And yet she was not without thoughts which were disturbing. What did he know? What had Drouet told him?

Was she a wife in his eyes, or what? Would he marry her? Even while he talked, and she softened, and her

eyes were lighted with a tender glow, she was asking herself if Drouet had told him they were not married.

And yet she was not grieved at Hurstwood's love. No strain of bitterness was in it for her, whatever he knew.

He was evidently sincere. His passion was real and warm. There was power in what he said. What should she

do? She went on thinking this, answering vaguely, languishing affectionately, and altogether drifting, until

There was a look of confusion and pain in her face. She was wondering why that miserable thought must be

brought in. She was struck as by a blade with the miserable provision which was outside the pale of marriage.

He himself realized that it was a wretched thing to have dragged in. He wanted to weigh the effects of it, and

yet he could not see. He went beating on, flushed by her presence, clearly awakened, intensely enlisted in his

"Won't you come?" he said, beginning over and with a more reverent feeling. "You know I can't do without

"I wouldn't ask if II wouldn't argue with you if I could help it. Look at me, Carrie. Put yourself in my

She shook her head as if in deep thought. "Then why not settle the whole thing, once and for all?"

"Don't know! Ah, Carrie, what makes you say that? Don't torment me. Be serious."

"You can't be, dearest, and say that. Not when you know how I love you. Look at last night."

His manner as he said this was the most quiet imaginable. His face and body retained utter composure. Only

his eyes moved, and they flashed a subtle, dissolving fire. In them the whole intensity of the man's nature was

"How can you act this way, dearest?" he inquired, after a time. "You love me, don't you?"

He turned on her such a storm of feeling that she was overwhelmed. For the moment all doubts were cleared

"I can't wait any longer," urged Hurstwood. "If that is too soon, come Saturday."

"When will we be married?" she asked, diffidently, forgetting in her difficult situation that she had hoped he

The manager started, hit as he was by a problem which was more difficult than hers. He gave no sign of the

"Any time you say," he said, with ease, refusing to discolour his present delight with this miserable problem.

The manager looked at his lovely prize, so beautiful, so winsome, so difficult to be won, and made strange

resolutions. His passion had gotten to that stage now where it was no longer coloured with reason. He did not

trouble over little barriers of this sort in the face of so much loveliness. He would accept the situation with all

its difficulties; he would not try to answer the objections which cold truth thrust upon him. He would promise

anything, everything, and trust to fortune to disentangle him. He would make a try for Paradise, whatever

might be the result. He would be happy, by the Lord, if it cost all honesty of statement, all abandonment of

Carrie looked at him tenderly. She could have laid her head upon his shoulder, so delightful did it all seem.

Hurstwood looked into her pretty face, crossed with little shadows of wonder and misgiving, and thought he

"I'll see you again tomorrow," he said, joyously, "and we'll talk over the plans."

He walked on with her, elated beyond words, so delightful had been the result. He impressed a long story of

joy and affection upon her, though there was but here and there a word. After a halfhour he began to realise

"Tomorrow," he said at parting, a gayety of manner adding wonderfully to his brave demeanour.

There had been so much enthusiasm engendered that she was believing herself deeply in love. She sighed as

she thought of her handsome adorer. Yes, she would get ready by Saturday. She would go, and they would be

The misfortune of the Hurstwood household was due to the fact that jealousy, having been born of love, did

not perish with it. Mrs. Hurstwood retained this in such form that subsequent influences could transform it

into hate. Hurstwood was still worthy, in a physical sense, of the affection his wife had once bestowed upon

him, but in a social sense he fell short. With his regard died his power to be attentive to her, and this, to a

woman, is much greater than outright crime toward another. Our selflove dictates our appreciation of the

good or evil in another. In Mrs. Hurstwood it discoloured the very hue of her husband's indifferent nature.

She saw design in deeds and phrases which sprung only from a faded appreciation of her presence.

As a consequence, she was resentful and suspicious. The jealousy that prompted her to observe every falling

away from the little amenities of the married relation on his part served to give her notice of the airy grace

with which he still took the world. She could see from the scrupulous care which he exercised in the matter of

his personal appearance that his interest in life had abated not a jot. Every motion, every glance had

something in it of the pleasure he felt in Carrie, of the zest this new pursuit of pleasure lent to his days. Mrs.

This feeling was strengthened by actions of a direct and more potent nature on the part of Hurstwood. We

have seen with what irritation he shirked those little duties which no longer contained any amusement of

satisfaction for him, and the open snarls with which, more recently, he resented her irritating goads. These

little rows were really precipitated by an atmosphere which was surcharged with dissension. That it would

shower, with a sky so full of blackening thunderclouds, would scarcely be thought worthy of comment. Thus,

after leaving the breakfast table this morning, raging inwardly at his blank declaration of indifference at her

plans, Mrs. Hurstwood encountered Jessica in her dressingroom, very leisurely arranging her hair.

"I wish you wouldn't be so late coming down to breakfast," she said, addressing Jessica, while making for her

Her natural composure was sadly ruffled, and Jessica was doomed to feel the fag end of the storm.

"Then why don't you say so, and let the girl put away the things, instead of keeping her waiting all morning?"

"Well, I do, if she doesn't," returned the mother, "and, anyhow, I don't like you to talk that way to me. You're

"Oh, mamma, don't row,"; answered Jessica. "What's the matter this morning, anyway?"

"Nothing's the matter, and I'm not rowing. You mustn't think because I indulge you in some things that you

"I'm not keeping anybody waiting," returned Jessica, sharply, stirred out of a cynical indifference to a sharp

"Mind how you address me, missy. I'll not have it. Hear me now; I'll not have it!"

Jessica heard this last while walking out of the room, with a toss of her head and a flick of her pretty skirts

indicative of the independence and indifference she felt. She did not propose to be quarrelled with.

Such little arguments were all too frequent, the result of a growth of natures which were largely independent

and selfish. George, Jr., manifested even greater touchiness and exaggeration in the matter of his individual

rights, and attempted to make all feel that he was a man with a man's privilegesan assumption which, of all

Hurstwood was a man of authority and some fine feeling, and it irritated him excessively to find himself

surrounded more and more by a world upon which he had no hold, and of which he had a lessening

Now, when such little things, such as the proposed earlier start to Waukesha, came up, they made clear to him

his position. He was being made to follow, was not leading. When, in addition, a sharp temper was

manifested, and to the process of shouldering him out of his authority was added a rousing intellectual kick,

such as a sneer or a cynical laugh, he was unable to keep his temper. He flew into hardly repressed passion,

and wished himself clear of the whole household. It seemed a most irritating drag upon all his desires and

For all this, he still retained the semblance of leadership and control, even though his wife was straining to

revolt. Her display of temper and open assertion of opposition were based upon nothing more than the feeling

that she could do it. She had no special evidence wherewith to justify herselfthe knowledge of something

which would give her both authority and excuse. The latter was all that was lacking, however, to give a solid

foundation to what, in a way, seemed groundless discontent. The clear proof of one overt deed was the cold

An inkling of untoward deeds on the part of Hurstwood had come. Doctor Beale, the handsome resident

physician of the neighbourhood, met Mrs. Hurstwood at her own doorstep some days after Hurstwood and

Carrie had taken the drive west on Washington Boulevard. Dr. Beale, coming east on the same drive, had

recognised Hurstwood, but not before he was quite past him. He was not so sure of Carriedid not know

"You don't speak to your friends when you meet them out driving, do you?" he said, jocosely, to Mrs.

"On Washington Boulevard." he answered, expecting her eye to light with immediate remembrance.

"I guess you're mistaken," she answered. Then, remembering her husband's part in the affair, she immediately

"I know I saw your husband," he went on. "I wasn't so sure about you. Perhaps it was your daughter."

"Perhaps it was," said Mrs. Hurstwood, knowing full well that such was not the case, as Jessica had been her

companion for weeks. She had recovered herself sufficiently to wish to know more of the details.

"Was it in the afternoon?" she asked, artfully, assuming an air of acquaintanceship with the matter.

"It must have been Jessica," said Mrs. Hurstwood, not wishing to seem to attach any importance to the

The physician had a thought or two of his own, but dismissed the matter as worthy of no further discussion

Mrs. Hurstwood gave this bit of information considerable thought during the next few hours, and even days.

She took it for granted that the doctor had really seen her husband, and that he had been riding, most likely,

with some other woman, after announcing himself as BUSY to her. As a consequence, she recalled, with

rising feeling, how often he had refused to go to places with her, to share in little visits, or, indeed, take part

in any of the social amenities which furnished the diversion of her existence. He had been seen at the theatre

with people whom he called Moy's friends; now he was seen driving, and, most likely, would have an excuse

for that. Perhaps there were others of whom she did not hear, or why should he be so busy, so indifferent, of

late? In the last six weeks he had become strangely irritablestrangely satisfied to pick up and go out,

She recalled, with more subtle emotions, that he did not look at her now with any of the old light of

satisfaction or approval in his eye. Evidently, along with other things, he was taking her to be getting old and

uninteresting. He saw her wrinkles, perhaps. She was fading, while he was still preening himself in his

elegance and youth. He was still an interested factor in the merrymakings of the world, while shebut she

did not pursue the thought. She only found the whole situation bitter, and hated him for it thoroughly.

Nothing came of this incident at the time, for the truth is it did not seem conclusive enough to warrant any

discussion. Only the atmosphere of distrust and illfeeling was strengthened, precipitating every now and

then little sprinklings of irritable conversation, enlivened by flashes of wrath. The matter of the Waukesha

The day after Carrie's appearance on the Avery stage, Mrs. Hurstwood visited the races with Jessica and a

youth of her acquaintance, Mr. Bart Taylor, the son of the owner of a local housefurnishing establishment.

They had driven out early, and, as it chanced, encountered several friends of Hurstwood, all Elks, and two of

whom had attended the performance the evening before. A thousand chances the subject of the performance

had never been brought up had Jessica not been so engaged by the attentions of her young companion, who

usurped as much time as possible. This left Mrs. Hurstwood in the mood to extend the perfunctory greetings

of some who knew her into short conversations, and the short conversations of friends into long ones. It was

from one who meant but to greet her perfunctorily that this interesting intelligence came.

"I see," said this individual, who wore sporting clothes of the most attractive pattern, and had a fieldglass

strung over his shoulder, "that you did not get over to our little entertainment last evening."

"No?" said Mrs. Hurstwood, inquiringly, and wondering why he should be using the tone he did in noting the

fact that she had not been to something she knew nothing about. It was on her lips to say, "What was it?"

"Yes," she said, cautiously, "was it pleasant? He did not tell me much about it."

"Very. Really one of the best private theatricals I ever attended. There was one actress who surprised us all."

"It's too bad you couldn't have been there, really. I was sorry to hear you weren't feeling well."

Feeling well! Mrs. Hurstwood could have echoed the words after him openmouthed. As it was, she

extricated herself from her mingled impulse to deny and question, and said, almost raspingly:

"Looks like there will be quite a crowd here today, doesn't it?" the acquaintance observed, drifting off upon

The manager's wife would have questioned farther, but she saw no opportunity. She was for the moment

wholly at sea, anxious to think for herself, and wondering what new deception was this which caused him to

give out that she was ill when she was not. Another case of her company not wanted, and excuses being

"Were you at the performance last evening?" she asked of the next of Hurstwood's friends who greeted her as

"So your husband told me," he answered. "Well, it was really very enjoyable. Turned out much better than I

"The house was full. It was quite an Elk night. I saw quite a number of your friendsMrs. Harrison, Mrs.

"So," she thought, "that's the way he does. Tells my friends I am sick and cannot come."

She wondered what could induce him to go alone. There was something back of this. She rummaged her

By evening, when Hurstwood reached home, she had brooded herself into a state of sullen desire for

explanation and revenge. She wanted to know what this peculiar action of his imported. She was certain there

was more behind it all than what she had heard, and evil curiosity mingled well with distrust and the

remnants of her wrath of the morning. She, impending disaster itself, walked about with gathered shadow at

the eyes and the rudimentary muscles of savagery fixing the hard lines of her mouth.

On the other hand, as we may well believe, the manager came home in the sunniest mood. His conversation

and agreement with Carrie had raised his spirits until he was in the frame of mind of one who sings joyously.

He was proud of himself, proud of his success, proud of Carrie. He could have been genial to all the world,

and he bore no grudge against his wife. He meant to be pleasant, to forget her presence, to live in the

So now, the house, to his mind, had a most pleasing and comfortable appearance. In the hall he found an

evening paper, laid there by the maid and forgotten by Mrs. Hurstwood. In the diningroom the table was

clean laid with linen and napery and shiny with glasses and decorated china. Through an open door he saw

into the kitchen, where the fire was crackling in the stove and the evening meal already well under way. Out

in the small back yard was George, Jr., frolicking with a young dog he had recently purchased, and in the

parlour Jessica was playing at the piano, the sounds of a merry waltz filling every nook and corner of the

comfortable home. Every one, like himself, seemed to have regained his good spirits, to be in sympathy with

youth and beauty, to be inclined to joy and merrymaking. He felt as if he could say a good word all around

himself, and took a most genial glance at the spread table and polished sideboard before going upstairs to

read his paper in the comfortable armchair of the sittingroom which looked through the open windows into

the street. When he entered there, however, he found his wife brushing her hair and musing to herself the

He came lightly in, thinking to smooth over any feeling that might still exist by a kindly word and a ready

promise, but Mrs. Hurstwood said nothing. He seated himself in the large chair, stirred lightly in making

himself comfortable, opened his paper, and began to read. In a few moments he was smiling merrily over a

very comical account of a baseball game which had taken place between the Chicago and Detroit teams.

The while he was doing this Mrs. Hurstwood was observing him casually through the medium of the mirror

which was before her. She noticed his pleasant and contented manner, his airy grace and smiling humour, and

it merely aggravated her the more. She wondered how he could think to carry himself so in her presence after

the cynicism, indifference, and neglect he had heretofore manifested and would continue to manifest so long

as she would endure it. She thought how she should like to tell himwhat stress and emphasis she would

lend her assertions, how she should drive over this whole affair until satisfaction should be rendered her.

Indeed, the shining sword of her wrath was but weakly suspended by a thread of thought.

In the meanwhile Hurstwood encountered a humorous item concerning a stranger who had arrived in the city

and became entangled with a buncosteerer. It amused him immensely, and at last he stirred and chuckled to

himself. He wished that he might enlist his wife's attention and read it to her.

He stirred again and went on to another subject. At last he felt as if his goodhumour must find some outlet.

Julia was probably still out of humour over that affair of this morning, but that could easily be straightened.

As a matter of fact, she was in the wrong, but he didn't care. She could go to Waukesha right away if she

wanted to. The sooner the better. He would tell her that as soon as he got a chance, and the whole thing would

"Did you notice," he said, at last, breaking forth concerning another item which he had found, "that they have

entered suit to compel the Illinois Central to get off the lake front, Julia?" he asked.

Hurstwood pricked up his ears. There was a note in her voice which vibrated keenly.

"It would be a good thing if they did," he went on, half to himself, half to her, though he felt that something

was amiss in that quarter. He withdrew his attention to his paper very circumspectly, listening mentally for

As a matter of fact, no man as clever as Hurstwoodas observant and sensitive to atmospheres of many

sorts, particularly upon his own plane of thoughtwould have made the mistake which he did in regard to

his wife, wrought up as she was, had he not been occupied mentally with a very different train of thought.

Had not the influence of Carrie's regard for him, the elation which her promise aroused in him, lasted over, he

would not have seen the house in so pleasant a mood. It was not extraordinarily bright and merry this

evening. He was merely very much mistaken, and would have been much more fitted to cope with it had he

After he had studied his paper a few moments longer, he felt that he ought to modify matters in some way or

other. Evidently his wife was not going to patch up peace at a word. So he said:

He put his paper down on his knees and gazed idly out of the window. He did not propose to lose his temper,

but merely to be persistent and agreeable, and by a few questions bring around a mild understanding of some

"Why do you feel so bad about that affair of this morning? he said, at last. "We needn't quarrel about that.

"So you can stay here and trifle around with some one else?" she exclaimed, turning to him a determined

He stopped as if slapped in the face. In an instant his persuasive, conciliatory manner fled. He was on the

"What do you mean?" he said at last, straightening himself and gazing at the cold, determined figure before

"You know what I mean," she said, finally, as if there were a world of information which she held in

"Well, I don't," he said, stubbornly, yet nervous and alert for what should come next. The finality of the

"Hmph!" he murmured, with a movement of his head to one side. It was the weakest thing he had ever done.

Mrs. Hurstwood noticed the lack of colour in it. She turned upon him, animallike, able to strike an effectual

He looked at her in amazement. Never before had he seen such a cold, steely determination in her eyesuch

a cruel look of indifference. She seemed a thorough master of her mood thoroughly confident and

determined to wrest all control from him. He felt that all his resources could not defend him. He must attack.

"What do you mean?" he said, jumping up. "You want! I'd like to know what's got into you tonight."

"Nothing's GOT into me," she said, flaming. "I want that money. You can do your swaggering afterwards."

"Swaggering, eh! What! You'll get nothing from me. What do you mean by your insinuations, anyhow?"

"Where were you last night?" she answered. The words were hot as they came. "Who were you driving with

on Washington Boulevard? Who were you with at the theatre when George saw you? Do you think I'm a fool

to be duped by you? Do you think I'll sit at home here and take your 'too busys' and 'can't come,' while you

parade around and make out that I'm unable to come? I want you to know that lordly airs have come to an end

so far as I am concerned. You can't dictate to me nor my children. I'm through with you entirely."

"Lie, eh!" she said, fiercely, but with returning reserve; "you may call it a lie if you want to, but I know."

"It's a lie, I tell you," he said, in a low, sharp voice. "You've been searching around for some cheap accusation

for months and now you think you have it. You think you'll spring something and get the upper hand. Well, I

tell you, you can't. As long as I'm in this house I'm master of it, and you or any one else won't dictate to

He crept toward her with a light in his eye that was ominous. Something in the woman's cool, cynical,

upperhandish manner, as if she were already master, caused him to feel for the moment as if he could

The answer was so cool, so rich in bravado, that somehow it took the wind out of his sails. He could not

attack her, he could not ask her for proofs. Somehow he felt evidence, law, the remembrance of all his

property which she held in her name, to be shining in her glance. He was like a vessel, powerful and

"And I'm telling you," he said in the end, slightly recovering himself, "what you'll not get."

"We'll see about it," she said. "I'll find out what my rights are. Perhaps you'll talk to a lawyer, if you won't to

It was a magnificent play, and had its effect. Hurstwood fell back beaten. He knew now that he had more than

mere bluff to contend with. He felt that he was face to face with a dull proposition. What to say he hardly

knew. All the merriment had gone out of the day. He was disturbed, wretched, resentful. What should he do?

"Do as you please," he said, at last. "I'll have nothing more to do with you," and out he strode.

When Carrie reached her own room she had already fallen a prey to those doubts and misgivings which are

ever the result of a lack of decision. She could not persuade herself as to the advisability of her promise, or

that now, having given her word, she ought to keep it. She went over the whole ground in Hurstwood's

absence, and discovered little objections that had not occurred to her in the warmth of the manager's

argument. She saw where she had put herself in a peculiar light, namely, that of agreeing to marry when she

was already supposedly married. She remembered a few things Drouet had done, and now that it came to

walking away from him without a word, she felt as if she were doing wrong. Now, she was comfortably

situated, and to one who is more or less afraid of the world, this is an urgent matter, and one which puts up

strange, uncanny arguments. "You do not know what will come. There are miserable things outside. People

go abegging. Women are wretched. You never can tell what will happen. Remember the time you were

Curiously, for all her leaning towards Hurstwood, he had not taken a firm hold on her understanding. She was

listening, smiling, approving, and yet not finally agreeing. This was due to a lack of power on his part, a lack

of that majesty of passion that sweeps the mind from its seat, fuses and melts all arguments and theories into

a tangled mass, and destroys for the time being the reasoning power. This majesty of passion is possessed by

nearly every man once in his life, but it is usually an attribute of youth and conduces to the first successful

Hurstwood, being an older man, could scarcely be said to retain the fire of youth, though he did possess a

passion warm and unreasoning. It was strong enough to induce the leaning toward him which, on Carrie's

part, we have seen. She might have been said to be imagining herself in love, when she was not. Women

frequently do this. It flows from the fact that in each exists a bias toward affection, a craving for the pleasure

of being loved. The longing to be shielded, bettered, sympathised with, is one of the attributes of the sex.

This, coupled with sentiment and a natural tendency to emotion, often makes refusing difficult. It persuades

Once at home, she changed her clothes and straightened the rooms for herself. In the matter of the

arrangement of the furniture she never took the housemaid's opinion. That young woman invariably put one

of the rockingchairs in the corner, and Carrie as regularly moved it out. Today she hardly noticed that it

was in the wrong place, so absorbed was she in her own thoughts. She worked about the room until Drouet

put in appearance at five o'clock. The drummer was flushed and excited and full of determination to know all

about her relations with Hurstwood. Nevertheless, after going over the subject in his mind the livelong day,

he was rather weary of it and wished it over with. He did not foresee serious consequences of any sort, and

yet he rather hesitated to begin. Carrie was sitting by the window when he came in, rocking and looking out.

"Well," she said innocently, weary of her own mental discussion and wondering at his haste and

Drouet hesitated, now that he was in her presence, uncertain as to what course to pursue. He was no diplomat.

"You weren't here," he said, "when I came back this morning, and I thought you had gone out."

Drouet looked at her wonderingly. For all his lack of dignity in such matters he did not know how to begin.

Drouet was standing by the dresser, gazing at her in a comic manner. He had laid off his hat and gloves and

was now fidgeting with the little toilet pieces which were nearest him. He hesitated to believe that the pretty

woman before him was involved in anything so unsatisfactory to himself. He was very much inclined to feel

that it was all right, after all. Yet the knowledge imparted to him by the chambermaid was rankling in his

mind. He wanted to plunge in with a straight remark of some sort, but he knew not what.

She was beginning to see now that he knew something. Instantly she drew herself into a more reserved

"I thought maybe you didn't," he said, beating about the bush in the most useless manner.

Carrie gazed at him, and as she did so her ebbing courage halted. She saw that he himself was hesitating, and

"What makes you talk like that?" she asked, wrinkling her pretty forehead. "You act so funny tonight."

They looked at one another for a moment, and then Drouet plunged desperately into his subject.

"Somebody said that you went out riding with him and that he came here every night."

She was flushing scarlet to the roots of her hair, but Drouet did not catch the full hue of her face, owing to the

modified light of the room. He was regaining much confidence as Carrie defended herself with denials.

"Well, I know that I didn't tell you any such thing as that," said Carrie, recovering herself.

"If I were you," went on Drouet, ignoring her last remark, "I wouldn't have anything to do with him. He's a

"Why, Hurstwood," said Drouet, noting the effect and feeling that he was delivering a telling blow.

"Hurstwood!" exclaimed Carrie, rising. Her face had changed several shades since this announcement was

"Who told you this?" she asked, forgetting that her interest was out of order and exceedingly incriminating.

Carrie was feeling about for a right thought. She was making a most miserable showing, and yet feelings

"No, you didn't," she contradicted, suddenly recovering her voice. "You didn't do anything of the kind."

"You oughtn't to have had anything to do with him," said Drouet in an injured tone, "after all I've done for

Her little brain had been surging with contradictory feelings shame at exposure, shame at Hurstwood's

perfidy, anger at Drouet's deception, the mockery he had made at her. Now one clear idea came into her head.

He was at fault. There was no doubt about it. Why did he bring Hurstwood outHurstwood, a married man,

and never say a word to her? Never mind now about Hurstwood's perfidywhy had he done this? Why

hadn't he warned her? There he stood now, guilty of this miserable breach of confidence and talking about

"Well, I like that," exclaimed Drouet, little realising the fire his remark had generated. "I think I've done a

"You have, eh?" she answered. "You've deceived methat's what you've done. You've brought your old

friends out here under false pretences. You've made me out to beOh," and with this her voice broke and

"No," she answered, recovering herself and shutting her teeth. "No, of course you don't see. There isn't

anything you see. You couldn't have told me in the first place, could you? You had to make me out wrong

until it was too late. Now you come sneaking around with your information and your talk about what you

Drouet had never suspected this side of Carrie's nature. She was alive with feeling, her eyes snapping, her lips

quivering, her whole body sensible of the injury she felt, and partaking of her wrath.

"Who's sneaking?" he asked, mildly conscious of error on his part, but certain that he was wronged.

"You are," stamped Carrie. "You're a horrid, conceited coward, that's what you are. If you had any sense of

"I'm not a coward," he said. "What do you mean by going with other men, anyway?"

"Other men!" exclaimed Carrie. "Other menyou know better than that. I did go with Mr. Hurstwood, but

whose fault was it? Didn't you bring him here? You told him yourself that he should come out here and take

me out. Now, after it's all over, you come and tell me that I oughtn't to go with him and that he's a married

She paused at the sound of the last two words and wrung her hands. The knowledge of Hurstwood's perfidy

"Oh," she sobbed, repressing herself wonderfully and keeping her eyes dry. "Oh, oh!"

"Well, I didn't think you'd be running around with him when I was away," insisted Drouet.

"Didn't think!" said Carrie, now angered to the core by the man's peculiar attitude. "Of course not. You

thought only of what would be to your satisfaction. You thought you'd make a toy of mea plaything. Well,

I'll show you that you won't. I'll have nothing more to do with you at all. You can take your old things and

keep them," and unfastening a little pin he had given her, she flung it vigorously upon the floor and began to

By this Drouet was not only irritated but fascinated the more. He looked at her in amazement, and finally

"I don't see where your wrath comes in. I've got the right of this thing. You oughtn't to have done anything

"What have you done for me?" asked Carrie blazing, her head thrown back and her lips parted.

"I think I've done a good deal," said the drummer, looking around. "I've given you all the clothes you wanted,

haven't I? I've taken you everywhere you wanted to go. You've had as much as I've had, and more too."

Carrie was not ungrateful, whatever else might be said of her. In so far as her mind could construe, she

acknowledged benefits received. She hardly knew how to answer this, and yet her wrath was not placated.

"You talk as though I had persuaded you," answered Carrie. "You stand there and throw up what you've

done. I don't want your old things. I'll not have them. You take them tonight and do what you please with

"That's nice!" he answered, becoming angered now at the sense of his own approaching loss. "Use everything

and abuse me and then walk off. That's just like a woman. I take you when you haven't got anything, and then

when some one else comes along, why I'm no good. I always thought it'd come out that way."

He felt really hurt as he thought of his treatment, and looked as if he saw no way of obtaining justice.

"It's not so," said Carrie, "and I'm not going with anybody else. You have been as miserable and inconsiderate

as you can be. I hate you, I tell you, and I wouldn't live with you another minute. You're a big,

insulting"here she hesitated and used no word at all"or you wouldn't talk that way."

She had secured her hat and jacket and slipped the latter on over her little evening dress. Some wisps of wavy

hair had loosened from the bands at the side of her head and were straggling over her hot, red cheeks. She

was angry, mortified, griefstricken. Her large eyes were full of the anguish of tears, but her lids were not yet

wet. She was distracted and uncertain, deciding and doing things without an aim or conclusion, and she had

"Well, that's a fine finish," said Drouet. "Pack up and pull out, eh? You take the cake. I bet you were

knocking around with Hurstwood or you wouldn't act like that. I don't want the old rooms. You needn't pull

out for me. You can have them for all I care, but b'George, you haven't done me right."

"I'll not live with you," said Carrie. "I don't want to live with you. You've done nothing but brag around ever

He was, above all, sympathetic, and the sight of Carrie wandering out, he knew not where, affected him,

The strain of the situation was too much for her, however. She made one more vain effort and then burst into

"Now, be reasonable, Cad," said Drouet gently. "What do you want to rush out for this way? You haven't any

place to go. Why not stay here now and be quiet? I'll not bother you. I don't want to stay here any longer."

Carrie had gone sobbing from the door to the window. She was so overcome she could not speak.

"Be reasonable now," he said. "I don't want to hold you. You can go if you want to, but why don't you think it

He received no answer. Carrie was quieting, however, under the influence of his plea.

Carrie listened to this with mingled feelings. Her mind was shaken loose from the little mooring of logic that

it had. She was stirred by this thought, angered by thather own injustice, Hurstwood's, Drouet's, their

respective qualities of kindness and favour, the threat of the world outside, in which she had failed once

before, the impossibility of this state inside, where the chambers were no longer justly hers, the effect of the

argument upon her nerves, all combined to make her a mass of jangling fibresan anchorless, stormbeaten

"Say," said Drouet, coming over to her after a few moments, with a new idea, and putting his hand upon her.

"Don't!" said Carrie, drawing away, but not removing her handkerchief from her eyes.

"Never mind about this quarrel now. Let it go. You stay here until the month's out, anyhow, and then you can

"You'd better do that," he said. "There's no use your packing up now. You can't go anywhere."

"Promise me you'll do that," he said, "and we'll quit talking about it. It'll be the best thing for you."

Carrie heard him, but she could not bring herself to answer reasonably. She felt that the man was gentle, and

that his interest in her had not abated, and it made her suffer a pang of regret. She was in a most helpless

As for Drouet, his attitude had been that of the jealous lover. Now his feelings were a mixture of anger at

deception, sorrow at losing Carrie, misery at being defeated. He wanted his rights in some way or other, and

This left the matter as open as before, but it was something. It looked as if the quarrel would blow over, if

they could only get some way of talking to one another. Carrie was ashamed, and Drouet aggrieved. He

Now, as Carrie watched him out of the corner of her eye, certain sound thoughts came into her head. He had

erred, true, but what had she done? He was kindly and goodnatured for all his egotism. Throughout this

argument he had said nothing very harsh. On the other hand, there was Hurstwooda greater deceiver than

he. He had pretended all this affection, all this passion, and he was lying to her all the while. Oh, the perfidy

of men! And she had loved him. There could be nothing more in that quarter. She would see Hurstwood no

more. She would write him and let him know what she thought. Thereupon what would she do? Here were

these rooms. Here was Drouet, pleading for her to remain. Evidently things could go on here somewhat as

before, if all were arranged. It would be better than the street, without a place to lay her head.

All this she thought of as Drouet rummaged the drawers for collars and laboured long and painstakingly at

finding a shirtstud. He was in no hurry to rush this matter. He felt an attraction to Carrie which would not

down. He could not think that the thing would end by his walking out of the room. There must be some way

round, some way to make her own up that he was right and she was wrongto patch up a peace and shut out

"Do you think," he said, after a few moments' silence, "that you'll try and get on the stage?"

"Don't go and try to knock around now without any money. Let me help you," he said. "It's no easy thing to

"Why don't you tell me all about this thing," he said, after a time, "and let's call it off? You don't really care

"Yes, you were, too," said Carrie. "You shouldn't have ever told me such a story as that."

"But you didn't have much to do with him, did you?" went on Drouet, anxious for his own peace of mind to

"I won't talk about it," said Carrie, pained at the quizzical turn the peace arrangement had taken.

"What's the use of acting like that now, Cad?" insisted the drummer, stopping in his work and putting up a

"I won't," said Carrie, feeling no refuge but in anger. "Whatever has happened is your own fault."

"Then you do care for him?" said Drouet, stopping completely and experiencing a rush of feeling.

"Well, I'll not be made a fool of," exclaimed Drouet. "You may trifle around with him if you want to, but you

can't lead me. You can tell me or not, just as you want to, but I won't fool any longer!"

He shoved the last few remaining things he had laid out into his valise and snapped it with a vengeance. Then

he grabbed his coat, which he had laid off to work, picked up his gloves, and started out.

"You can go to the deuce as far as I am concerned," he said, as he reached the door. "I'm no sucker," and with

Carrie listened at her window view, more astonished than anything else at this sudden rise of passion in the

drummer. She could hardly believe her sensesso goodnatured and tractable had he invariably been. It was

not for her to see the wellspring of human passion. A real flame of love is a subtle thing. It burns as a

willo'thewisp, dancing onward to fairylands of delight. It roars as a furnace. Too often jealousy is the

That night Hurstwood remained down town entirely, going to the Palmer House for a bed after his work was

through. He was in a fevered state of mind, owing to the blight his wife's action threatened to cast upon his

entire future. While he was not sure how much significance might be attached to the threat she had made, he

was sure that her attitude, if long continued, would cause him no end of trouble. She was determined, and had

worsted him in a very important contest. How would it be from now on? He walked the floor of his little

office, and later that of his room, putting one thing and another together to no avail.

Mrs. Hurstwood, on the contrary, had decided not to lose her advantage by inaction. Now that she had

practically cowed him, she would follow up her work with demands, the acknowledgment of which would

make her word LAW in the future. He would have to pay her the money which she would now regularly

demand or there would be trouble. It did not matter what he did. She really did not care whether he came

home any more or not. The household would move along much more pleasantly without him, and she could

do as she wished without consulting any one. Now she proposed to consult a lawyer and hire a detective. She

Hurstwood walked the floor, mentally arranging the chief points of his situation. "She has that property in her

name," he kept saying to himself. "What a fool trick that was. Curse it! What a fool move that was."

He also thought of his managerial position. "If she raises a row now I'll lose this thing. They won't have me

around if my name gets in the papers. My friends, too!" He grew more angry as he thought of the talk any

action on her part would create. How would the papers talk about it? Every man he knew would be

wondering. He would have to explain and deny and make a general mark of himself. Then Moy would come

Many little wrinkles gathered between his eyes as he contemplated this, and his brow moistened. He saw no

Through all this thoughts of Carrie flashed upon him, and the approaching affair of Saturday. Tangled as all

his matters were, he did not worry over that. It was the one pleasing thing in this whole rout of trouble. He

could arrange that satisfactorily, for Carrie would be glad to wait, if necessary. He would see how things

turned out tomorrow, and then he would talk to her. They were going to meet as usual. He saw only her

pretty face and neat figure and wondered why life was not arranged so that such joy as he found with her

could be steadily maintained. How much more pleasant it would be. Then he would take up his wife's threat

In the morning he came over from the hotel and opened his mail, but there was nothing in it outside the

ordinary run. For some reason he felt as if something might come that way, and was relieved when all the

envelopes had been scanned and nothing suspicious noticed. He began to feel the appetite that had been

wanting before he had reached the office, and decided before going out to the park to meet Carrie to drop in

at the Grand Pacific and have a pot of coffee and some rolls. While the danger had not lessened, it had not as

yet materialised, and with him no news was good news. If he could only get plenty of time to think, perhaps

something would turn up. Surely, surely, this thing would not drift along to catastrophe and he not find a way

His spirits fell, however, when, upon reaching the park, he waited and waited and Carrie did not come. He

held his favourite post for an hour or more, then arose and began to walk about restlessly. Could something

have happened out there to keep her away? Could she have been reached by his wife? Surely not. So little did

he consider Drouet that it never once occurred to him to worry about his finding out. He grew restless as he

ruminated, and then decided that perhaps it was nothing. She had not been able to get away this morning.

That was why no letter notifying him had come. He would get one today. It would probably be on his desk

After a time he gave up waiting and drearily headed for the Madison car. To add to his distress, the bright

blue sky became overcast with little fleecy clouds which shut out the sun. The wind veered to the east, and by

He went in and examined his letters, but there was nothing from Carrie. Fortunately, there was nothing from

his wife either. He thanked his stars that he did not have to confront that proposition just now when he needed

to think so much. He walked the floor again, pretending to be in an ordinary mood, but secretly troubled

At onethirty he went to Rector's for lunch, and when he returned a messenger was waiting for him. He

Hurstwood recognised his wife's writing. He tore it open and read without a show of feeling. It began in the

"I want you to send the money I asked for at once. I need it to carry out my plans. You can stay away if you

want to. It doesn't matter in the least. But I must have some money. So don't delay, but send it by the boy."

When he had finished it, he stood holding it in his hands. The audacity of the thing took his breath. It roused

his ire also the deepest element of revolt in him. His first impulse was to write but four words in

reply"Go to the devil!"but he compromised by telling the boy that there would be no reply. Then he sat

down in his chair and gazed without seeing, contemplating the result of his work. What would she do about

that? The confounded wretch! Was she going to try to bulldoze him into submission? He would go up there

and have it out with her, that's what he would do. She was carrying things with too high a hand. These were

Later, however, his old discretion asserted itself. Something had to be done. A climax was near and she

would not sit idle. He knew her well enough to know that when she had decided upon a plan she would

"Damn her!" he said softly, with his teeth firmly set, "I'll make it hot for her if she causes me trouble. I'll

He arose from his chair and went and looked out into the street. The long drizzle had begun. Pedestrians had

turned up collars, and trousers at the bottom. Hands were hidden in the pockets of the umbrellaless; umbrellas

were up. The street looked like a sea of round black cloth roofs, twisting, bobbing, moving. Trucks and vans

were rattling in a noisy line and everywhere men were shielding themselves as best they could. He scarcely

noticed the picture. He was forever confronting his wife, demanding of her to change her attitude toward him

At four o'clock another note came, which simply said that if the money was not forthcoming that evening the

matter would be laid before Fitzgerald and Moy on the morrow, and other steps would be taken to get it.

Hurstwood almost exclaimed out loud at the insistency of this thing. Yes, he would send her the money. He'd

He put on his hat and looked around for his umbrella. He would have some arrangement of this thing.

He called a cab and was driven through the dreary rain to the North Side. On the way his temper cooled as he

thought of the details of the case. What did she know? What had she done? Maybe she'd got hold of Carrie,

who knowsoror Drouet. Perhaps she really had evidence, and was prepared to fell him as a man does

another from secret ambush. She was shrewd. Why should she taunt him this way unless she had good

He began to wish that he had compromised in some way or other that he had sent the money. Perhaps he

could do it up here. He would go in and see, anyhow. He would have no row. By the time he reached his own

street he was keenly alive to the difficulties of his situation and wished over and over that some solution

would offer itself, that he could see his way out. He alighted and went up the steps to the front door, but it

was with a nervous palpitation of the heart. He pulled out his key and tried to insert it, but another key was on

the inside. He shook at the knob, but the door was locked. Then he rang the bell. No answer. He rang

againthis time harder. Still no answer. He jangled it fiercely several times in succession, but without avail.

There was a door which opened under the steps into the kitchen, protected by an iron grating, intended as a

safeguard against burglars. When he reached this he noticed that it also was bolted and that the kitchen

windows were down. What could it mean? He rang the bell and then waited. Finally, seeing that no one was

"I guess they've gone out," he said apologetically to the individual who was hiding his red face in a loose

Hurstwood looked, but there was no face there now. He climbed moodily into the cab, relieved and

So this was the game, was it? Shut him out and make him pay. Well, by the Lord, that did beat all!

When Hurstwood got back to his office again he was in a greater quandary than ever. Lord, Lord, he thought,

what had he got into? How could things have taken such a violent turn, and so quickly? He could hardly

realise how it had all come about. It seemed a monstrous, unnatural, unwarranted condition which had

Meanwhile he gave a thought now and then to Carrie. What could be the trouble in that quarter? No letter had

come, no word of any kind, and yet here it was late in the evening and she had agreed to meet him that

morning. Tomorrow they were to have met and gone offwhere? He saw that in the excitement of recent

events he had not formulated a plan upon that score. He was desperately in love, and would have taken great

chances to win her under ordinary circumstances, but nownow what? Supposing she had found out

something? Supposing she, too, wrote him and told him that she knew allthat she would have nothing

more to do with him? It would be just like this to happen as things were going now. Meanwhile he had not

He strolled up and down the polished floor of the resort, his hands in his pockets, his brow wrinkled, his

mouth set. He was getting some vague comfort out of a good cigar, but it was no panacea for the ill which

affected him. Every once in a while he would clinch his fingers and tap his footsigns of the stirring mental

process he was undergoing. His whole nature was vigorously and powerfully shaken up, and he was finding

what limits the mind has to endurance. He drank more brandy and soda than he had any evening in months.

For all his study nothing came of the evening except thishe sent the money. It was with great opposition,

after two or three hours of the most urgent mental affirmation and denial, that at last he got an envelope,

"You take this to this address," he said, handing him the envelope, "and give it to Mrs. Hurstwood."

"You've seen my wife?" he asked as a precautionary measure as the boy turned to go.

The boy hastened away and the manager fell to his musings. Now he had done it. There was no use

speculating over that. He was beaten for tonight and he might just as well make the best of it. But, oh, the

wretchedness of being forced this way! He could see her meeting the boy at the door and smiling

sardonically. She would take the envelope and know that she had triumphed. If he only had that letter back he

For relief, he arose and joined in conversation with a few friends who were drinking. He tried to get the

interest of things about him, but it was not to be. All the time his thoughts would run out to his home and see

the scene being therein enacted. All the time he was wondering what she would say when the boy handed her

In about an hour and threequarters the boy returned. He had evidently delivered the package, for, as he came

There was no more to be done upon that score that night. He went on brooding over his situation until

midnight, when he repaired again to the Palmer House. He wondered what the morning would bring forth,

and slept anything but soundly upon it. Next day he went again to the office and opened his mail, suspicious

and hopeful of its contents. No word from Carrie. Nothing from his wife, which was pleasant.

The fact that he had sent the money and that she had received it worked to the ease of his mind, for, as the

thought that he had done it 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 Postoffice and ask for an

explanation, as well as to have her meet him. The thought that this letter would probably not reach her until

He thought upon it for a halfhour, 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

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 legallooking 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

He read it through carefully several times, and then merely shook his head. It seemed as if his family troubles

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

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

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

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

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 tomorrow (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

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.

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,

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

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 backof 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

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 halfholiday 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 happyhappier, at least, than she

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 selfsustenance. 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 menwelldressed men, some of the kind who before had gazed at her

indifferently from behind their polished railings and imposing office partitionsnow 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

"This store closes at one on Saturdays," was a pleasing and satisfactory legend to see upon doors which she

felt she ought to enter and inquire for work. It gave her an excuse, and after encountering quite a number of

them, and noting that the clock registered 12.15, she decided that it would be no use to seek further today,

so she got on a car and went to Lincoln Park. There was always something to see therethe flowers, the

animals, the lakeand she flattered herself that on Monday she would be up betimes and searching. Besides,

Sunday passed with equal doubts, worries, assurances, and heaven knows what vagaries of mind and spirit.

Every halfhour in the day the thought would come to her most sharply, like the tail of a swishing whip, that

actionimmediate actionwas imperative. At other times she would look about her and assure herself that

things were not so badthat certainly she would come out safe and sound. At such times she would think of

Drouet's advice about going on the stage, and saw some chance for herself in that quarter. She decided to take

Accordingly, she arose early Monday morning and dressed herself carefully. She did not know just how such

applications were made, but she took it to be a matter which related more directly to the theatre buildings. All

you had to do was to inquire of some one about the theatre for the manager and ask for a position. If there

She had had no experience with this class of individuals whatsoever, and did not know the salacity and

humour of the theatrical tribe. She only knew of the position which Mr. Hale occupied, but, of all things, she

did not wish to encounter that personage, on account of her intimacy with his wife.

There was, however, at this time, one theatre, the Chicago Opera House, which was considerably in the

public eye, and its manager, David A. Henderson, had a fair local reputation. Carrie had seen one or two

elaborate performances there and had heard of several others. She knew nothing of Henderson nor of the

methods of applying, but she instinctively felt that this would be a likely place, and accordingly strolled about

in that neighbourhood. She came bravely enough to the showy entrance way, with the polished and begilded

lobby, set with framed pictures out of the current attraction, leading up to the quiet boxoffice, but she could

get no further. A noted comic opera comedian was holding forth that week, and the air of distinction and

prosperity overawed her. She could not imagine that there would be anything in such a lofty sphere for her.

She almost trembled at the audacity which might have carried her on to a terrible rebuff. She could find heart

only to look at the pictures which were showy and then walk out. It seemed to her as if she had made a

splendid escape and that it would be foolhardy to think of applying in that quarter again.

This little experience settled her hunting for one day. She looked around elsewhere, but it was from the

outside. She got the location of several playhouses fixed in her mindnotably the Grand Opera House and

McVickar's, both of which were leading in attractionsand then came away. Her spirits were materially

reduced, owing to the newly restored sense of magnitude of the great interests and the insignificance of her

That night she was visited by Mrs. Hale, whose chatter and protracted stay made it impossible to dwell upon

her predicament or the fortune of the day. Before retiring, however, she sat down to think, and gave herself

up to the most gloomy forebodings. Drouet had not put in an appearance. She had had no word from any

quarter, she had spent a dollar of her precious sum in procuring food and paying car fare. It was evident that

In this situation her thoughts went out to her sister in Van Buren Street, whom she had not seen since the

night of her flight, and to her home at Columbia City, which seemed now a part of something that could not

be again. She looked for no refuge in that direction. Nothing but sorrow was brought her by thoughts of

Hurstwood, which would return. That he could have chosen to dupe her in so ready a manner seemed a cruel

Tuesday came, and with it appropriate indecision and speculation. She was in no mood, after her failure of

the day before, to hasten forth upon her workseeking errand, and yet she rebuked herself for what she

considered her weakness the day before. Accordingly she started out to revisit the Chicago Opera House, but

"Manager of the company or the house?" asked the smartly dressed individual who took care of the tickets.

"You couldn't see the manager of the house today, anyhow," volunteered the young man. "He's out of

"You'd better see the manager of the company," he returned, "but he isn't here now."

"Well, you might find him in between eleven and twelve. He's here after two o'clock."

Carrie thanked him and walked briskly out, while the young man gazed after her through one of the side

"Goodlooking," he said to himself, and proceeded to visions of condescensions on her part which were

One of the principal comedy companies of the day was playing an engagement at the Grand Opera House.

Here Carrie asked to see the manager of the company. She little knew the trivial authority of this individual,

or that had there been a vacancy an actor would have been sent on from New York to fill it.

Several persons were in the manager's office, two lounging near a window, another talking to an individual

sitting at a rolltop deskthe manager. Carrie glanced nervously about, and began to fear that she should

have to make her appeal before the assembled company, two of whomthe occupants of the windowwere

"I can't do it," the manager was saying; "it's a rule of Mr. Frohman's never to allow visitors back of the stage.

Carrie timidly waited, standing. There were chairs, but no one motioned her to be seated. The individual to

whom the manager had been talking went away quite crestfallen. That luminary gazed earnestly at some

"No," said the person addressed. "What was it?" "Made quite a curtain address at Hooley's last night. Better

"What is it?" said the manager to Carrie, apparently noticing her for the first time. He thought he was going

Carrie summoned up all her courage, which was little at best. She realised that she was a novice, and felt as if

a rebuff were certain. Of this she was so sure that she only wished now to pretend she had called for advice.

It was the best way after all to have gone about the matter. She was interesting, in a manner, to the occupant

of the chair, and the simplicity of her request and attitude took his fancy. He smiled, as did the others in the

"I don't know," he answered, looking her brazenly over. "Have you ever had any experience upon the stage?"

She thought she had to make some sort of showing in order to retain his interest.

"Never studied for the stage?" he said, putting on an air intended as much to impress his friends with his

"Well, I don't know," he answered, tipping lazily back in his chair while she stood before him. "What makes

She felt abashed at the man's daring, but could only smile in answer to his engaging smirk, and say:

"Oh," he answered, rather taken by her trim appearance, and feeling as if he might scrape up an acquaintance

with her. "That's a good reason, isn't it? Well, Chicago is not a good place for what you want to do. You

ought to be in New York. There's more chance there. You could hardly expect to get started out here." Carrie

smiled genially, grateful that he should condescend to advise her even so much. He noticed the smile, and put

a slightly different construction on it. He thought he saw an easy chance for a little flirtation.

"Sit down," he said, pulling a chair forward from the side of his desk and dropping his voice so that the two

men in the room should not hear. Those two gave each other the suggestion of a wink.

"Well, I'll be going, Barney," said one, breaking away and so addressing the manager. "See you this

"Did you have any idea what sort of part you would like to get?" asked the manager softly.

"Have you ever tried to get in as a chorus girl?" he asked, assuming a more confidential air.

Carrie began to feel that there was something exuberant and unnatural in his manner.

"That's the way most girls begin," he went on, "who go on the stage. It's a good way to get experience."

"It's a difficult thing," he went on, "but there's always a chance, you know." Then, as if he suddenly

remembered, he pulled out his watch and consulted it. "I've an appointment at two," he said, "and I've got to

go to lunch now. Would you care to come and dine with me? We can talk it over there."

"Oh, no," said Carrie, the whole motive of the man flashing on her at once. "I have an engagement myself."

"That's too bad," he said, realising that he had been a little beforehand in his offer and that Carrie was about

"She was goodlooking, wasn't she?" said the manager's companion, who had not caught all the details of the

"Yes, in a way," said the other, sore to think the game had been lost. "She'd never make an actress, though.

This little experience nearly destroyed her ambition to call upon the manager at the Chicago Opera House,

but she decided to do so after a time. He was of a more sedate turn of mind. He said at once that there was no

Still she persisted, and went to McVickar's, where she could not find any one. "The Old Homestead" was

These little expeditions took up her time until quite four o'clock, when she was weary enough to go home.

She felt as if she ought to continue and inquire elsewhere, but the results so far were too dispiriting. She took

the car and arrived at Ogden Place in threequarters of an hour, but decided to ride on to the West Side

branch of the Postoffice, where she was accustomed to receive Hurstwood's letters. There was one there

now, written Saturday, which she tore open and read with mingled feelings. There was so much warmth in it

and such tense complaint at her having failed to meet him, and her subsequent silence, that she rather pitied

the man. That he loved her was evident enough. That he had wished and dared to do so, married as he was,

was the evil. She felt as if the thing deserved an answer, and consequently decided that she would write and

let him know that she knew of his married state and was justly incensed at his deception. She would tell him

At her room, the wording of this missive occupied her for some time, for she fell to the task at once. It was

"You do not need to have me explain why I did not meet you," she wrote in part. "How could you deceive me

so? You cannot expect me to have anything more to do with you. I wouldn't under any circumstances. Oh,

how could you act so?" she added in a burst of feeling. "You have caused me more misery than you can

think. I hope you will get over your infatuation for me. We must not meet any more. Goodbye."

She took the letter the next morning, and at the corner dropped it reluctantly into the letterbox, still

uncertain as to whether she should do so or not. Then she took the car and went down town.

This was the dull season with the department stores, but she was listened to with more consideration than was

usually accorded to young women applicants, owing to her neat and attractive appearance. She was asked the

"What can you do? Have you ever worked in a retail store before? Are you experienced?"

At The Fair, See and Company's, and all the great stores it was much the same. It was the dull season, she

When she arrived at the house at the end of the day, weary and disheartened, she discovered that Drouet had

been there. His umbrella and light overcoat were gone. She thought she missed other things, but could not be

So his going was crystallising into staying. What was she to do now? Evidently she would be facing the

world in the same old way within a day or two. Her clothes would get poor. She put her two hands together in

her customary expressive way and pressed her fingers. Large tears gathered in her eyes and broke hot across

Drouet really had called, but it was with a very different mind from that which Carrie had imagined. He

expected to find her, to justify his return by claiming that he came to get the remaining portion of his

Accordingly, when he arrived, he was disappointed to find Carrie out. He trifled about, hoping that she was

somewhere in the neighbourhood and would soon return. He constantly listened, expecting to hear her foot on

When he did so, it was his intention to make believe that he had just come in and was disturbed at being

caught. Then he would explain his need of his clothes and find out how things stood.

Wait as he did, however, Carrie did not come. From pottering around among the drawers, in momentary

expectation of her arrival he changed to looking out of the window, and from that to resting himself in the

rockingchair. Still no Carrie. He began to grow restless and lit a cigar. After that he walked the floor. Then

he looked out of the window and saw clouds gathering. He remembered an appointment at three. He began to

think that it would be useless to wait, and got hold of his umbrella and light coat, intending to take these

things, any way. It would scare her, he hoped. Tomorrow he would come back for the others. He would find

As he started to go he felt truly sorry that he had missed her. There was a little picture of her on the wall,

showing her arrayed in the little jacket he had first bought herher face a little more wistful than he had seen

it lately. He was really touched by it, and looked into the eyes of it with a rather rare feeling for him.

"You didn't do me right, Cad," he said, as if he were addressing her in the flesh.

It was when he returned from his disturbed stroll about the streets, after receiving the decisive note from

McGregor, James and Hay, that Hurstwood found the letter Carrie had written him that morning. He thrilled

He was slightly depressed at the tenor of the note for the first few minutes, but soon recovered. "She wouldn't

This was his one resource against the depression which held him. He could extract little from the wording of

There was really something exceedingly humanif not patheticin his being thus relieved by a clearly

worded reproof. He who had for so long remained satisfied with himself now looked outside of himself for

comfortand to such a source. The mystic cords of affection! How they bind us all.

The colour came to his cheeks. For the moment he forgot the letter from McGregor, James and Hay. If he

could only have Carrie, perhaps he could get out of the whole entanglement perhaps it would not matter.

He wouldn't care what his wife did with herself if only he might not lose Carrie. He stood up and walked

about, dreaming his delightful dream of a life continued with this lovely possessor of his heart.

It was not long, however, before the old worry was back for consideration, and with it what weariness! He

thought of the morrow and the suit. He had done nothing, and here was the afternoon slipping away. It was

now a quarter of four. At five the attorneys would have gone home. He still had the morrow until noon. Even

as he thought, the last fifteen minutes passed away and it was five. Then he abandoned the thought of seeing

It is to be observed that the man did not justify himself to himself. He was not troubling about that. His whole

thought was the possibility of persuading Carrie. Nothing was wrong in that. He loved her dearly. Their

While he was thinking thus elatedly, he remembered that he wanted some clean linen in the morning.

This he purchased, together with a halfdozen ties, and went to the Palmer House. As he entered he thought

he saw Drouet ascending the stairs with a key. Surely not Drouet! Then he thought, perhaps they had changed

"Is that so?" exclaimed Hurstwood, otherwise concealing his astonishment. "Alone?" he added.

Hurstwood turned away and set his lips so as best to express and conceal his feelings.

He hastened to his room with rising spirits and changed his linen. As he did so, he made up his mind that if

Carrie was alone, or if she had gone to another place, it behooved him to find out. He decided to call at once.

"I know what I'll do," he thought. "I'll go to the door and ask if Mr. Drouet is at home. That will bring out

He was almost moved to some muscular display as he thought of it. He decided to go immediately after

On coming down from his room at six, he looked carefully about to see if Drouet was present and then went

out to lunch. He could scarcely eat, however, he was so anxious to be about his errand. Before starting he

He took a Madison car and went direct to Ogden Place this time walking boldly up to the door. The

"He is out of the city," said the girl, who had heard Carrie tell this to Mrs. Hale.

"Is that so?" said Hurstwood, considerably taken back; then, as if burdened with something important, "You

The girl really had no idea where she had gone, but not liking Hurstwood, and wishing to cause him trouble,

"I'll look in at Hooley's," thought he, but as a matter of fact he did not. Before he had reached the central

portion of the city he thought the whole matter over and decided it would be useless. As much as he longed to

see Carrie, he knew she would be with some one and did not wish to intrude with his plea there. A little later

he might do soin the morning. Only in the morning he had the lawyer question before him.

This little pilgrimage threw quite a wet blanket upon his rising spirits. He was soon down again to his old

worry, and reached the resort anxious to find relief. Quite a company of gentlemen were making the place

lively with their conversation. A group of Cook County politicians were conferring about a round

cherrywood table in the rear portion of the room. Several young merrymakers were chattering at the bar

before making a belated visit to the theatre. A shabbilygenteel individual, with a red nose and an old high

hat, was sipping a quiet glass of ale alone at one end of the bar. Hurstwood nodded to the politicians and went

About ten o'clock a friend of his, Mr. Frank L. Taintor, a local sport and racing man, dropped in, and seeing

"How are you, Frank?" said Hurstwood, somewhat relieved by the sight of him. "Sit down," and he motioned

"What's the matter, George?" asked Taintor. "You look a little glum. Haven't lost at the track, have you?"

While they were still conferring there, several other of Hurstwood's friends entered, and not long after eleven,

the theatres being out, some actors began to drop inamong them some notabilities.

Then began one of those pointless social conversations so common in American resorts where the wouldbe

gilded attempt to rub off gilt from those who have it in abundance. If Hurstwood had one leaning, it was

toward notabilities. He considered that, if anywhere, he belonged among them. He was too proud to toady,

too keen not to strictly observe the plane he occupied when there were those present who did not appreciate

him, but, in situations like the present, where he could shine as a gentleman and be received without

equivocation as a friend and equal among men of known ability, he was most delighted. It was on such

occasions, if ever, that he would "take something." When the social flavour was strong enough he would even

unbend to the extent of drinking glass for glass with his associates, punctiliously observing his turn to pay as

if he were an outsider like the others. If he ever approached intoxicationor rather that ruddy warmth and

comfortableness which precedes the more sloven stateit was when individuals such as these were gathered

about him, when he was one of a circle of chatting celebrities. Tonight, disturbed as was his state, he was

rather relieved to find company, and now that notabilities were gathered, he laid aside his troubles for the

It was not long before the imbibing began to tell. Stories began to crop upthose everenduring, droll

stories which form the major portion of the conversation among American men under such circumstances.

Twelve o'clock arrived, the hour for closing, and with it the company took leave. Hurstwood shook hands

with them most cordially. He was very roseate physically. He had arrived at that state where his mind, though

clear, was, nevertheless, warm in its fancies. He felt as if his troubles were not very serious. Going into his

office, he began to turn over certain accounts, awaiting the departure of the bartenders and the cashier, who

It was the manager's duty, as well as his custom, after all were gone to see that everything was safely closed

up for the night. As a rule, no money except the cash taken in after banking hours was kept about the place,

and that was locked in the safe by the cashier, who, with the owners, was joint keeper of the secret

combination, but, nevertheless, Hurstwood nightly took the precaution to try the cash drawers and the safe in

order to see that they were tightly closed. Then he would lock his own little office and set the proper light

Never in his experience had he found anything out of order, but tonight, after shutting down his desk, he

came out and tried the safe. His way was to give a sharp pull. This time the door responded. He was slightly

surprised at that, and looking in found the money cases as left for the day, apparently unprotected. His first

The latter had certainly imagined upon going out a halfhour before that he had turned the knob on the door

so as to spring the lock. He had never failed to do so before. But tonight Mayhew had other thoughts. He

"I'll look in here," thought the manager, pulling out the money drawers. He did not know why he wished to

look in there. It was quite a superfluous action, which another time might not have happened at all.

As he did so, a layer of bills, in parcels of a thousand, such as banks issue, caught his eye. He could not tell

how much they represented, but paused to view them. Then he pulled out the second of the cash drawers. In

"I didn't know Fitzgerald and Moy ever left any money this way," his mind said to itself. "They must have

He put his hand into the first of the boxes and lifted the stack, letting the separate parcels fall. They were bills

of fifty and one hundred dollars done in packages of a thousand. He thought he counted ten such.

"Why don't I shut the safe?" his mind said to itself, lingering. "What makes me pause here?"

Lo, the manager remembered that he had never had so much. All his property had been slowly accumulated,

and now his wife owned that. He was worth more than forty thousand, all toldbut she would get that.

He puzzled as he thought of these things, then pushed in the drawers and closed the door, pausing with his

hand upon the knob, which might so easily lock it all beyond temptation. Still he paused. Finally he went to

the windows and pulled down the curtains. Then he tried the door, which he had previously locked. What was

this thing, making him suspicious? Why did he wish to move about so quietly. He came back to the end of

the counter as if to rest his arm and think. Then he went and unlocked his little office door and turned on the

light. He also opened his desk, sitting down before it, only to think strange thoughts.

"The safe is open," said a voice. "There is just the least little crack in it. The lock has not been sprung."

The manager floundered among a jumble of thoughts. Now all the entanglement of the day came back. Also

the thought that here was a solution. That money would do it. If he had that and Carrie. He rose up and stood

"What about it?" his mind asked, and for answer he put his hand slowly up and scratched his head.

The manager was no fool to be led blindly away by such an errant proposition as this, but his situation was

peculiar. Wine was in his veins. It had crept up into his head and given him a warm view of the situation. It

also coloured the possibilities of ten thousand for him. He could see great opportunities with that. He could

get Carrie. Oh, yes, he could! He could get rid of his wife. That letter, too, was waiting discussion tomorrow

morning. He would not need to answer that. He went back to the safe and put his hand on the knob. Then he

With it once out and before him, it seemed a foolish thing to think about leaving it. Certainly it would. Why,

Lord! what was that? For the first time he was tense, as if a stern hand had been laid upon his shoulder. He

looked fearfully around. Not a soul was present. Not a sound. Some one was shuffling by on the sidewalk. He

took the box and the money and put it back in the safe. Then he partly closed the door again.

To those who have never wavered in conscience, the predicament of the individual whose mind is less

strongly constituted and who trembles in the balance between duty and desire is scarcely appreciable, unless

graphically portrayed. Those who have never heard that solemn voice of the ghostly clock which ticks with

awful distinctness, "thou shalt," "thou shalt not," "thou shalt," "thou shalt not," are in no position to judge.

Not alone in sensitive, highly organised natures is such a mental conflict possible. The dullest specimen of

humanity, when drawn by desire toward evil, is recalled by a sense of right, which is proportionate in power

and strength to his evil tendency. We must remember that it may not be a knowledge of right, for no

knowledge of right is predicated of the animal's instinctive recoil at evil. Men are still led by instinct before

they are regulated by knowledge. It is instinct which recalls the criminalit is instinct (where highly

organised reasoning is absent) which gives the criminal his feeling of danger, his fear of wrong.

At every first adventure, then, into some untried evil, the mind wavers. The clock of thought ticks out its wish

and its denial. To those who have never experienced such a mental dilemma, the following will appeal on the

When Hurstwood put the money back, his nature again resumed its ease and daring. No one had observed

him. He was quite alone. No one could tell what he wished to do. He could work this thing out for himself.

The imbibation of the evening had not yet worn off. Moist as was his brow, tremble as did his hand once after

the nameless fright, he was still flushed with the fumes of liquor. He scarcely noticed that the time was

passing. He went over his situation once again, his eye always seeing the money in a lump, his mind always

seeing what it would do. He strolled into his little room, then to the door, then to the safe again. He put his

hand on the knob and opened it. There was the money! Surely no harm could come from looking at it!

He took out the drawer again and lifted the bills. They were so smooth, so compact, so portable. How little

they made, after all. He decided he would take them. Yes, he would. He would put them in his pocket. Then

he looked at that and saw they would not go there. His hand satchel! To be sure, his hand satchel. They would

go in thatall of it would. No one would think anything of it either. He went into the little office and took it

from the shelf in the corner. Now he set it upon his desk and went out toward the safe. For some reason he

First he brought the bills and then the loose receipts of the day. He would take it all. He put the empty

drawers back and pushed the iron door almost to, then stood beside it meditating.

The wavering of a mind under such circumstances is an almost inexplicable thing, and yet it is absolutely

true. Hurstwood could not bring himself to act definitely. He wanted to think about itto ponder over it, to

decide whether it were best. He was drawn by such a keen desire for Carrie, driven by such a state of turmoil

in his own affairs that he thought constantly it would be best, and yet he wavered. He did not know what evil

might result from it to himhow soon he might come to grief. The true ethics of the situation never once

After he had all the money in the handbag, a revulsion of feeling seized him. He would not do itno! Think

of what a scandal it would make. The police! They would be after him. He would have to fly, and where? Oh,

the terror of being a fugitive from justice! He took out the two boxes and put all the money back. In his

excitement he forgot what he was doing, and put the sums in the wrong boxes. As he pushed the door to, he

thought he remembered doing it wrong and opened the door again. There were the two boxes mixed.

He took them out and straightened the matter, but now the terror had gone. Why be afraid?

While the money was in his hand the lock clicked. It had sprung! Did he do it? He grabbed at the knob and

The moment he realised that the safe was locked for a surety, the sweat burst out upon his brow and he

trembled violently. He looked about him and decided instantly. There was no delaying now.

"Supposing I do lay it on the top," he said, "and go away, they'll know who took it. I'm the last to close up.

He hurried into his little room, took down his light overcoat and hat, locked his desk, and grabbed the satchel.

Then he turned out all but one light and opened the door. He tried to put on his old assured air, but it was

He walked steadily down the street, greeting a night watchman whom he knew who was trying doors. He

At the first drugstore he stopped, seeing a longdistance telephone booth inside. It was a famous drugstore,

and contained one of the first private telephone booths ever erected. "I want to use your 'phone a minute," he

"Give me 1643," he called to Central, after looking up the Michigan Central depot number. Soon he got the

"Nothing with a sleeper. Yes, there is, too," he added. "There is a mail train out of here at three o'clock."

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

"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

"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.

"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.

The cabby began to turn the horse around. "Michigan Central depot," he said, standing up and speaking so

The cab had not travelled a short block before Carrie, settling herself and thoroughly waking in the night

"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

"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

"How did he hurt himself?" she askedmeaning 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

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

In due time they reached the depot, and after helping her out he handed the man a fivedollar bill and hurried

"You wait here," he said to Carrie, when they reached the waitingroom, "while I get the tickets."

He pushed her before him at the gate, stood between her and the ticket man while the latter punched their

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

Carrie began to think it was a little bit curiousthis going to a depotbut said nothing. The whole incident

was so out of the natural that she did not attach too much weight to anything she imagined.

"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

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

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 train clacked through the yards along the lake front, and ran rather slowly to Twentyfourth 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

Presently it began to gain speed, and Carrie saw the silent streets flashing by in rapid succession. The engine

also began its whistlecalls of four parts, with which it signalled danger to important crossings.

"Not so very," said Hurstwood. He could hardly repress a smile at her simplicity. He wanted to explain and

In the lapse of another halfhour it became apparent to Carrie that it was quite a run to wherever he was

"Is it in Chicago?" she asked nervously. They were now far beyond the city limits, and the train was scudding

He felt that the time was up. An explanation might as well come now as later. Therefore, he shook his head in

"What?" said Carrie. She was nonplussed at the possibility of the errand being different from what she had

"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

She arose and tried to push out into the aisleanywhere. She knew she had to do something. Hurstwood laid

"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

She was pushing at his knees, but he only pulled her back. No one saw this little altercation, for very few

"I won't," said Carrie, who was, nevertheless, complying against her will. "Let me go," she said. "How dare

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

"Look here now, Carrie," he said, "you mustn't act this way. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I don't want

"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.

"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

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

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

"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

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

"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

"All right," he said, "but you'll hear me out, won't you? After all you have said about loving me, you might

hear me. I don't want to do you any harm. I'll give you the money to go back with when you go. I merely

want to tell you, Carrie. You can't stop me from loving you, whatever you may think."

He looked at her tenderly, but received no reply. "You think I have deceived you badly, but I haven't. I didn't

do it willingly. I'm through with my wife. She hasn't any claims on me. I'll never see her any more. That's

"You said Charlie was hurt," said Carrie, savagely. "You deceived me. You've been deceiving me all the

She was so excited that she got up and tried to get by him again. He let her, and she took another seat. Then

"Don't run away from me, Carrie," he said gently. "Let me explain. If you will only hear me out you will see

where I stand. I tell you my wife is nothing to me. She hasn't been anything for years or I wouldn't have ever

come near you. I'm going to get a divorce just as soon as I can. I'll never see her again. I'm done with all that.

You're the only person I want. If I can have you I won't ever think of another woman again."

Carrie heard all this in a very ruffled state. It sounded sincere enough, however, despite all he had done.

There was a tenseness in Hurstwood's voice and manner which could but have some effect. She did not want

anything to do with him. He was married, he had deceived her once, and now again, and she thought him

terrible. Still there is something in such daring and power which is fascinating to a woman, especially if she

The progress of the train was having a great deal to do with the solution of this difficult situation. The

speeding wheels and disappearing country put Chicago farther and farther behind. Carrie could feel that she

was being borne a long distance off that the engine was making an almost through run to some distant city.

She felt at times as if she could cry out and make such a row that some one would come to her aid; at other

times it seemed an almost useless thingso far was she from any aid, no matter what she did. All the while

Hurstwood was endeavouring to formulate his plea in such a way that it would strike home and bring her into

"When I say you wouldn't come unless I could marry you, I decided to put everything else behind me and get

you to come away with me. I'm going off now to another city. I want to go to Montreal for a while, and then

"I'll not have anything to do with you," said Carrie. "I want to get off this train. Where are we going?"

"Oh!" said Carrie, in a burst of anguish. So distant and definite a point seemed to increase the difficulty.

"Won't you come along with me?" he said, as if there was great danger that she would not. "You won't need

to do anything but travel with me. I'll not trouble you in any way. You can see Montreal and New York, and

then if you don't want to stay you can go back. It will be better than trying to go back tonight."

The first gleam of fairness shone in this proposition for Carrie. It seemed a plausible thing to do, much as she

feared his opposition if she tried to carry it out. Montreal and New York! Even now she was speeding toward

those great, strange lands, and could see them if she liked. She thought, but made no sign.

Hurstwood thought he saw a shade of compliance in this. He redoubled his ardour.

"Think," he said, "what I've given up. I can't go back to Chicago any more. I've got to stay away and live

alone now, if you don't come with me. You won't go back on me entirely, will you, Carrie?"

Carrie felt the train to be slowing down. It was the moment to act if she was to act at all. She stirred uneasily.

"Don't think of going, Carrie," he said. "If you ever cared for me at all, come along and let's start right. I'll do

whatever you say. I'll marry you, or I'll let you go back. Give yourself time to think it over. I wouldn't have

wanted you to come if I hadn't loved you. I tell you, Carrie, before God, I can't live without you. I won't!"

There was the tensity of fierceness in the man's plea which appealed deeply to her sympathies. It was a

dissolving fire which was actuating him now. He was loving her too intensely to think of giving her up in

this, his hour of distress. He clutched her hand nervously and pressed it with all the force of an appeal.

The train was now all but stopped. It was running by some cars on a side track. Everything outside was dark

and dreary. A few sprinkles on the window began to indicate that it was raining. Carrie hung in a quandary,

balancing between decision and helplessness. Now the train stopped, and she was listening to his plea. The

She wavered, totally unable to make a move. Minute after minute slipped by and still she hesitated, he

"Will you let me come back if I want to?" she asked, as if she now had the upper hand and her companion

Carrie only listened as one who has granted a temporary amnesty. She began to feel as if the matter were in

She shook her head, though for all her distress and his trickery she was beginning to notice what she had

"Let me fix my coat for you, anyway," and he arose and arranged his light coat in a comfortable position to

"There," he said tenderly, "now see if you can't rest a little." He could have kissed her for her compliance. He

"So it looks," said Carrie, whose nerves were quieting under the sound of the rain drops, driven by a gusty

The fact that he had in a measure mollified Carrie was a source of satisfaction to Hurstwood, but it furnished

only the most temporary relief. Now that her opposition was out of the way, he had all of his time to devote

His condition was bitter in the extreme, for he did not want the miserable sum he had stolen. He did not want

to be a thief. That sum or any other could never compensate for the state which he had thus foolishly doffed.

It could not give him back his host of friends, his name, his house and family, nor Carrie, as he had meant to

have her. He was shut out from Chicagofrom his easy, comfortable state. He had robbed himself of his

dignity, his merry meetings, his pleasant evenings. And for what? The more he thought of it the more

unbearable it became. He began to think that he would try and restore himself to his old state. He would

return the miserable thievings of the night and explain. Perhaps Moy would understand. Perhaps they would

By noontime the train rolled into Detroit and he began to feel exceedingly nervous. The police must be on his

track by now. They had probably notified all the police of the big cities, and detectives would be watching for

him. He remembered instances in which defaulters had been captured. Consequently, he breathed heavily and

paled somewhat. His hands felt as if they must have something to do. He simulated interest in several scenes

Carrie noticed his agitation, but said nothing. She had no idea what it meant or that it was important.

He wondered now why he had not asked whether this train went on through to Montreal or some Canadian

He would have asked more, but it did not seem wise, so he decided to inquire at the depot.

"I think we had better go right on through to Montreal," he said to Carrie. "I'll see what the connections are

He was exceedingly nervous, but did his best to put on a calm exterior. Carrie only looked at him with large,

The train stopped and Hurstwood led the way out. He looked warily around him, pretending to look after

Carrie. Seeing nothing that indicated studied observation, he made his way to the ticket office.

"We go right out again," he said, scarcely noticing that Carrie looked tired and weary.

"You can buy all you want as soon as you get there, dearest," he explained. "You can call in a dressmaker."

Now the crier called the train ready and they got on. Hurstwood breathed a sigh of relief as it started. There

was a short run to the river, and there they were ferried over. They had barely pulled the train off the

"It won't be so very long now," he said, remembering her in his relief. "We get there the first thing in the

To the untravelled, territory other than their own familiar heath is invariably fascinating. Next to love, it is the

one thing which solaces and delights. Things new are too important to be neglected, and mind, which is a

mere reflection of sensory impressions, succumbs to the flood of objects. Thus lovers are forgotten, sorrows

laid aside, death hidden from view. There is a world of accumulated feeling back of the trite dramatic

As Carrie looked out upon the flying scenery she almost forgot that she had been tricked into this long

journey against her will and that she was without the necessary apparel for travelling. She quite forgot

Hurstwood's presence at times, and looked away to homely farmhouses and cosey cottages in villages with

wondering eyes. It was an interesting world to her. Her life had just begun. She did not feel herself defeated

at all. Neither was she blasted in hope. The great city held much. Possibly she would come out of bondage

into freedomwho knows? Perhaps she would be happy. These thoughts raised her above the level of erring.

The following morning the train pulled safely into Montreal and they stepped down, Hurstwood glad to be

out of danger, Carrie wondering at the novel atmosphere of the northern city. Long before, Hurstwood had

been here, and now he remembered the name of the hotel at which he had stopped. As they came out of the

At the clerk's office Hurstwood swung the register about while the clerk came forward. He was thinking what

name he would put down. With the latter before him he found no time for hesitation. A name he had seen out

of the car window came swiftly to him. It was pleasing enough. With an easy hand he wrote, "G. W.

Murdock and wife." It was the largest concession to necessity he felt like making. His initials he could not

When they were shown their room Carrie saw at once that he had secured her a lovely chamber.

Carrie went over and looked out the window, while Hurstwood looked at himself in the glass. He felt dusty

"I'll ring for soap and towels," he said, "and send you up a hairbrush. Then you can bathe and get ready for

breakfast. I'll go for a shave and come back and get you, and then we'll go out and look for some clothes for

She sat down in one of the rockingchairs, while Hurstwood waited for the boy, who soon knocked.

"I'll go now," he said to Carrie, coming toward her and holding out his hands, but she did not move to take

"Don't you think you could love me a little?" he pleaded, taking one of her hands, which she endeavoured to

"Oh, well, Carrie," he answered, "here I am. It's too late now. Won't you try and care for me a little?"

Carrie rose up as if to step away, he holding her hand. Now he slipped his arm about her and she struggled,

but in vain. He held her quite close. Instantly there flamed up in his body the all compelling desire. His

Carrie had never been illdisposed toward him. Only a moment before she had been listening with some

complacency, remembering her old affection for him. He was so handsome, so daring!

Now, however, this feeling had changed to one of opposition, which rose feebly. It mastered her for a

moment, and then, held close as she was, began to wane. Something else in her spoke. This man, to whose

bosom she was being pressed, was strong; he was passionate, he loved her, and she was alone. If she did not

turn to himaccept of his lovewhere else might she go? Her resistance half dissolved in the flood of his

She found him lifting her head and looking into her eyes. What magnetism there was she could never know.

He pressed her closer and kissed her, and she felt that further opposition was useless.

Now the hallboy pounded on the door and he released his hold upon her regretfully.

Below stairs, he halted in the lobby to look for a barber shop. For the moment, he was in fine feather. His

recent victory over Carrie seemed to atone for much he had endured during the last few days. Life seemed

worth fighting for. This eastward flight from all things customary and attached seemed as if it might have

happiness in store. The storm showed a rainbow at the end of which might be a pot of gold.

He was about to cross to a little redandwhite striped bar which was fastened up beside a door when a voice

Hurstwood was already confronted, and recognised his friend Kenny, the stockbroker.

"Just attending to a little private matter," he answered, his mind working like a keyboard of a telephone

"Well, it seems strange to see you way up here," said Mr. Kenny genially. "Stopping here?"

"Not until afterwards," said the exmanager. "I'll see you later. Are you stopping here?"

"Yes," said Mr. Kenny, and then, turning the word again added: "How are things out in Chicago?"

"Well, I must see more of you today. I'm just going in here for breakfast. Come in when you're through."

"I will," said Hurstwood, moving away. The whole conversation was a trial to him. It seemed to add

complications with very word. This man called up a thousand memories. He represented everything he had

left. Chicago, his wife, the elegant resort all these were in his greeting and inquiries. And here he was in

this same hotel expecting to confer with him, unquestionably waiting to have a good time with him. All at

once the Chicago papers would arrive. The local papers would have accounts in them this very day. He forgot

his triumph with Carrie in the possibility of soon being known for what he was, in this man's eyes, a

safebreaker. He could have groaned as he went into the barber shop. He decided to escape and seek a more

Accordingly, when he came out he was glad to see the lobby clear, and hastened toward the stairs. He would

get Carrie and go out by the ladies' entrance. They would have breakfast in some more inconspicuous place.

Across the lobby, however, another individual was surveying him. He was of a commonplace Irish type,

small of stature, cheaply dressed, and with a head that seemed a smaller edition of some huge ward

politician's. This individual had been evidently talking with the clerk, but now he surveyed the exmanager

Hurstwood felt the longrange examination and recognised the type. Instinctively he felt that the man was a

detectivethat he was being watched. He hurried across, pretending not to notice, but in his mind was a

world of thoughts. What would happen now? What could these people do? He began to trouble concerning

the extradition laws. He did not understand them absolutely. Perhaps he could be arrested. Oh, if Carrie

should find out! Montreal was too warm for him. He began to long to be out of it.

Carrie had bathed and was waiting when he arrived. She looked refreshedmore delightful than ever, but

reserved. Since he had gone she had resumed somewhat of her cold attitude towards him. Love was not

blazing in her heart. He felt it, and his troubles seemed increased. He could not take her in his arms; he did

not even try. Something about her forbade it. In part his opinion was the result of his own experiences and

"We'll go out for breakfast. This place down here doesn't appeal to me very much."

They went out, and at the corner the commonplace Irish individual was standing, eyeing him. Hurstwood

could scarcely refrain from showing that he knew of this chap's presence. The insolence in the fellow's eye

was galling. Still they passed, and he explained to Carrie concerning the city. Another restaurant was not long

"What a queer town this is," said Carrie, who marvelled at it solely because it was not like Chicago.

"No," said Carrie, whose feelings were already localised in the great Western city.

"Nothing much," returned Hurstwood. "It's quite a resort. There's some pretty scenery about here."

Carrie listened, but with a feeling of unrest. There was much about her situation which destroyed the

"We won't stay here long," said Hurstwood, who was now really glad to note her dissatisfaction. "You pick

out your clothes as soon as breakfast is over and we'll run down to New York soon. You'll like that. It's a lot

He was really planning to slip out and away. He would see what these detectives would dowhat move his

employers at Chicago would makethen he would slip awaydown to New York, where it was easy to

hide. He knew enough about that city to know that its mysteries and possibilities of mystification were

The more he thought, however, the more wretched his situation became. He saw that getting here did not

exactly clear up the ground. The firm would probably employ detectives to watch him Pinkerton men or

agents of Mooney and Boland. They might arrest him the moment he tried to leave Canada. So he might be

Back at the hotel Hurstwood was anxious and yet fearful to see the morning papers. He wanted to know how

far the news of his criminal deed had spread. So he told Carrie he would be up in a few moments, and went to

secure and scan the dailies. No familiar or suspicious faces were about, and yet he did not like reading in the

lobby, so he sought the main parlour on the floor above and, seated by a window there, looked them over.

Very little was given to his crime, but it was there, several "sticks" in all, among all the riffraff of telegraphed

murders, accidents, marriages, and other news. He wished, half sadly, that he could undo it all. Every

moment of his time in this faroff abode of safety but added to his feeling that he had made a great mistake.

He left the papers before going to the room, thinking thus to keep them out of the hands of Carrie.

"Well, how are you feeling?" he asked of her. She was engaged in looking out of the window.

He came over, and was about to begin a conversation with her, when a knock came at their door.

Hurstwood opened the door, outside of which stood the individual whom he had so thoroughly suspected.

"You're Mr. Hurstwood, are you?" said the latter, with a volume of affected shrewdness and assurance.

"Yes," said Hurstwood calmly. He knew the type so thoroughly that some of his old familiar indifference to it

returned. Such men as these were of the lowest stratum welcomed at the resort. He stepped out and closed the

"Look here, my man," said Hurstwood authoritatively, "you don't understand anything about this case, and I

can't explain to you. Whatever I intend to do I'll do without advice from the outside. You'll have to excuse

"Well, now, there's no use of your talking that way," said the man, "when you're in the hands of the police.

We can make a lot of trouble for you if we want to. You're not registered right in this house, you haven't got

your wife with you, and the newspapers don't know you're here yet. You might as well be reasonable."

"There's no use explaining to you about this," he said at last. "There's no use of your asking me. I'm no fool,

you know. I know just what you can do and what you can't. You can create a lot of trouble if you want to. I

know that all right, but it won't help you to get the money. Now, I've made up my mind what to do. I've

already written Fitzgerald and Moy, so there's nothing I can say. You wait until you hear more from them."

All the time he had been talking he had been moving away from the door, down the corridor, out of the

hearing of Carrie. They were now near the end where the corridor opened into the large general parlour.

The words irritated Hurstwood greatly. Hot blood poured into his brain. Many thoughts formulated

themselves. He was no thief. He didn't want the money. If he could only explain to Fitzgerald and Moy,

"See here," he said, "there's no use my talking about this at all. I respect your power all right, but I'll have to

"I don't want to get out," said Hurstwood. "When I get ready there'll be nothing to stop me for."

He turned back, and the detective watched him closely. It seemed an intolerable thing. Still he went on and

The whole of this conversation was such a shock that, coming as it did after all the other worry of the past

week, it sufficed to induce a deep gloom and moral revulsion in Hurstwood. What hurt him most was the fact

that he was being pursued as a thief. He began to see the nature of that social injustice which sees but one

sideoften but a single point in a long tragedy. All the newspapers noted but one thing, his taking the

money. How and wherefore were but indifferently dealt with. All the complications which led up to it were

Sitting in his room with Carrie the same day, he decided to send the money back. He would write Fitzgerald

and Moy, explain all, and then send it by express. Maybe they would forgive him. Perhaps they would ask

him back. He would make good the false statement he had made about writing them. Then he would leave

For an hour he thought over this plausible statement of the tangle. He wanted to tell them about his wife, but

couldn't. He finally narrowed it down to an assertion that he was lightheaded from entertaining friends, had

found the safe open, and having gone so far as to take the money out, had accidentally closed it. This act he

regretted very much. He was sorry he had put them to so much trouble. He would undo what he could by

sending the money backthe major portion of it. The remainder he would pay up as soon as he could. Was

The troubled state of the man's mind may be judged by the very construction of this letter. For the nonce he

forgot what a painful thing it would be to resume his old place, even if it were given him. He forgot that he

had severed himself from the past as by a sword, and that if he did manage to in some way reunite himself

with it, the jagged line of separation and reunion would always show. He was always forgetting something

his wife, Carrie, his need of money, present situation, or somethingand so did not reason clearly.

Meanwhile, he accepted his present situation with Carrie, getting what joy out of it he could.

Out came the sun by noon, and poured a golden flood through their open windows. Sparrows were twittering.

There were laughter and song in the air. Hurstwood could not keep his eyes from Carrie. She seemed the one

ray of sunshine in all his trouble. Oh, if she would only love him whollyonly throw her arms around him in

the blissful spirit in which he had seen her in the little park in Chicagohow happy he would be! It would

"Carrie," he said, getting up once and coming over to her, "are you going to stay with me from now on?"

She looked at him quizzically, but melted with sympathy as the value of the look upon his face forced itself

upon her. It was love now, keen and stronglove enhanced by difficulty and worry. She could not help

"Let me be everything to you from now on," he said. "Don't make me worry any more. I'll be true to you.

We'll go to New York and get a nice flat. I'll go into business again, and we'll be happy. Won't you be mine?"

Carrie listened quite solemnly. There was no great passion in her, but the drift of things and this man's

proximity created a semblance of affection. She felt rather sorry for hima sorrow born of what had only

recently been a great admiration. True love she had never felt for him. She would have known as much if she

could have analysed her feelings, but this thing which she now felt aroused by his great feeling broke down

"Under a new name," he answered. "I'll take a new name and live a new life. From now on I'm Murdock."

They were married by a Baptist minister, the first divine they found convenient.

At last the Chicago firm answered. It was by Mr. Moy's dictation. He was astonished that Hurstwood had

done this; very sorry that it had come about as it had. If the money were returned, they would not trouble to

prosecute him, as they really bore him no illwill. As for his returning, or their restoring him to his former

position, they had not quite decided what the effect of it would be. They would think it over and correspond

The sum and substance of it was that there was no hope, and they wanted the money with the least trouble

possible. Hurstwood read his doom. He decided to pay $9,500 to the agent whom they said they would send,

keeping $1,300 for his own use. He telegraphed his acquiescence, explained to the representative who called

at the hotel the same day, took a certificate of payment, and told Carrie to pack her trunk. He was slightly

depressed over this newest move at the time he began to make it, but eventually restored himself. He feared

that even yet he might be seized and taken back, so he tried to conceal his movements, but it was scarcely

possible. He ordered Carrie's trunk sent to the depot, where he had it sent by express to New York. No one

seemed to be observing him, but he left at night. He was greatly agitated lest at the first station across the

border or at the depot in New York there should be waiting for him an officer of the law.

Carrie, ignorant of his theft and his fears, enjoyed the entry into the latter city in the morning. The round

green hills sentinelling the broad, expansive bosom of the Hudson held her attention by their beauty as the

train followed the line of the stream. She had heard of the Hudson River, the great city of New York, and

As the train turned east at Spuyten Duyvil and followed the east bank of the Harlem River, Hurstwood

nervously called her attention to the fact that they were on the edge of the city. After her experience with

Chicago, she expected long lines of carsa great highway of tracksand noted the difference. The sight of

a few boats in the Harlem and more in the East River tickled her young heart. It was the first sign of the great

sea. Next came a plain street with fivestory brick flats, and then the train plunged into the tunnel.

"Grand Central Station!" called the trainman, as, after a few minutes of darkness and smoke, daylight

reappeared. Hurstwood arose and gathered up his small grip. He was screwed up to the highest tension. With

Carrie he waited at the door and then dismounted. No one approached him, but he glanced furtively to and fro

as he made for the street entrance. So excited was he that he forgot all about Carrie, who fell behind,

wondering at his selfabsorption. As he passed through the depot proper the strain reached its climax and

began to wane. All at once he was on the sidewalk, and none but cabmen hailed him. He heaved a great

For the first time in years the thought that he must count these little expenses flashed through his mind. It was

He decided he would lose no time living in hotels but would rent a flat. Accordingly he told Carrie, and she

Suddenly he thought of his experience in Montreal. At the more important hotels he would be certain to meet

"Take me to the Belford," he said, knowing it to be less frequented by those whom he knew. Then he sat

"Where is the residence part?" asked Carrie, who did not take the tall fivestory walls on either hand to be the

"Everywhere," said Hurstwood, who knew the city fairly well. "There are no lawns in New York. All these

"Well, then, I don't like it," said Carrie, who was coming to have a few opinions of her own.

Whatever a man like Hurstwood could be in Chicago, it is very evident that he would be but an

inconspicuous drop in an ocean like New York. In Chicago, whose population still ranged about 500,000,

millionaires were not numerous. The rich had not become so conspicuously rich as to drown all moderate

incomes in obscurity. The attention of the inhabitants was not so distracted by local celebrities in the

dramatic, artistic, social, and religious fields as to shut the wellpositioned man from view. In Chicago the

two roads to distinction were politics and trade. In New York the roads were any one of a halfhundred, and

each had been diligently pursued by hundreds, so that celebrities were numerous. The sea was already full of

whales. A common fish must needs disappear wholly from viewremain unseen. In other words, Hurstwood

There is a more subtle result of such a situation as this, which, though not always taken into account,

produces the tragedies of the world. The great create an atmosphere which reacts badly upon the small. This

atmosphere is easily and quickly felt. Walk among the magnificent residences, the splendid equipages, the

gilded shops, restaurants, resorts of all kinds; scent the flowers, the silks, the wines; drink of the laughter

springing from the soul of luxurious content, of the glances which gleam like light from defiant spears; feel

the quality of the smiles which cut like glistening swords and of strides born of place, and you shall know of

what is the atmosphere of the high and mighty. Little use to argue that of such is not the kingdom of

greatness, but so long as the world is attracted by this and the human heart views this as the one desirable

realm which it must attain, so long, to that heart, will this remain the realm of greatness. So long, also, will

the atmosphere of this realm work its desperate results in the soul of man. It is like a chemical reagent. One

day of it, like one drop of the other, will so affect and discolour the views, the aims, the desire of the mind,

that it will thereafter remain forever dyed. A day of it to the untried mind is like opium to the untried body. A

craving is set up which, if gratified, shall eternally result in dreams and death. Aye! dreams

unfulfilledgnawing, luring, idle phantoms which beckon and lead, beckon and lead, until death and

A man of Hurstwood's age and temperament is not subject to the illusions and burning desires of youth, but

neither has he the strength of hope which gushes as a fountain in the heart of youth. Such an atmosphere

could not incite in him the cravings of a boy of eighteen, but in so far as they were excited, the lack of hope

made them proportionately bitter. He could not fail to notice the signs of affluence and luxury on every hand.

He had been to New York before and knew the resources of its folly. In part it was an awesome place to him,

for here gathered all that he most respected on this earthwealth, place, and fame. The majority of the

celebrities with whom he had tipped glasses in his day as manager hailed from this selfcentred and populous

spot. The most inviting stories of pleasure and luxury had been told of places and individuals here. He knew

it to be true that unconsciously he was brushing elbows with fortune the livelong day; that a hundred or five

hundred thousand gave no one the privilege of living more than comfortably in so wealthy a place. Fashion

and pomp required more ample sums, so that the poor man was nowhere. All this he realised, now quite

sharply, as he faced the city, cut off from his friends, despoiled of his modest fortune, and even his name, and

forced to begin the battle for place and comfort all over again. He was not old, but he was not so dull but that

he could feel he soon would be. Of a sudden, then, this show of fine clothes, place, and power took on

peculiar significance. It was emphasised by contrast with his own distressing state.

And it was distressing. He soon found that freedom from fear of arrest was not the sine qua non of his

existence. That danger dissolved, the next necessity became the grievous thing. The paltry sum of thirteen

hundred and some odd dollars set against the need of rent, clothing, food, and pleasure for years to come was

a spectacle little calculated to induce peace of mind in one who had been accustomed to spend five times that

sum in the course of a year. He thought upon the subject rather actively the first few days he was in New

York, and decided that he must act quickly. As a consequence, he consulted the business opportunities

That was not before he had become settled, however. Carrie and he went looking for a flat, as arranged, and

found one in Seventyeighth Street near Amsterdam Avenue. It was a fivestory building, and their flat was

on the third floor. Owing to the fact that the street was not yet built up solidly, it was possible to see east to

the green tops of the trees in Central Park and west to the broad waters of the Hudson, a glimpse of which

was to be had out of the west windows. For the privilege of six rooms and a bath, running in a straight line,

they were compelled to pay thirtyfive dollars a monthan average, and yet exorbitant, rent for a home at

the time. Carrie noticed the difference between the size of the rooms here and in Chicago and mentioned it.

"You'll not find anything better, dear," said Hurstwood, "unless you go into one of the oldfashioned houses,

Carrie picked out the new abode because of its newness and bright woodwork. It was one of the very new

ones supplied with steam heat, which was a great advantage. The stationary range, hot and cold water,

dumbwaiter, speaking tubes, and callbell for the janitor pleased her very much. She had enough of the

Hurstwood made arrangements with one of the instalment houses whereby they furnished the flat complete

and accepted fifty dollars down and ten dollars a month. He then had a little plate, bearing the name G. W.

Wheeler, made, which he placed on his letterbox in the hall. It sounded exceedingly odd to Carrie to be

called Mrs. Wheeler by the janitor, but in time she became used to it and looked upon the name as her own.

These house details settled, Hurstwood visited some of the advertised opportunities to purchase an interest in

some flourishing downtown bar. After the palatial resort in Adams Street, he could not stomach the

commonplace saloons which he found advertised. He lost a number of days looking up these and finding

them disagreeable. He did, however, gain considerable knowledge by talking, for he discovered the influence

of Tammany Hall and the value of standing in with the police. The most profitable and flourishing places he

found to be those which conducted anything but a legitimate business, such as that controlled by Fitzgerald

and Moy. Elegant back rooms and private drinking booths on the second floor were usually adjuncts of very

profitable places. He saw by portly keepers, whose shirt fronts shone with large diamonds, and whose clothes

were properly cut, that the liquor business here, as elsewhere, yielded the same golden profit.

At last he found an individual who had a resort in Warren Street, which seemed an excellent venture. It was

fairly wellappearing and susceptible of improvement. The owner claimed the business to be excellent, and it

"We deal with a very good class of people," he told Hurstwood. "Merchants, salesmen, and professionals. It's

"You can see for yourself if you're any judge of the liquor trade," said the owner. "This is only one of the two

places I have. The other is down in Nassau Street. I can't tend to them both alone. If I had some one who

knew the business thoroughly I wouldn't mind sharing with him in this one and letting him manage it."

"I've had experience enough," said Hurstwood blandly, but he felt a little diffident about referring to

He only offered a third interest in the stock, fixtures, and goodwill, and this in return for a thousand dollars

and managerial ability on the part of the one who should come in. There was no property involved, because

The offer was genuine enough, but it was a question with Hurstwood whether a third interest in that locality

could be made to yield one hundred and fifty dollars a month, which he figured he must have in order to meet

the ordinary family expenses and be comfortable. It was not the time, however, after many failures to find

what he wanted, to hesitate. It looked as though a third would pay a hundred a month now. By judicious

management and improvement, it might be made to pay more. Accordingly he agreed to enter into

partnership, and made over his thousand dollars, preparing to enter the next day.

His first inclination was to be elated, and he confided to Carrie that he thought he had made an excellent

arrangement. Time, however, introduced food for reflection. He found his partner to be very disagreeable.

Frequently he was the worse for liquor, which made him surly. This was the last thing which Hurstwood was

used to in business. Besides, the business varied. It was nothing like the class of patronage which he had

enjoyed in Chicago. He found that it would take a long time to make friends. These people hurried in and out

without seeking the pleasures of friendship. It was no gathering or lounging place. Whole days and weeks

passed without one such hearty greeting as he had been wont to enjoy every day in Chicago.

For another thing, Hurstwood missed the celebritiesthose welldressed, elite individuals who lend grace to

the average bars and bring news from faroff and exclusive circles. He did not see one such in a month.

Evenings, when still at his post, he would occasionally read in the evening papers incidents concerning

celebrities whom he knewwhom he had drunk a glass with many a time. They would visit a bar like

Fitzgerald and Moy's in Chicago, or the Hoffman House, uptown, but he knew that he would never see them

Again, the business did not pay as well as he thought. It increased a little, but he found he would have to

In the very beginning it was a delight to go home late at night, as he did, and find Carrie. He managed to run

up and take dinner with her between six and seven, and to remain home until nine o'clock in the morning, but

the novelty of this waned after a time, and he began to feel the drag of his duties.

The first month had scarcely passed before Carrie said in a very natural way: "I think I'll go down this week

"All right," he answered, smiling, although he noted mentally that it would be more agreeable to his finances

if she didn't. Nothing was said about it the next day, but the following morning he asked:

"No," replied Carrie, who did not catch the drift of his remarks. She had never thought of him in connection

"Well, I'll tell you," said Hurstwood. "This investment of mine is taking a lot of money just now. I expect to

For all her acquiescence, there was something about the way Hurstwood spoke which reminded Carrie of

Drouet and his little deal which he was always about to put through. It was only the thought of a second, but

Other things followed from time to time, little things of the same sort, which in their cumulative effect were

eventually equal to a full revelation. Carrie was not dull by any means. Two persons cannot long dwell

together without coming to an understanding of one another. The mental difficulties of an individual reveal

themselves whether he voluntarily confesses them or not. Trouble gets in the air and contributes gloom,

which speaks for itself. Hurstwood dressed as nicely as usual, but they were the same clothes he had in

Canada. Carrie noticed that he did not install a large wardrobe, though his own was anything but large. She

noticed, also, that he did not suggest many amusements, said nothing about the food, seemed concerned about

his business. This was not the easy Hurstwood of Chicago not the liberal, opulent Hurstwood she had

In time she began to feel that a change had come about, and that she was not in his confidence. He was

evidently secretive and kept his own counsel. She found herself asking him questions about little things. This

is a disagreeable state to a woman. Great love makes it seem reasonable, sometimes plausible, but never

satisfactory. Where great love is not, a more definite and less satisfactory conclusion is reached.

As for Hurstwood, he was making a great fight against the difficulties of a changed condition. He was too

shrewd not to realise the tremendous mistake he had made, and appreciate that he had done well in getting

where he was, and yet he could not help contrasting his present state with his former, hour after hour, and day

Besides, he had the disagreeable fear of meeting oldtime friends, ever since one such encounter which he

made shortly after his arrival in the city. It was in Broadway that he saw a man approaching him whom he

knew. There was no time for simulating nonrecognition. The exchange of glances had been too sharp, the

knowledge of each other too apparent. So the friend, a buyer for one of the Chicago wholesale houses, felt,

"How are you?" he said, extending his hand with an evident mixture of feeling and a lack of plausible

"He never asked for my number," thought Hurstwood; "he wouldn't think of coming." He wiped his forehead,

These things told upon his goodnature, such as it was. His one hope was that things would change for the

He had Carrie. His furniture was being paid for. He was maintaining his position. As for Carrie, the

amusements he could give her would have to do for the present. He could probably keep up his pretensions

sufficiently long without exposure to make good, and then all would be well. He failed therein to take

account of the frailties of human naturethe difficulties of matrimonial life. Carrie was young. With him

and with her varying mental states were common. At any moment the extremes of feeling might be

antipolarised at the dinner table. This often happens in the best regulated families. Little things brought out

on such occasions need great love to obliterate them afterward. Where that is not, both parties count two and

The effect of the city and his own situation on Hurstwood was paralleled in the case of Carrie, who accepted

the things which fortune provided with the most genial goodnature. New York, despite her first expression

of disapproval, soon interested her exceedingly. Its clear atmosphere, more populous thoroughfares, and

peculiar indifference struck her forcibly. She had never seen such a little flat as hers, and yet it soon enlisted

her affection. The new furniture made an excellent showing, the sideboard which Hurstwood himself

arranged gleamed brightly. The furniture for each room was appropriate, and in the socalled parlour, or

front room, was installed a piano, because Carrie said she would like to learn to play. She kept a servant and

developed rapidly in household tactics and information. For the first time in her life she felt settled, and

somewhat justified in the eyes of society as she conceived of it. Her thoughts were merry and innocent

enough. For a long while she concerned herself over the arrangement of New York flats, and wondered at ten

families living in one building and all remaining strange and indifferent to each other. She also marvelled at

the whistles of the hundreds of vessels in the harbourthe long, low cries of the Sound steamers and

ferryboats when fog was on. The mere fact that these things spoke from the sea made them wonderful. She

looked much at what she could see of the Hudson from her west windows and of the great city building up

rapidly on either hand. It was much to ponder over, and sufficed to entertain her for more than a year without

For another thing, Hurstwood was exceedingly interesting in his affection for her. Troubled as he was, he

never exposed his difficulties to her. He carried himself with the same selfimportant air, took his new state

with easy familiarity, and rejoiced in Carrie's proclivities and successes. Each evening he arrived promptly to

dinner, and found the little diningroom a most inviting spectacle. In a way, the smallness of the room added

to its luxury. It looked full and replete. The whitecovered table was arrayed with pretty dishes and lighted

with a fourarmed candelabra, each light of which was topped with a red shade. Between Carrie and the girl

the steaks and chops came out all right, and canned goods did the rest for a while. Carrie studied the art of

making biscuit, and soon reached the stage where she could show a plate of light, palatable morsels for her

In this manner the second, third, and fourth months passed. Winter came, and with it a feeling that indoors

was best, so that the attending of theatres was not much talked of. Hurstwood made great efforts to meet all

expenditures without a show of feeling one way or the other. He pretended that he was reinvesting his money

in strengthening the business for greater ends in the future. He contented himself with a very moderate

allowance of personal apparel, and rarely suggested anything for Carrie. Thus the first winter passed.

In the second year, the business which Hurstwood managed did increase somewhat. He got out of it regularly

the $150 per month which he had anticipated. Unfortunately, by this time Carrie had reached certain

Being of a passive and receptive rather than an active and aggressive nature, Carrie accepted the situation.

Her state seemed satisfactory enough. Once in a while they would go to a theatre together, occasionally in

season to the beaches and different points about the city, but they picked up no acquaintances. Hurstwood

naturally abandoned his show of fine manners with her and modified his attitude to one of easy familiarity.

There were no misunderstandings, no apparent differences of opinion. In fact, without money or visiting

friends, he led a life which could neither arouse jealousy nor comment. Carrie rather sympathised with his

efforts and thought nothing upon her lack of entertainment such as she had enjoyed in Chicago. New York as

However, as Hurstwood's business increased, he, as stated, began to pick up acquaintances. He also began to

allow himself more clothes. He convinced himself that his home life was very precious to him, but allowed

that he could occasionally stay away from dinner. The first time he did this he sent a message saying that he

would be detained. Carrie ate alone, and wished that it might not happen again. The second time, also, he sent

word, but at the last moment. The third time he forgot entirely and explained afterwards. These events were

"Tied up at the office," he said genially. "There were some accounts I had to straighten."

"I'm sorry you couldn't get home," she said kindly. "I was fixing to have such a nice dinner."

The second time he gave a similar excuse, but the third time the feeling about it in Carrie's mind was a little

"I couldn't get home," he said, when he came in later in the evening, "I was so busy."

"I meant to," he said, "but you know I forgot it until it was too late to do any good."

Now, it so happened that from his observations of Carrie he began to imagine that she was of the thoroughly

domestic type of mind. He really thought, after a year, that her chief expression in life was finding its natural

channel in household duties. Notwithstanding the fact that he had observed her act in Chicago, and that

during the past year he had only seen her limited in her relations to her flat and him by conditions which he

made, and that she had not gained any friends or associates, he drew this peculiar conclusion. With it came a

feeling of satisfaction in having a wife who could thus be content, and this satisfaction worked its natural

result. That is, since he imagined he saw her satisfied, he felt called upon to give only that which contributed

to such satisfaction. He supplied the furniture, the decorations, the food, and the necessary clothing. Thoughts

of entertaining her, leading her out into the shine and show of life, grew less and less. He felt attracted to the

outer world, but did not think she would care to go along. Once he went to the theatre alone. Another time he

joined a couple of his new friends at an evening game of poker. Since his moneyfeathers were beginning to

grow again he felt like sprucing about. All this, however, in a much less imposing way than had been his

wont in Chicago. He avoided the gay places where he would be apt to meet those who had known him.

Now, Carrie began to feel this in various sensory ways. She was not the kind to be seriously disturbed by his

actions. Not loving him greatly, she could not be jealous in a disturbing way. In fact, she was not jealous at

all. Hurstwood was pleased with her placid manner, when he should have duly considered it. When he did not

come home it did not seem anything like a terrible thing to her. She gave him credit for having the usual

allurements of menpeople to talk to, places to stop, friends to consult with. She was perfectly willing that

he should enjoy himself in his way, but she did not care to be neglected herself. Her state still seemed fairly

reasonable, however. All she did observe was that Hurstwood was somewhat different.

Some time in the second year of their residence in Seventyeighth Street the flat across the hall from Carrie

became vacant, and into it moved a very handsome young woman and her husband, with both of whom

Carrie afterwards became acquainted. This was brought about solely by the arrangement of the flats, which

were united in one place, as it were, by the dumbwaiter. This useful elevator, by which fuel, groceries, and

the like were sent up from the basement, and garbage and waste sent down, was used by both residents of one

If the occupants of both flats answered to the whistle of the janitor at the same time, they would stand face to

face when they opened the dumbwaiter doors. One morning, when Carrie went to remove her paper, the

newcomer, a handsome brunette of perhaps twentythree years of age, was there for a like purpose. She was

in a nightrobe and dressinggown, with her hair very much tousled, but she looked so pretty and

goodnatured that Carrie instantly conceived a liking for her. The newcomer did no more than smile

shamefacedly, but it was sufficient. Carrie felt that she would like to know her, and a similar feeling stirred in

"That's a real pretty woman who has moved in next door," said Carrie to Hurstwood at the breakfast table.

"I don't know," said Carrie. "The name on the bell is Vance. Some one over there plays beautifully. I guess it

"Well, you never can tell what sort of people you're living next to in this town, can you?" said Hurstwood,

"Just think," said Carrie, "I have been in this house with nine other families for over a year and I don't know a

soul. These people have been here over a month and I haven't seen any one before this morning."

"It's just as well," said Hurstwood. 'You never know who you're going to get in with. Some of these people

The conversation turned to other things, and Carrie thought no more upon the subject until a day or two later,

when, going out to market, she encountered Mrs. Vance coming in. The latter recognised her and nodded, for

which Carrie returned a smile. This settled the probability of acquaintanceship. If there had been no faint

Carrie saw no more of Mrs. Vance for several weeks, but she heard her play through the thin walls which

divided the front rooms of the flats, and was pleased by the merry selection of pieces and the brilliance of

their rendition. She could play only moderately herself, and such variety as Mrs. Vance exercised bordered,

for Carrie, upon the verge of great art. Everything she had seen and heard thus farthe merest scraps and

shadows indicated that these people were, in a measure, refined and in comfortable circumstances. So

One day Carrie's bell rang and the servant, who was in the kitchen, pressed the button which caused the front

door of the general entrance on the ground floor to be electrically unlatched. When Carrie waited at her own

door on the third floor to see who it might be coming up to call on her, Mrs. Vance appeared.

"I hope you'll excuse me," she said. "I went out a while ago and forgot my outside key, so I thought I'd ring

This was a common trick of other residents of the building, whenever they had forgotten their outside keys.

Thus, after a few more preliminaries, this visiting acquaintance was well launched, and in the young Mrs.

On several occasions Carrie visited her and was visited. Both flats were good to look upon, though that of the

"I want you to come over this evening and meet my husband," said Mrs. Vance, not long after their intimacy

Carrie acquiesced, and that evening met the portly Vance, an individual a few years younger than Hurstwood,

and who owed his seemingly comfortable matrimonial state much more to his money than to his good looks.

He thought well of Carrie upon the first glance and laid himself out to be genial, teaching her a new game of

cards and talking to her about New York and its pleasures. Mrs. Vance played some upon the piano, and at

"I am very glad to meet you," he said to Mrs. Vance when Carrie introduced him, showing much of the old

"Did you think your wife had run away?" said Mr. Vance, extending his hand upon introduction.

He now turned his attention to Mrs. Vance, and in a flash Carrie saw again what she for some time had

subconsciously missed in Hurstwoodthe adroitness and flattery of which he was capable. She also saw that

she was not well dressednot nearly as well dressedas Mrs. Vance. These were not vague ideas any

longer. Her situation was cleared up for her. She felt that her life was becoming stale, and therein she felt

cause for gloom. The old helpful, urging melancholy was restored. The desirous Carrie was whispered to

There were no immediate results to this awakening, for Carrie had little power of initiative; but, nevertheless,

she seemed ever capable of getting herself into the tide of change where she would be easily borne along.

Hurstwood noticed nothing. He had been unconscious of the marked contrasts which Carrie had observed.

He did not even detect the shade of melancholy which settled in her eyes. Worst of all, she now began to feel

the loneliness of the flat and seek the company of Mrs. Vance, who liked her exceedingly.

"Let's go to the matinee this afternoon," said Mrs. Vance, who had stepped across into Carrie's flat one

morning, still arrayed in a soft pink dressinggown, which she had donned upon rising. Hurstwood and

"All right," said Carrie, noticing the air of the petted and wellgroomed woman in Mrs. Vance's general

appearance. She looked as though she was dearly loved and her every wish gratified. "What shall we see?"

"Oh, I do want to see Nat Goodwin," said Mrs. Vance. "I do think he is the jolliest actor. The papers say this

"Let's go at once and walk down Broadway from Thirtyfourth Street," said Mrs. Vance. "It's such an

The latter departed, and at one o'clock reappeared, stunningly arrayed in a darkblue walking dress, with a

nobby hat to match. Carrie had gotten herself up charmingly enough, but this woman pained her by contrast.

She seemed to have so many dainty little things which Carrie had not. There were trinkets of gold, an elegant

green leather purse set with her initials, a fancy handkerchief, exceedingly rich in design, and the like. Carrie

felt that she needed more and better clothes to compare with this woman, and that any one looking at the two

would pick Mrs. Vance for her raiment alone. It was a trying, though rather unjust thought, for Carrie had

now developed an equally pleasing figure, and had grown in comeliness until she was a thoroughly attractive

type of her colour of beauty. There was some difference in the clothing of the two, both of quality and age,

but this difference was not especially noticeable. It served, however, to augment Carrie's dissatisfaction with

The walk down Broadway, then as now, was one of the remarkable features of the city. There gathered,

before the matinee and afterwards, not only all the pretty women who love a showy parade, but the men who

love to gaze upon and admire them. It was a very imposing procession of pretty faces and fine clothes.

Women appeared in their very best hats, shoes, and gloves, and walked arm in arm on their way to the fine

shops or theatres strung along from Fourteenth to Thirtyfourth Streets. Equally the men paraded with the

very latest they could afford. A tailor might have secured hints on suit measurements, a shoemaker on proper

lasts and colours, a hatter on hats. It was literally true that if a lover of fine clothes secured a new suit, it was

sure to have its first airing on Broadway. So true and well understood was this fact, that several years later a

popular song, detailing this and other facts concerning the afternoon parade on matinee days, and entitled

"What Right Has He on Broadway?" was published, and had quite a vogue about the musichalls of the city.

In all her stay in the city, Carrie had never heard of this showy parade; had never even been on Broadway

when it was taking place. On the other hand, it was a familiar thing to Mrs. Vance, who not only knew of it as

an entity, but had often been in it, going purposely to see and be seen, to create a stir with her beauty and

dispel any tendency to fall short in dressiness by contrasting herself with the beauty and fashion of the town.

Carrie stepped along easily enough after they got out of the car at Thirtyfourth Street, but soon fixed her

eyes upon the lovely company which swarmed by and with them as they proceeded. She noticed suddenly

that Mrs. Vance's manner had rather stiffened under the gaze of handsome men and elegantly dressed ladies,

whose glances were not modified by any rules of propriety. To stare seemed the proper and natural thing.

Carrie found herself stared at and ogled. Men in flawless topcoats, high hats, and silverheaded walking

sticks elbowed near and looked too often into conscious eyes. Ladies rustled by in dresses of stiff cloth,

shedding affected smiles and perfume. Carrie noticed among them the sprinkling of goodness and the heavy

percentage of vice. The rouged and powdered cheeks and lips, the scented hair, the large, misty, and

languorous eye, were common enough. With a start she awoke to find that she was in fashion's crowd, on

parade in a show placeand such a show place! Jewellers' windows gleamed along the path with remarkable

frequency. Florist shops, furriers, haberdashers, confectionersall followed in rapid succession. The street

was full of coaches. Pompous doormen in immense coats, shiny brass belts and buttons, waited in front of

expensive salesrooms. Coachmen in tan boots, white tights, and blue jackets waited obsequiously for the

mistresses of carriages who were shopping inside. The whole street bore the flavour of riches and show, and

Carrie felt that she was not of it. She could not, for the life of her, assume the attitude and smartness of Mrs.

Vance, who, in her beauty, was all assurance. She could only imagine that it must be evident to many that she

was the less handsomely dressed of the two. It cut her to the quick, and she resolved that she would not come

here again until she looked better. At the same time she longed to feel the delight of parading here as an

Such feelings as were generated in Carrie by this walk put her in an exceedingly receptive mood for the

pathos which followed in the play. The actor whom they had gone to see had achieved his popularity by

presenting a mellow type of comedy, in which sufficient sorrow was introduced to lend contrast and relief to

humour. For Carrie, as we well know, the stage had a great attraction. She had never forgotten her one

histrionic achievement in Chicago. It dwelt in her mind and occupied her consciousness during many long

afternoons in which her rockingchair and her latest novel contributed the only pleasures of her state. Never

could she witness a play without having her own ability vividly brought to consciousness. Some scenes made

her long to be a part of themto give expression to the feelings which she, in the place of the character

represented, would feel. Almost invariably she would carry the vivid imaginations away with her and brood

over them the next day alone. She lived as much in these things as in the realities which made up her daily

It was not often that she came to the play stirred to her heart's core by actualities. Today a low song of

longing had been set singing in her heart by the finery, the merriment, the beauty she had seen. Oh, these

women who had passed her by, hundreds and hundreds strong, who were they? Whence came the rich,

elegant dresses, the astonishingly coloured buttons, the knickknacks of silver and gold? Where were these

lovely creatures housed? Amid what elegancies of carved furniture, decorated walls, elaborate tapestries did

they move? Where were their rich apartments, loaded with all that money could provide? In what stables

champed these sleek, nervous horses and rested the gorgeous carriages? Where lounged the richly groomed

footmen? Oh, the mansions, the lights, the perfume, the loaded boudoirs and tables! New York must be filled

with such bowers, or the beautiful, insolent, supercilious creatures could not be. Some hothouses held them.

It ached her to know that she was not one of themthat, alas, she had dreamed a dream and it had not come

true. She wondered at her own solitude these two years pasther indifference to the fact that she had never

The play was one of those drawingroom concoctions in which charmingly overdressed ladies and gentlemen

suffer the pangs of love and jealousy amid gilded surroundings. Such bonmots are ever enticing to those

who have all their days longed for such material surroundings and have never had them gratified. They have

the charm of showing suffering under ideal conditions. Who would not grieve upon a gilded chair? Who

would not suffer amid perfumed tapestries, cushioned furniture, and liveried servants? Grief under such

circumstances becomes an enticing thing. Carrie longed to be of it. She wanted to take her sufferings,

whatever they were, in such a world, or failing that, at least to simulate them under such charming conditions

upon the stage. So affected was her mind by what she had seen, that the play now seemed an extraordinarily

beautiful thing. She was soon lost in the world it represented, and wished that she might never return.

Between the acts she studied the galaxy of matinee attendants in front rows and boxes, and conceived a new

idea of the possibilities of New York. She was sure she had not seen it allthat the city was one whirl of

Going out, the same Broadway taught her a sharper lesson. The scene she had witnessed coming down was

now augmented and at its height. Such a crush of finery and folly she had never seen. It clinched her

convictions concerning her state. She had not lived, could not lay claim to having lived, until something of

this had come into her own life. Women were spending money like water; she could see that in every elegant

shop she passed. Flowers, candy, jewelry, seemed the principal things in which the elegant dames were

interested. And sheshe had scarcely enough pin money to indulge in such outings as this a few times a

That night the pretty little flat seemed a commonplace thing. It was not what the rest of the world was

enjoying. She saw the servant working at dinner with an indifferent eye. In her mind were running scenes of

the play. Particularly she remembered one beautiful actressthe sweetheart who had been wooed and won.

The grace of this woman had won Carrie's heart. Her dresses had been all that art could suggest, her

sufferings had been so real. The anguish which she had portrayed Carrie could feel. It was done as she was

sure she could do it. There were places in which she could even do better. Hence she repeated the lines to

herself. Oh, if she could only have such a part, how broad would be her life! She, too, could act appealingly.

When Hurstwood came, Carrie was moody. She was sitting, rocking and thinking, and did not care to have

"What's the matter, Carrie?" said Hurstwood after a time, noticing her quiet, almost moody state.

"That's too bad," he said, stepping away and adjusting his vest after his slight bending over. "I was thinking

"I don't want to go," said Carrie, annoyed that her fine visions should have thus been broken into and driven

Nevertheless, wakened out of her melancholia and called to the dinner table, she changed her mind. A little

food in the stomach does wonders. She went again, and in so doing temporarily recovered her equanimity.

The great awakening blow had, however, been delivered. As often as she might recover from these

discontented thoughts now, they would occur again. Time and repetitionah, the wonder of it! The dropping

Not long after this matinee experienceperhaps a monthMrs. Vance invited Carrie to an evening at the

theatre with them. She heard Carrie say that Hurstwood was not coming home to dinner.

"Why don't you come with us? Don't get dinner for yourself. We're going down to Sherry's for dinner and

She began to dress at three o'clock for her departure at halfpast five for the noted diningroom which was

then crowding Delmonico's for position in society. In this dressing Carrie showed the influence of her

association with the dashing Mrs. Vance. She had constantly had her attention called by the latter to novelties

"Are you going to get such and such a hat?" or, "Have you seen the new gloves with the oval pearl buttons?"

"The next time you get a pair of shoes, dearie," said Mrs. Vance, "get button, with thick soles and

"Oh, dear, have you seen the new shirtwaists at Altman's? They have some of the loveliest patterns. I saw one

Carrie listened to these things with considerable interest, for they were suggested with more of friendliness

than is usually common between pretty women. Mrs. Vance liked Carrie's stable goodnature so well that she

"Why don't you get yourself one of those nice serge skirts they're selling at Lord & Taylor's?" she said one

day. "They're the circular style, and they're going to be worn from now on. A dark blue one would look so

Carrie listened with eager ears. These things never came up between her and Hurstwood. Nevertheless, she

began to suggest one thing and another, which Hurstwood agreed to without any expression of opinion. He

noticed the new tendency on Carrie's part, and finally, hearing much of Mrs. Vance and her delightful ways,

suspected whence the change came. He was not inclined to offer the slightest objection so soon, but he felt

that Carrie's wants were expanding. This did not appeal to him exactly, but he cared for her in his own way,

and so the thing stood. Still, there was something in the details of the transactions which caused Carrie to feel

that her requests were not a delight to him. He did not enthuse over the purchases. This led her to believe that

Nevertheless, one of the results of Mrs. Vance's suggestions was the fact that on this occasion Carrie was

dressed somewhat to her own satisfaction. She had on her best, but there was comfort in the thought that if

she must confine herself to a best, it was neat and fitting. She looked the wellgroomed woman of twentyone,

and Mrs. Vance praised her, which brought colour to her plump cheeks and a noticeable brightness into her

large eyes. It was threatening rain, and Mr. Vance, at his wife's request, had called a coach.

"Your husband isn't coming?" suggested Mr. Vance, as he met Carrie in his little parlour.

"Better leave a little note for him, telling him where we are. He might turn up."

Carrie crossed the hall with rustling skirts, and scrawled the note, gloves on. When she returned a newcomer

"Mrs. Wheeler, let me introduce Mr. Ames, a cousin of mine," said Mrs. Vance. "He's going along with us,

The latter caught in a glance the dimensions of a very stalwart figure. She also noticed that he was

"Mr. Ames is just down in New York for a few days," put in Vance, "and we're trying to show him around a

"Yes; I am just on here from Indianapolis for a week or so," said young Ames, seating himself on the edge of

"I guess you find New York quite a thing to see, don't you?" said Carrie, venturing something to avoid a

He was an exceedingly genial soul, this young man, and wholly free of affectation. It seemed to Carrie he

was as yet only overcoming the last traces of the bashfulness of youth. He did not seem apt at conversation,

but he had the merit of being well dressed and wholly courageous. Carrie felt as if it were not going to be

"Come on, people," said Mrs. Vance, coming in smiling. "Bob, you'll have to look after Mrs. Wheeler."

"I'll try to," said Bob smiling, and edging closer to Carrie. "You won't need much watching, will you?" he

They descended the stairs, Mrs. Vance offering suggestions, and climbed into the open coach.

"All right," said Vance, slamming the coach door, and the conveyance rolled away.

Ames had taken a seat beside Carrie, and accordingly he felt it his bounden duty to pay her some attention.

He was interested to find her so young a wife, and so pretty, though it was only a respectful interest. There

was nothing of the dashing lady's man about him. He had respect for the married state, and thought only of

"I don't seem to have," answered Carrie. "It's about as strange to me as when I first came here."

"Well, it does seem as if most people in this town haven't been here so very long. I hear of lots of Indiana

Carrie followed up this desultory conversation with occasional interruptions from the Vances. Several times it

became general and partially humorous, and in that manner the restaurant was reached.

Carrie had noticed the appearance of gayety and pleasureseeking in the streets which they were following.

Coaches were numerous, pedestrians many, and in Fiftyninth Street the street cars were crowded. At

Fiftyninth Street and Fifth Avenue a blaze of lights from several new hotels which bordered the Plaza

Square gave a suggestion of sumptuous hotel life. Fifth Avenue, the home of the wealthy, was noticeably

crowded with carriages, and gentlemen in evening dress. At Sherry's an imposing doorman opened the coach

door and helped them out. Young Ames held Carrie's elbow as he helped her up the steps. They entered the

lobby already swarming with patrons, and then, after divesting themselves of their wraps, went into a

In all Carrie's experience she had never seen anything like this. In the whole time she had been in New York

Hurstwood's modified state had not permitted his bringing her to such a place. There was an almost

indescribable atmosphere about it which convinced the newcomer that this was the proper thing. Here was the

place where the matter of expense limited the patrons to the moneyed or pleasureloving class. Carrie had

read of it often in the "Morning" and "Evening World." She had seen notices of dances, parties, balls, and

suppers at Sherry's. The Misses Soandso would give a party on Wednesday evening at Sherry's. Young

Mr. SoandSo would entertain a party of friends at a private luncheon on the sixteenth, at Sherry's. The

common run of conventional, perfunctory notices of the doings of society, which she could scarcely refrain

from scanning each day, had given her a distinct idea of the gorgeousness and luxury of this wonderful

temple of gastronomy. Now, at last, she was really in it. She had come up the imposing steps, guarded by the

large and portly doorman. She had seen the lobby, guarded by another large and portly gentleman, and been

waited upon by uniformed youths who took care of canes, overcoats, and the like. Here was the splendid

diningchamber, all decorated and aglow, where the wealthy ate. Ah, how fortunate was Mrs. Vance; young,

beautiful, and well offat least, sufficiently so to come here in a coach. What a wonderful thing it was to be

Vance led the way through lanes of shining tables, at which were seated parties of two, three, four, five, or

six. The air of assurance and dignity about it all was exceedingly noticeable to the novitiate. Incandescent

lights, the reflection of their glow in polished glasses, and the shine of gilt upon the walls, combined into one

tone of light which it requires minutes of complacent observation to separate and take particular note of. The

white shirt fronts of the gentlemen, the bright costumes of the ladies, diamonds, jewels, fine feathersall

Carrie walked with an air equal to that of Mrs. Vance, and accepted the seat which the head waiter provided

for her. She was keenly aware of all the little things that were donethe little genuflections and attentions of

the waiters and head waiter which Americans pay for. The air with which the latter pulled out each chair, and

the wave of the hand with which he motioned them to be seated, were worth several dollars in themselves.

Once seated, there began that exhibition of showy, wasteful, and unwholesome gastronomy as practised by

wealthy Americans, which is the wonder and astonishment of true culture and dignity the world over. The

large bill of fare held an array of dishes sufficient to feed an army, sidelined with prices which made

reasonable expenditure a ridiculous impossibilityan order of soup at fifty cents or a dollar, with a dozen

kinds to choose from; oysters in forty styles and at sixty cents the halfdozen; entrees, fish, and meats at

prices which would house one over night in an average hotel. One dollar fifty and two dollars seemed to be

Carrie noticed this, and in scanning it the price of spring chicken carried her back to that other bill of fare and

far different occasion when, for the first time, she sat with Drouet in a good restaurant in Chicago. It was only

momentarya sad note as out of an old songand then it was gone. But in that flash was seen the other

Carriepoor, hungry, drifting at her wits' ends, and all Chicago a cold and closed world, from which she

On the walls were designs in colour, square spots of robin'segg blue, set in ornate frames of gilt, whose

corners were elaborate mouldings of fruit and flowers, with fat cupids hovering in angelic comfort. On the

ceilings were coloured traceries with more gilt, leading to a centre where spread a cluster of lights

incandescent globes mingled with glittering prisms and stucco tendrils of gilt. The floor was of a reddish hue,

waxed and polished, and in every direction were mirrorstall, brilliant, beveledged mirrorsreflecting

The tables were not so remarkable in themselves, and yet the imprint of Sherry upon the napery, the name of

Tiffany upon the silverware, the name of Haviland upon the china, and over all the glow of the small,

redshaded candelabra and the reflected tints of the walls on garments and faces, made them seem

remarkable. Each waiter added an air of exclusiveness and elegance by the manner in which he bowed,

scraped, touched, and trifled with things. The exclusively personal attention which he devoted to each one,

standing half bent, ear to one side, elbows akimbo, saying: "Soupgreen turtle, yes. One portion, yes.

It would be the same with each one, only Vance essayed to order for all, inviting counsel and suggestions.

Carrie studied the company with open eyes. So this was high life in New York. It was so that the rich spent

their days and evenings. Her poor little mind could not rise above applying each scene to all society. Every

fine lady must be in the crowd on Broadway in the afternoon, in the theatre at the matinee, in the coaches and

dininghalls at night. It must be glow and shine everywhere, with coaches waiting, and footmen attending,

and she was out of it all. In two long years she had never even been in such a place as this.

Vance was in his element here, as Hurstwood would have been in former days. He ordered freely of soup,

oysters, roast meats, and side dishes, and had several bottles of wine brought, which were set down beside the

Ames was looking away rather abstractedly at the crowd and showed an interesting profile to Carrie. His

forehead was high, his nose rather large and strong, his chin moderately pleasing. He had a good, wide,

wellshaped mouth, and his darkbrown hair was parted slightly on one side. He seemed to have the least

"Do you know," he said, turning back to Carrie, after his reflection, "I sometimes think it is a shame for

Carrie looked at him a moment with the faintest touch of surprise at his seriousness. He seemed to be

"Yes," he said, "they pay so much more than these things are worth. They put on so much show."

"It doesn't do any harm," said Vance, who was still studying the bill of fare, though he had ordered.

Ames was looking away again, and Carrie was again looking at his forehead. To her he seemed to be thinking

"Look at that woman's dress over there," he said, again turning to Carrie, and nodding in a direction.

"It is, isn't it?" said Carrie. She felt as if she would like to be agreeable to this young man, and also there

came with it, or perhaps preceded it, the slightest shade of a feeling that he was better educated than she

wasthat his mind was better. He seemed to look it, and the saving grace in Carrie was that she could

understand that people could be wiser. She had seen a number of people in her life who reminded her of what

she had vaguely come to think of as scholars. This strong young man beside her, with his clear, natural look,

seemed to get a hold of things which she did not quite understand, but approved of. It was fine to be so, as a

The conversation changed to a book that was having its vogue at the time"Moulding a Maiden," by Albert

Ross. Mrs. Vance had read it. Vance had seen it discussed in some of the papers.

"A man can make quite a strike writing a book," said Vance. "I notice this fellow Ross is very much talked

"Oh, I have," said Mrs. Vance. "He's written lots of things. This last story is pretty good."

Carrie felt this as a personal reproof. She read "Dora Thorne," or had a great deal in the past. It seemed only

fair to her, but she supposed that people thought it very fine. Now this cleareyed, fineheaded youth, who

looked something like a student to her, made fun of it. It was poor to him, not worth reading. She looked

Yet there was nothing sarcastic or supercilious in the way Ames spoke. He had very little of that in him.

Carrie felt that it was just kindly thought of a high orderthe right thing to think, and wondered what else

was right, according to him. He seemed to notice that she listened and rather sympathised with him, and from

As the waiter bowed and scraped about, felt the dishes to see if they were hot enough, brought spoons and

forks, and did all those little attentive things calculated to impress the luxury of the situation upon the diner,

Ames also leaned slightly to one side and told her of Indianapolis in an intelligent way. He really had a very

bright mind, which was finding its chief development in electrical knowledge. His sympathies for other forms

of information, however, and for types of people, were quick and warm. The red glow on his head gave it a

sandy tinge and put a bright glint in his eye. Carrie noticed all these things as he leaned toward her and felt

exceedingly young. This man was far ahead of her. He seemed wiser than Hurstwood, saner and brighter than

Drouet. He seemed innocent and clean, and she thought that he was exceedingly pleasant. She noticed, also,

that his interest in her was a faroff one. She was not in his life, nor any of the things that touched his life,

"I shouldn't care to be rich," he told her, as the dinner proceeded and the supply of food warmed up his

"Oh, wouldn't you?" said Carrie, the, to her, new attitude forcing itself distinctly upon her for the first time.

"No," he said. "What good would it do? A man doesn't need this sort of thing to be happy."

Carrie thought of this doubtfully; but, coming from him, it had weight with her.

"He probably could be happy," she thought to herself, "all alone. He's so strong."

Mr. and Mrs. Vance kept up a running fire of interruptions, and these impressive things by Ames came at odd

moments. They were sufficient, however, for the atmosphere that went with this youth impressed itself upon

Carrie without words. There was something in him, or the world he moved in, which appealed to her. He

reminded her of scenes she had seen on the stagethe sorrows and sacrifices that always went with she

knew not what. He had taken away some of the bitterness of the contrast between this life and her life, and all

As they went out, he took her arm and helped her into the coach, and then they were off again, and so to the

During the acts Carrie found herself listening to him very attentively. He mentioned things in the play which

Just this little approval set Carrie's heart bounding. Ah, if she could only be an actressa good one! This

man was wisehe knewand he approved of it. If she were a fine actress, such men as he would approve of

her. She felt that he was good to speak as he had, although it did not concern her at all. She did not know why

At the close of the show it suddenly developed that he was not going back with them.

Carrie could not say anything else, but somehow this development shocked her. She had been regretting the

wane of a pleasant evening, but she had thought there was a halfhour more. Oh, the halfhours, the minutes

She said goodbye with feigned indifference. What matter could it make? Still, the coach seemed lorn.

When she went into her own flat she had this to think about. She did not know whether she would ever see

Hurstwood had returned, and was already in bed. His clothes were scattered loosely about. Carrie came to the

door and saw him, then retreated. She did not want to go in yet a while. She wanted to think. It was

Back in the diningroom she sat in her chair and rocked. Her little hands were folded tightly as she thought.

Through a fog of longing and conflicting desires she was beginning to see. Oh, ye legions of hope and

The immediate result of this was nothing. Results from such things are usually long in growing. Morning

brings a change of feeling. The existent condition invariably pleads for itself. It is only at odd moments that

we get glimpses of the misery of things. The heart understands when it is confronted with contrasts. Take

Carrie went on, leading much this same life for six months thereafter or more. She did not see Ames any

more. He called once upon the Vances, but she only heard about it through the young wife. Then he went

West, and there was a gradual subsidence of whatever personal attraction had existed. The mental effect of

the thing had not gone, however, and never would entirely. She had an ideal to contrast men byparticularly

During all this timea period rapidly approaching three years Hurstwood had been moving along in an

even path. There was no apparent slope downward, and distinctly none upward, so far as the casual observer

might have seen. But psychologically there was a change, which was marked enough to suggest the future

very distinctly indeed. This was in the mere matter of the halt his career had received when he departed from

Chicago. A man's fortune or material progress is very much the same as his bodily growth. Either he is

growing stronger, healthier, wiser, as the youth approaching manhood, or he is growing weaker, older, less

incisive mentally, as the man approaching old age. There are no other states. Frequently there is a period

between the cessation of youthful accretion and the setting in, in the case of the middleaged man, of the

tendency toward decay when the two processes are almost perfectly balanced and there is little doing in either

direction. Given time enough, however, the balance becomes a sagging to the grave side. Slowly at first, then

with a modest momentum, and at last the graveward process is in the full swing. So it is frequently with

man's fortune. If its process of accretion is never halted, if the balancing stage is never reached, there will be

no toppling. Rich men are, frequently, in these days, saved from this dissolution of their fortune by their

ability to hire younger brains. These younger brains look upon the interests of the fortune as their own, and so

steady and direct its progress. If each individual were left absolutely to the care of his own interests, and were

given time enough in which to grow exceedingly old, his fortune would pass as his strength and will. He and

his would be utterly dissolved and scattered unto the four winds of the heavens.

But now see wherein the parallel changes. A fortune, like a man, is an organism which draws to itself other

minds and other strength than that inherent in the founder. Beside the young minds drawn to it by salaries, it

becomes allied with young forces, which make for its existence even when the strength and wisdom of the

founder are fading. It may be conserved by the growth of a community or of a state. It may be involved in

providing something for which there is a growing demand. This removes it at once beyond the special care of

the founder. It needs not so much foresight now as direction. The man wanes, the need continues or grows,

and the fortune, fallen into whose hands it may, continues. Hence, some men never recognise the turning in

the tide of their abilities. It is only in chance cases, where a fortune or a state of success is wrested from them,

that the lack of ability to do as they did formerly becomes apparent. Hurstwood, set down under new

conditions, was in a position to see that he was no longer young. If he did not, it was due wholly to the fact

that his state was so well balanced that an absolute change for the worse did not show.

Not trained to reason or introspect himself, he could not analyse the change that was taking place in his mind,

and hence his body, but he felt the depression of it. Constant comparison between his old state and his new

showed a balance for the worse, which produced a constant state of gloom or, at least, depression. Now, it has

been shown experimentally that a constantly subdued frame of mind produces certain poisons in the blood,

called katastates, just as virtuous feelings of pleasure and delight produce helpful chemicals called anastates.

The poisons generated by remorse inveigh against the system, and eventually produce marked physical

In the course of time it told upon his temper. His eye no longer possessed that buoyant, searching shrewdness

which had characterised it in Adams Street. His step was not as sharp and firm. He was given to thinking,

thinking, thinking. The new friends he made were not celebrities. They were of a cheaper, a slightly more

sensual and cruder, grade. He could not possibly take the pleasure in this company that he had in that of those

Slowly, exceedingly slowly, his desire to greet, conciliate, and make at home these people who visited the

Warren Street place passed from him. More and more slowly the significance of the realm he had left began

to be clear. It did not seem so wonderful to be in it when he was in it. It had seemed very easy for any one to

get up there and have ample raiment and money to spend, but now that he was out of it, how far off it

became. He began to see as one sees a city with a wall about it. Men were posted at the gates. You could not

get in. Those inside did not care to come out to see who you were. They were so merry inside there that all

Each day he could read in the evening papers of the doings within this walled city. In the notices of

passengers for Europe he read the names of eminent frequenters of his old resort. In the theatrical column

appeared, from time to time, announcements of the latest successes of men he had known. He knew that they

were at their old gayeties. Pullmans were hauling them to and fro about the land, papers were greeting them

with interesting mentions, the elegant lobbies of hotels and the glow of polished diningrooms were keeping

them close within the walled city. Men whom he had known, men whom he had tipped glasses withrich

men, and he was forgotten! Who was Mr. Wheeler? What was the Warren Street resort? Bah!

If one thinks that such thoughts do not come to so common a type of mindthat such feelings require a

higher mental development I would urge for their consideration the fact that it is the higher mental

development that does away with such thoughts. It is the higher mental development which induces

philosophy and that fortitude which refuses to dwell upon such thingsrefuses to be made to suffer by their

consideration. The common type of mind is exceedingly keen on all matters which relate to its physical

welfareexceedingly keen. It is the unintellectual miser who sweats blood at the loss of a hundred dollars. It

is the Epictetus who smiles when the last vestige of physical welfare is removed.

The time came, in the third year, when this thinking began to produce results in the Warren Street place. The

tide of patronage dropped a little below what it had been at its best since he had been there. This irritated and

There came a night when he confessed to Carrie that the business was not doing as well this month as it had

the month before. This was in lieu of certain suggestions she had made concerning little things she wanted to

buy. She had not failed to notice that he did not seem to consult her about buying clothes for himself. For the

first time, it struck her as a ruse, or that he said it so that she would not think of asking for things. Her reply

was mild enough, but her thoughts were rebellious. He was not looking after her at all. She was depending for

And now the latter announced that they were going away. It was approaching spring, and they were going

"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Vance to Carrie, "we think we might as well give up the flat and store our things. We'll

be gone for the summer, and it would be a useless expense. I think we'll settle a little farther down town when

Carrie heard this with genuine sorrow. She had enjoyed Mrs. Vance's companionship so much. There was no

Hurstwood's gloom over the slight decrease in profits and the departure of the Vances came together. So

Carrie had loneliness and this mood of her husband to enjoy at the same time. It was a grievous thing. She

became restless and dissatisfied, not exactly, as she thought, with Hurstwood, but with life. What was it? A

very dull round indeed. What did she have? Nothing but this narrow, little flat. The Vances could travel, they

could do the things worth doing, and here she was. For what was she made, anyhow? More thought followed,

For another period this state continued, the twain leading a rather monotonous life, and then there was a slight

change for the worse. One evening, Hurstwood, after thinking about a way to modify Carrie's desire for

"Oh, he's a slow, greedy 'mick'! He won't agree to anything to improve the place, and it won't ever pay

"No; I've tried. The only thing I can see, if I want to improve, is to get hold of a place of my own."

"Well, all I have is tied up in there just now. If I had a chance to save a while I think I could open a place that

"We might try it," he suggested. "I've been thinking that if we'd take a smaller flat down town and live

economically for a year, I would have enough, with what I have invested, to open a good place. Then we

"It would suit me all right," said Carrie, who, nevertheless, felt badly to think it had come to this. Talk of a

"There are lots of nice little flats down around Sixth Avenue, below Fourteenth Street. We might get one

"I think I could break away from this fellow inside of a year," said Hurstwood. "Nothing will ever come of

"I'll look around," said Carrie, observing that the proposed change seemed to be a serious thing with him.

The upshot of this was that the change was eventually effected; not without great gloom on the part of Carrie.

It really affected her more seriously than anything that had yet happened. She began to look upon Hurstwood

wholly as a man, and not as a lover or husband. She felt thoroughly bound to him as a wife, and that her lot

was cast with his, whatever it might be; but she began to see that he was gloomy and taciturn, not a young,

strong, and buoyant man. He looked a little bit old to her about the eyes and mouth now, and there were other

things which placed him in his true rank, so far as her estimation was concerned. She began to feel that she

had made a mistake. Incidentally, she also began to recall the fact that he had practically forced her to flee

The new flat was located in Thirteenth Street, a half block west of Sixth Avenue, and contained only four

rooms. The new neighbourhood did not appeal to Carrie as much. There were no trees here, no west view of

the river. The street was solidly built up. There were twelve families here, respectable enough, but nothing

Being left alone in this little place, Carrie did without a girl. She made it charming enough, but could not

make it delight her. Hurstwood was not inwardly pleased to think that they should have to modify their state,

but he argued that he could do nothing. He must put the best face on it, and let it go at that.

He tried to show Carrie that there was no cause for financial alarm, but only congratulation over the chance

he would have at the end of the year by taking her rather more frequently to the theatre and by providing a

liberal table. This was for the time only. He was getting in the frame of mind where he wanted principally to

be alone and to be allowed to think. The disease of brooding was beginning to claim him as a victim. Only

the newspapers and his own thoughts were worth while. The delight of love had again slipped away. It was a

case of live, now, making the best you can out of a very commonplace station in life.

The road downward has but few landings and level places. The very state of his mind, superinduced by his

condition, caused the breach to widen between him and his partner. At last that individual began to wish that

Hurstwood was out of it. It so happened, however, that a real estate deal on the part of the owner of the land

"Did you see that?" said Shaughnessy one morning to Hurstwood, pointing to the real estate column in a copy

He looked, and there was the notice. Mr. August Viele had yesterday registered the transfer of the lot, 25 x 75

feet, at the corner of Warren and Hudson Streets, to J. F. Slawson for the sum of $57,000.

"It doesn't say what the new man's going to do with it," remarked Hurstwood, looking back to the paper.

Sure enough, it did develop. Mr. Slawson owned the property adjoining, and was going to put up a modern

office building. The present one was to be torn down. It would take probably a year and a half to complete the

All these things developed by degrees, and Hurstwood began to ponder over what would become of the

"Do you think it would be worth while to open up somewhere else in the neighbourhood?"

"What would be the use?" said Shaughnessy. "We couldn't get another corner around here."

The approaching change now took on a most serious aspect to Hurstwood. Dissolution meant the loss of his

thousand dollars, and he could not save another thousand in the time. He understood that Shaughnessy was

merely tired of the arrangement, and would probably lease the new corner, when completed, alone. He began

to worry about the necessity of a new connection and to see impending serious financial straits unless

something turned up. This left him in no mood to enjoy his flat or Carrie, and consequently the depression

Meanwhile, he took such time as he could to look about, but opportunities were not numerous. More, he had

not the same impressive personality which he had when he first came to New York. Bad thoughts had put a

shade into his eyes which did not impress others favourably. Neither had he thirteen hundred dollars in hand

to talk with. About a month later, finding that he had not made any progress, Shaughnessy reported definitely

"I guess this thing's got to come to an end," he said, affecting an air of concern.

"Well, if it has, it has," answered Hurstwood, grimly. He would not give the other a key to his opinions,

"You know," he said, "I think I'm going to get the worst of my deal down there."

"Well, the man who owns the ground has sold it. and the new owner won't release it to us. The business may

"It's a trick," said Hurstwood. "That's all. They'll start another place there all right."

Carrie looked at him, and gathered from his whole demeanour what it meant. It was serious, very serious.

Hurstwood thought a while. It was all up with the bluff about money and investment. She could see now that

Carrie pondered over this situation as consistently as Hurstwood, once she got the facts adjusted in her mind.

It took several days for her to fully realise that the approach of the dissolution of her husband's business

meant commonplace struggle and privation. Her mind went back to her early venture in Chicago, the

Hansons and their flat, and her heart revolted. That was terrible! Everything about poverty was terrible. She

wished she knew a way out. Her recent experiences with the Vances had wholly unfitted her to view her own

state with complacence. The glamour of the high life of the city had, in the few experiences afforded her by

the former, seized her completely. She had been taught how to dress and where to go without having ample

means to do either. Now, these things everpresent realities as they werefilled her eyes and mind. The

more circumscribed became her state, the more entrancing seemed this other. And now poverty threatened to

seize her entirely and to remove this other world far upward like a heaven to which any Lazarus might

So, too, the ideal brought into her life by Ames remained. He had gone, but here was his word that riches

were not everything; that there was a great deal more in the world than she knew; that the stage was good,

and the literature she read poor. He was a strong man and cleanhow much stronger and better than

Hurstwood and Drouet she only half formulated to herself, but the difference was painful. It was something to

During the last three months of the Warren Street connection, Hurstwood took parts of days off and hunted,

tracking the business advertisements. It was a more or less depressing business, wholly because of the

thought that he must soon get something or he would begin to live on the few hundred dollars he was saving,

Everything he discovered in his line advertised as an opportunity, was either too expensive or too wretched

for him. Besides, winter was coming, the papers were announcing hardships, and there was a general feeling

of hard times in the air, or, at least, he thought so. In his worry, other people's worries became apparent. No

item about a firm failing, a family starving, or a man dying upon the streets, supposedly of starvation, but

arrested his eye as he scanned the morning papers. Once the "World" came out with a flaring announcement

about "80,000 people out of employment in New York this winter," which struck as a knife at his heart.

This was new reasoning for Hurstwood. In the old days the world had seemed to be getting along well

enough. He had been wont to see similar things in the "Daily News," in Chicago, but they did not hold his

attention. Now, these things were like grey clouds hovering along the horizon of a clear day. They threatened

to cover and obscure his life with chilly greyness. He tried to shake them off, to forget and brace up.

"What's the use worrying? I'm not out yet. I've got six weeks more. Even if worst comes to worst, I've got

Curiously, as he troubled over his future, his thoughts occasionally reverted to his wife and family. He had

avoided such thoughts for the first three years as much as possible. He hated her, and he could get along

without her. Let her go. He would do well enough. Now, however, when he was not doing well enough, he

began to wonder what she was doing, how his children were getting along. He could see them living as nicely

"By George! it's a shame they should have it all," he vaguely thought to himself on several occasions. "I

As he looked back now and analysed the situation which led up to his taking the money, he began mildly to

justify himself. What had he donewhat in the worldthat should bar him out this way and heap such

difficulties upon him? It seemed only yesterday to him since he was comfortable and welltodo. But now it

"She didn't deserve what she got out of me, that is sure. I didn't do so much, if everybody could just know."

There was no thought that the facts ought to be advertised. It was only a mental justification he was seeking

from himself something that would enable him to bear his state as a righteous man.

One afternoon, five weeks before the Warren Street place closed up, he left the saloon to visit three or four

places he saw advertised in the "Herald." One was down in Gold Street, and he visited that, but did not enter.

It was such a cheap looking place he felt that he could not abide it. Another was on the Bowery, which he

knew contained many showy resorts. It was near Grand Street, and turned out to be very handsomely fitted

up. He talked around about investments for fully threequarters of an hour with the proprietor, who

maintained that his health was poor, and that was the reason he wished a partner.

"Well, now, just how much money would it take to buy a half interest here?" said Hurstwood, who saw seven

He tried to put on an air of deliberation, as one who might really buy; but his eyes showed gloom. He wound

up by saying he would think it over, and came away. The man he had been talking to sensed his condition in

The afternoon was as grey as lead and cold. It was blowing up a disagreeable winter wind. He visited a place

far up on the east side, near Sixtyninth Street, and it was five o'clock, and growing dim, when he reached

"How about this ad of yours?" asked Hurstwood, who rather objected to the looks of the place.

Wholly depressed, he started for Thirteenth Street. The flat had only a light in the kitchen, where Carrie was

working. He struck a match and, lighting the gas, sat down in the diningroom without even greeting her. She

Carrie saw things were wrong with him. He was not so handsome when gloomy. The lines at the sides of the

eyes were deepened. Naturally dark of skin, gloom made him look slightly sinister. He was quite a

He folded his paper and drew near, silence holding for a time, except for the "Pass me's."

"Are you still sure to close up?" said Carrie, venturing to take up the subject which they had discussed often

"Oh!" he exclaimed, pushing back from the table, as if to say more, but letting it go at that. Then he picked up

his paper. Carrie left her seat, containing herself with difficulty. He saw she was hurt.

"Don't go 'way," he said, as she started back into the kitchen. "Eat your dinner."

This was the first strong result of the situation between them, but with the nearing of the last day of the

business the gloom became almost a permanent thing. Hurstwood could not conceal his feelings about the

matter. Carrie could not help wondering where she was drifting. It got so that they talked even less than

usual, and yet it was not Hurstwood who felt any objection to Carrie. It was Carrie who shied away from him.

This he noticed. It aroused an objection to her becoming indifferent to him. He made the possibility of

friendly intercourse almost a giant task, and then noticed with discontent that Carrie added to it by her

At last the final day came. When it actually arrived, Hurstwood, who had got his mind into such a state where

a thunderclap and raging storm would have seemed highly appropriate, was rather relieved to find that it was

a plain, ordinary day. The sun shone, the temperature was pleasant. He felt, as he came to the breakfast table,

"I'll go down for a little while," he said after breakfast, "and then I'll look around. Tomorrow I'll spend the

whole day looking about. I think I can get something, now this thing's off my hands."

He went out smiling and visited the place. Shaughnessy was there. They had made all arrangements to share

according to their interests. When, however, he had been there several hours, gone out three more, and

returned, his elation had departed. As much as he had objected to the place, now that it was no longer to exist,

"Well," he said at five o'clock, "we might as well count the change and divide."

Carrie had prepared a good dinner at the flat, but after his ride up, Hurstwood was in a solemn and reflective

As she looked at him, she wondered what his financial state was now. They ate and talked a little.

"It would be nice if you could get some place," said Carrie, prompted by anxiety and hope.

For some days thereafter he put on his overcoat regularly in the morning and sallied forth. On these ventures

he first consoled himself with the thought that with the seven hundred dollars he had he could still make

some advantageous arrangement. He thought about going to some brewery, which, as he knew, frequently

controlled saloons which they leased, and get them to help him. Then he remembered that he would have to

pay out several hundred any way for fixtures and that he would have nothing left for his monthly expenses. It

"No," he said, in his sanest moments, "I can't do it. I'll get something else and save up."

This gettingsomething proposition complicated itself the moment he began to think of what it was he

wanted to do. Manage a place? Where should he get such a position? The papers contained no requests for

managers. Such positions, he knew well enough, were either secured by long years of service or were bought

with a half or third interest. Into a place important enough to need such a manager he had not money enough

Nevertheless, he started out. His clothes were very good and his appearance still excellent, but it involved the

trouble of deluding. People, looking at him, imagined instantly that a man of his age, stout and well dressed,

must be well off. He appeared a comfortable owner of something, a man from whom the common run of

mortals could well expect gratuities. Being now fortythree years of age, and comfortably built, walking was

not easy. He had not been used to exercise for many years. His legs tired, his shoulders ached, and his feet

pained him at the close of the day, even when he took street cars in almost every direction. The mere getting

The fact that people took him to be better off than he was, he well understood. It was so painfully clear to him

that it retarded his search. Not that he wished to be less wellappearing, but that he was ashamed to belie his

He thought of the hotels, but instantly he remembered that he had had no experience as a clerk, and, what was

more important, no acquaintances or friends in that line to whom he could go. He did know some hotel

owners in several cities, including New York, but they knew of his dealings with Fitzgerald and Moy. He

could not apply to them. He thought of other lines suggested by large buildings or businesses which he knew

ofwholesale groceries, hardware, insurance concerns, and the likebut he had had no experience.

How to go about getting anything was a bitter thought. Would he have to go personally and ask; wait outside

an office door, and, then, distinguished and affluent looking, announce that he was looking for something to

He really strolled about, thinking, and then, the weather being cold, stepped into a hotel. He knew hotels well

enough to know that any decent individual was welcome to a chair in the lobby. This was in the Broadway

Central, which was then one of the most important hotels in the city. Taking a chair here was a painful thing

to him. To think he should come to this! He had heard loungers about hotels called chairwarmers. He had

called them that himself in his day. But here he was, despite the possibility of meeting some one who knew

him, shielding himself from cold and the weariness of the streets in a hotel lobby.

"I can't do this way," he said to himself. "There's no use of my starting out mornings without first thinking up

It occurred to him that the positions of bartenders were sometimes open, but he put this out of his mind.

It grew awfully dull sitting in the hotel lobby, and so at four he went home. He tried to put on a business air

as he went in, but it was a feeble imitation. The rocking chair in the diningroom was comfortable. He sank

The least wrinkle crept into his brow as he remembered that this was February 2d, the time the man always

called. He fished down in his pocket for his purse, getting the first taste of paying out when nothing is coming

in. He looked at the fat, green roll as a sick man looks at the one possible saving cure. Then he counted off

He buried himself in his papers and read. Oh, the rest of it the relief from walking and thinking! What

Lethean waters were these floods of telegraphed intelligence! He forgot his troubles, in part. Here was a

young, handsome woman, if you might believe the newspaper drawing, suing a rich, fat, candymaking

husband in Brooklyn for divorce. Here was another item detailing the wrecking of a vessel in ice and snow

off Prince's Bay on Staten Island. A long, bright column told of the doings in the theatrical worldthe plays

produced, the actors appearing, the managers making announcements. Fannie Davenport was just opening at

the Fifth Avenue. Daly was producing "King Lear." He read of the early departure for the season of a party

composed of the Vanderbilts and their friends for Florida. An interesting shooting affray was on in the

mountains of Kentucky. So he read, read, read, rocking in the warm room near the radiator and waiting for

The next morning he looked over the papers and waded through a long list of advertisements, making a few

notes. Then he turned to the malehelpwanted column, but with disagreeable feelings. The day was before

hima long day in which to discover somethingand this was how he must begin to discover. He scanned

the long column, which mostly concerned bakers, bushelmen, cooks, compositors, drivers, and the like,

finding two things only which arrested his eye. One was a cashier wanted in a wholesale furniture house, and

the other a salesman for a whiskey house. He had never thought of the latter. At once he decided to look that

"Goodmorning, sir," said the latter, thinking at first that he was encountering one of his outoftown

"Oh," said the man, showing plainly the enlightenment which had come to him. "Yes. Yes, I did."

"I thought I'd drop in," said Hurstwood, with dignity. "I've had some experience in that line myself."

"Well, I've managed several liquor houses in my time. Recently I owned a thirdinterest in a saloon at

"We did want a salesman," said the man. "I don't know as it's anything 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

The man did not take kindly at all to his "No position to choose." He wanted some one who wasn't thinking

of a choice or something better. Especially not an old man. He wanted some one young, active, and glad to

work actively for a moderate sum. Hurstwood did not please him at all. He had more of an air than his

"Well," he said in answer, "we'd be glad to consider your application. We shan't decide for a few days yet.

He nodded goodmorning and came away. At the corner he looked at the furniture company's address, and

saw that it was in West Twentythird Street. Accordingly, he went up there. The place was not large enough,

however. It looked moderate, the men in it idle and small salaried. He walked by, glancing in, and then

At one o'clock he thought of eating, and went to a restaurant in Madison Square. There he pondered over

places which he might look up. He was tired. It was blowing up grey again. Across the way, through Madison

Square Park, stood the great hotels, looking down upon a busy scene. He decided to go over to the lobby 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

all likelihood he would encounter no one here. Finding a seat on one of the red plush divans close to the great

windows which look out on Broadway's busy rout, he sat musing. His state did not seem so bad in here.

Sitting still and looking out, he could take some slight consolation in the few hundred dollars he had in his

purse. He could forget, in a measure, the weariness of the street and his tiresome searches. Still, it was only

escape from a severe to a less severe state. He was still gloomy and disheartened. There, minutes seemed to

go very slowly. An hour was a long, long time in passing. It was filled for him with observations and mental

comments concerning the actual guests of the hotel, who passed in and out, and those more prosperous

pedestrians whose good fortune showed in their clothes and spirits as they passed along Broadway, outside. It

was nearly the first time since he had arrived in the city that his leisure afforded him ample opportunity to

contemplate this spectacle. Now, being, perforce, idle himself, he wondered at the activity of others. How gay

were the youths he saw, how pretty the women. Such fine clothes they all wore. They were so intent upon

getting somewhere. He saw coquettish glances cast by magnificent girls. Ah, the money it required to train

with suchhow well he knew! How long it had been since he had had the opportunity to do so!

The clock outside registered four. It was a little early, but he thought he would go back to the flat.

This going back to the flat was coupled with the thought that Carrie would think he was sitting around too

much if he came home early. He hoped he wouldn't have to, but the day hung heavily on his hands. Over

there he was on his own ground. He could sit in his rockingchair and read. This busy, distracting, suggestive

scene was shut out. He could read his papers. Accordingly, he went home. Carrie was reading, quite alone. It

After taking off his coat, he felt it incumbent upon him to make some little report of his day.

"I've been talking with a wholesale liquor company," he said. "I may go on the road."

Always from the man at the corner now he bought two papersthe "Evening World" and "Evening Sun." So

He drew up his chair near the radiator and lighted the gas. Then it was as the evening before. His difficulties

The next day was even worse than the one before, because now he could not think of where to go. Nothing he

saw in the papers he studiedtill ten o'clockappealed to him. He felt that he ought to go out, and yet he

They had an arrangement by which he placed twelve dollars a week in her hands, out of which to pay current

expenses. He heaved a little sigh as she said this, and drew out his purse. Again he felt the dread of the thing.

To Carrie he said nothing whatsoever. She could feel that her request disturbed him. To pay her would soon

"Yet, what have I got to do with it?" she thought. "Oh, why should I be made to worry?"

Hurstwood went out and made for Broadway. He wanted to think up some place. Before long, though, he

reached the Grand Hotel at Thirtyfirst Street. He knew of its comfortable lobby. He was cold after his

Thus he justified himself in sitting down in here after his tonsorial treatment.

Again, time hanging heavily on his hands, he went home early, and this continued for several days, each day

the need to hunt paining him, and each day disgust, depression, shamefacedness driving him into lobby

At last three days came in which a storm prevailed, and he did not go out at all. The snow began to fall late

one afternoon. It was a regular flurry of large, soft, white flakes. In the morning it was still coming down with

a high wind, and the papers announced a blizzard. From out the front windows one could see a deep, soft

"I guess I'll not try to go out today," he said to Carrie at breakfast. "It's going to be awful bad, so the papers

"The man hasn't brought my coal, either," said Carrie, who ordered by the bushel.

"I'll go over and see about it," said Hurstwood. This was the first time he had ever suggested doing an errand,

but, somehow, the wish to sit about the house prompted it as a sort of compensation for the privilege.

All day and all night it snowed, and the city began to suffer from a general blockade of traffic. Great attention

was given to the details of the storm by the newspapers, which played up the distress of the poor in large

Hurstwood sat and read by his radiator in the corner. He did not try to think about his need of work. This

storm being so terrific, and tying up all things, robbed him of the need. He made himself wholly comfortable

Carrie observed his ease with some misgiving. For all the fury of the storm she doubted his comfort. He took

Hurstwood, however, read on and on. He did not pay much attention to Carrie. She fulfilled her household

The next day it was still snowing, and the next, bitter cold. Hurstwood took the alarm of the paper and sat

still. Now he volunteered to do a few other little things. One was to go to the butcher, another to the grocery.

He really thought nothing of these little services in connection with their true significance. He felt as if he

were not wholly uselessindeed, in such a stress of weather, quite worth while about the house.

On the fourth day, however, it cleared, and he read that the storm was over. Now, however, he idled, thinking

It was noon before he finally abandoned his papers and got under way. Owing to the slightly warmer

temperature the streets were bad. He went across Fourteenth Street on the car and got a transfer south on

Broadway. One little advertisement he had, relating to a saloon down in Pearl Street. When he reached the

"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 of it. I guess I'll get off," and off he got. In the lobby he took a seat and waited again,

While he was idly pondering, satisfied to be inside, a welldressed man passed up the lobby, stopped, looked

sharply, as if not sure of his memory, and then approached. Hurstwood recognised Cargill, the owner of the

large stables in Chicago of the same name, whom he had last seen at Avery Hall, the night Carrie appeared

there. The remembrance of how this individual brought up his wife to shake hands on that occasion was also

"Why, it's Hurstwood!" said Cargill, remembering now, and sorry that he had not recognised him quickly

"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

"Damn it all," he murmured, turning toward the door. "I knew that would happen."

He walked several blocks up the street. His watch only registered 1.30. He tried to think of some place to go

or something 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 a car. This took him to Fiftyninth Street, which was as good as anywhere else. Landed

here, he turned to walk back along Seventh Avenue, but the slush was too much. The misery of lounging

about with nowhere to go became intolerable. He felt as if he were catching cold.

Stopping at a corner, he waited for a car south bound. This was no day to be out; he would go home.

"It's a miserable day out," was all he said. Then he took off his coat and changed his shoes.

That night he felt a cold coming on and took quinine. He was feverish until morning, and sat about the next

day while Carrie waited on him. He was a helpless creature in sickness, not very handsome in a

dullcoloured bath gown and his hair uncombed. He looked haggard about the eyes and quite old. Carrie

noticed this, and it did not appeal to her. She wanted to be goodnatured and sympathetic, but something about

Toward evening he looked so badly in the weak light that she suggested he go to bed.

"You'd better sleep alone," she said, "you'll feel better. I'll open your bed for you now."

Once during the day, when he sat near the radiator, hunched up and reading, she passed through, and seeing

him, wrinkled her brows. In the front room, where it was not so warm, she sat by the 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 of work,

idle, and indifferent to her. She was merely a servant to him now, nothing more.

This crying made her eyes red, and when, in preparing his bed, she lighted the gas, and, having prepared it,

"What's the matter with you?" he asked, looking into her face. His voice was hoarse and his unkempt head

In a day or two he was up again, but rough weather holding, he stayed in. The Italian newsdealer now

delivered the morning papers, and these he read assiduously. A few times after that he ventured out, but

meeting another of his oldtime friends, he began to feel uneasy sitting about hotel corridors.

Every day he came home early, and at last made no pretence of going anywhere. Winter was no time to look

Naturally, being about the house, he noticed the way Carrie did things. She was far from perfect in household

methods and economy, and her little deviations on this score first caught his eye. Not, however, before her

regular demand for her allowance became a grievous thing. Sitting around as he did, the weeks seemed to

Carrie was very indifferent to the suggestion. These were things which she did not like at all.

"Oh, there are different prices," said Carrie. "Sirloin steak is twentytwo cents."

So he asked about other things, until finally, with the passing days, it seemed to become a mania with him.

His errandrunning capacity also improved. It began in a small way, of course. Carrie, going to get her hat

She acquiesced, and he went. Each afternoon he would go to the corner for the papers.

By degrees she began to use him. Doing this, however, she lost the weekly payment of twelve dollars.

"I think this Italian up here on the corner sells coal at twentyfive cents a bushel. I'll trade with him."

"George, I must have some coal today," or, "You must get some meat of some kind for dinner."

"I only got a halfpound of steak," he said, coming in one afternoon with his papers. "We never seem to eat

These miserable details ate the heart out of Carrie. They blackened her days and grieved her soul. Oh, how

this man had changed! All day and all day, here he sat, reading his papers. The world seemed to have no

attraction. Once in a while he would go out, in fine weather, it might be four or five hours, between eleven

It was apathy with Hurstwood, resulting from his inability to see his way out. Each month drew from his

small store. Now, he had only five hundred dollars left, and this he hugged, half feeling as if he could stave

off absolute necessity for an indefinite period. Sitting around the house, he decided to wear some old clothes

he had. This came first with the bad days. Only once he apologised in the very beginning:

"It's so bad today, 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 a tip of ten cents. In his first distress, he cut down

the tip to five, then to nothing. Later, he tried a tencent barber shop, and, finding that the shave was

satisfactory, patronised regularly. Later still, he put off shaving to every other day, then to every third, and so

Of course, as his own selfrespect vanished, it perished for him in Carrie. She could not understand what had

gotten into the man. He had some money, he had a decent suit remaining, he was not bad looking when

dressed up. She did not forget her own difficult struggle in Chicago, but she did not forget either that she had

never ceased trying. He never tried. He did not even consult the ads in the papers any more.

"What makes you put so much butter on the steak?" he asked her one evening, standing around in the kitchen.

He shut up after this, and went in to his paper, but the retort rankled in his mind. It was the first cutting

That same evening, Carrie, after reading, went off to the front room to bed. This was unusual. When

Hurstwood decided to go, he retired, as usual, without a light. It was then that he discovered Carrie's absence.

He gave the matter no more thought, but slept. In the morning she was not beside him. Strange to say, this

Night approaching, and a slightly more conversational feeling prevailing, Carrie said:

"All right," he said to himself, with an irrepressible frown, "let her sleep alone."

The Vances, who had been back in the city ever since Christmas, had not forgotten Carrie; but they, or rather

Mrs. Vance, had never called on her, for the very simple reason that Carrie had never sent her address. True

to her nature, she corresponded with Mrs. Vance as long as she still lived in Seventyeighth Street, but when

she was compelled to move into Thirteenth, her fear that the latter would take it as an indication of reduced

circumstances caused her to study some way of avoiding the necessity of giving her address. Not finding any

convenient method, she sorrowfully resigned the privilege of writing to her friend entirely. The latter

wondered at this strange silence, thought Carrie must have left the city, and in the end gave her up as lost. So

she was thoroughly surprised to encounter her in Fourteenth Street, where she had gone shopping. Carrie was

"Why, Mrs. Wheeler," said Mrs. Vance, looking Carrie over in a glance, "where have you been? Why haven't

you been to see me? I've been wondering all this time what had become of you. Really, I"

"I'm so glad to see you," said Carrie, pleased and yet nonplussed. Of all times, this was the worst to encounter

Mrs. Vance. "Why, I'm living down town here. I've been intending to come and see you. Where are you

"In Fiftyeighth Street," said Mrs. Vance, "just off Seventh Avenue218. Why don't you come and see

"I will," said Carrie. "Really, I've been wanting to come. I know I ought to. It's a shame. But you know"

"Well, you're a fine one," said Mrs. Vance, laughing, the while noting that Carrie's appearance had modified

When Carrie returned home, there was Hurstwood, reading as usual. He seemed to take his condition with the

She shook her head in absolute misery. It looked as if her situation was becoming unbearable.

"Well, she can afford it as long as he puts up for it," returned Hurstwood. "He's got a soft job."

Hurstwood was looking into the paper. He could not see the look of infinite weariness and discontent Carrie

"She's been long getting round to it, hasn't she?" said Hurstwood, with a kind of sarcasm.

"Oh, I don't know," said Carrie, angered by the man's attitude. "Perhaps I didn't want her to come."

"She's too gay," said Hurstwood, significantly. "No one can keep up with her pace unless they've got a lot of

"He may not now," answered Hurstwood, doggedly, well understanding the inference; "but his life isn't done

There was something quite knavish in the man's attitude. His eye seemed to be cocked with a twinkle upon

the fortunate, expecting their defeat. His own state seemed a thing apartnot considered.

This thing was the remains of his oldtime cocksureness and independence. Sitting in his flat, and reading of

the doings of other people, sometimes this independent, undefeated mood came upon him. Forgetting the

weariness of the streets and the degradation of search, he would sometimes prick up his ears. It was as if he

"I can do something. I'm not down yet. There's a lot of things coming to me if I want to go after them."

It was in this mood that he would occasionally dress up, go for a shave, and, putting on his gloves, sally forth

quite actively. Not with any definite aim. It was more a barometric condition. He felt just right for being

On such occasions, his money went also. He knew of several poker rooms down town. A few acquaintances

he had in downtown resorts and about the City Hall. It was a change to see them and exchange a few friendly

He had once been accustomed to hold a pretty fair hand at poker. Many a friendly game had netted him a

hundred dollars or more at the time when that sum was merely sauce to the dish of the game not the all in

It is but fair to say that this thought had occurred to him several times before he acted upon it.

The poker room which he first invaded was over a saloon in West Street, near one of the ferries. He had been

there before. Several games were going. These he watched for a time and noticed that the pots were quite

"Deal me a hand," he said at the beginning of a new shuffle. He pulled up a chair and studied his cards. Those

playing made that quiet study of him which is so unapparent, and yet invariably so searching.

Poor fortune was with him at first. He received a mixed collection without progression or pairs. The pot was

On the strength of this, he was content to lose his ante. The deals did fairly by him in the long run, causing

The next afternoon he was back again, seeking amusement and profit. This time he followed up three of a

kind to his doom. There was a better hand across the table, held by a pugnacious Irish youth, who was a

political hangeron of the Tammany district in which they were located. Hurstwood was surprised at the

persistence of this individual, whose bets came with a sangfroid which, if a bluff, was excellent art.

Hurstwood began to doubt, but kept, or thought to keep, at least, the cool demeanour with which, in olden

times, he deceived those psychic students of the gaming table, who seem to read thoughts and moods, rather

than exterior evidences, however subtle. He could not down the cowardly thought that this man had

something better and would stay to the end, drawing his last dollar into the pot, should he choose to go so far.

"Let me have some more chips," said Hurstwood to the keeper in charge, taking out a bill.

A cynical grin lit up the face of his youthful opponent. When the chips were laid out, Hurstwood met the

Hurstwood's brow was wet. He was deep in nowvery deep for him. Sixty dollars of his good money was

up. He was ordinarily no coward, but the thought of losing so much weakened him. Finally he gave way. He

The youth raked in his chips, and Hurstwood came away, not without first stopping to count his remaining

Remembering Mrs. Vance's promise to call, Carrie made one other mild protest. It was concerning

Hurstwood's appearance. This very day, coming home, he changed his clothes to the old togs he sat around

"Well, I should think you'd feel better." Then she added: "Some one might call."

"Oh," she thought, "there he sits. 'She needn't see me.' I should think he would be ashamed of himself."

The real bitterness of this thing was added when Mrs. Vance did call. It was on one of her shopping rounds.

Making her way up the commonplace hall, she knocked at Carrie's door. To her subsequent and agonising

distress, Carrie was out. Hurstwood opened the door, halfthinking that the knock was Carrie's. For once, he

"How do you do?" said Mrs. Vance, who could scarcely believe her eyes. His great confusion she instantly

"Noo," said Mrs. Vance, realising the change of it all. "I'm really very much in a hurry. I thought I'd just run

up and look in, but I couldn't stay. Just tell your wife she must come and see me."

"I will," said Hurstwood, standing back, and feeling intense relief at her going. He was so ashamed that he

Carrie, coming in from another direction, thought she saw Mrs. Vance going away. She strained her eyes, but

"Did she see you?" she asked, expressing her full despair. This cut Hurstwood like a whip, and made him

"Oh," said Carrie, closing one hand tightly out of sheer nervousness. "What did she have to say?"

"You knew she might," said Carrie. "I told you she said she was coming. I've asked you a dozen times to

"Oh, let up," he answered. "What difference does it make? You couldn't associate with her, anyway. They've

"It's true," she said. "I couldn't if I wanted to, but whose fault is it? You're very free to sit and talk about who

"What's it to you?" he said, rising, almost fiercely. "I pay the rent, don't I? I furnish the"

"Yes, you pay the rent," said Carrie. "You talk as if there was nothing else in the world but a flat to sit around

in. You haven't done a thing for three months except sit around and interfere here. I'd like to know what you

"Well, I didn't marry you," he answered. "You can get that out of your head. You talk as though you didn't

Carrie looked at him a moment, her eyes distending. She had believed it was all legal and binding enough.

"What did you lie to me for, then?" she asked, fiercely. "What did you force me to run away with you for?"

"Oh!" said Carrie, breaking under the strain, and turning. "Oh, oh!" and she hurried into the front room.

Hurstwood was now hot and waked up. It was a great shaking up for him, both mental and moral. He wiped

his brow as he looked around, and then went for his clothes and dressed. Not a sound came from Carrie; she

ceased sobbing when she heard him dressing. She thought, at first, with the faintest alarm, of being left

without moneynot of losing him, though he might be going away permanently. She heard him open the top

of the wardrobe and take out his hat. Then the diningroom door closed, and she knew he had gone.

After a few moments of silence, she stood up, dryeyed, and looked out the window. Hurstwood was just

The latter made progress along Thirteenth and across Fourteenth Street to Union Square.

"Look for work!" he said to himself. "Look for work! She tells me to get out and look for work."

He tried to shield himself from his own mental accusation, which told him that she was right.

"What a cursed thing that Mrs. Vance's call was, anyhow," he thought. "Stood right there, and looked me

He remembered the few times he had seen her in Seventyeight Street. She was always a swelllooker, and

he had tried to put on the air of being worthy of such as she, in front of her. Now, to think she had caught him

It was a quarter after four when he left the house. Carrie was in tears. There would be no dinner that night.

"What the deuce," he said, swaggering mentally to hide his own shame from himself. "I'm not so bad. I'm not

He looked around the square, and seeing the several large hotels, decided to go to one for dinner. He would

He ascended into the fine parlour of the Morton House, then one of the best New York hotels, and, finding a

cushioned seat, read. It did not trouble him much that his decreasing sum of money did not allow of such

extravagance. Like the morphine fiend, he was becoming addicted to his ease. Anything to relieve his mental

distress, to satisfy his craving for comfort. He must do it. No thoughts for the morrowhe could not stand to

think of it any more than he could of any other calamity. Like the certainty of death, he tried to shut the

certainty of soon being without a dollar completely out of his mind, and he came very near doing it.

Welldressed guests moving to and fro over the thick carpets carried him back to the old days. A young lady,

a guest of the house, playing a piano in an alcove pleased him. He sat there reading.

His dinner cost him $1.50. By eight o'clock he was through, and then, seeing guests leaving and the crowd of

pleasureseekers thickening outside wondered where he should go. Not home. Carrie would be up. No, he

would not go back there this evening. He would stay out and knock around as a man who was independent

not brokewell might. He bought a cigar, and went outside on the corner where other individuals were

loungingbrokers, racing people, thespianshis own flesh and blood. As he stood there, he thought of the

old evenings in Chicago, and how he used to dispose of them. Many's the game he had had. This took him to

"I didn't do that thing right the other day," he thought, referring to his loss of sixty dollars. "I shouldn't have

weakened. I could have bluffed that fellow down. I wasn't in form, that's what ailed me."

Then he studied the possibilities of the game as it had been played, and began to figure how he might have

"I'm old enough to play poker and do something with it. I'll try my hand tonight."

Visions of a big stake floated before him. Supposing he did win a couple of hundred, wouldn't he be in it?

So off he went to a poker room in the neighbourhood, feeling much as he had in the old days. In this period of

selfforgetfulness, aroused first by the shock of argument and perfected by a dinner in the hotel, with

cocktails and cigars, he was as nearly like the old Hurstwood as he would ever be again. It was not the old

This poker room was much like the other one, only it was a back room in a better drinking resort. Hurstwood

watched a while, and then, seeing an interesting game, joined in. As before, it went easy for a while, he

winning a few times and cheering up, losing a few pots and growing more interested and determined on that

account. At last the fascinating game took a strong hold on him. He enjoyed its risks and ventured, on a

trifling hand, to bluff the company and secure a fair stake. To his selfsatisfaction intense and strong, he did

In the height of this feeling he began to think his luck was with him. No one else had done so well. Now

came another moderate hand, and again he tried to open the jackpot on it. There were others there who were

"I have three of a kind," said one of the players to himself. "I'll just stay with that fellow to the finish."

It got to where Hurstwood had seventyfive dollars up. The other man really became serious. Perhaps this

Hurstwood showed his hand. He was done. The bitter fact that he had lost seventyfive dollars made him

Some of the other players quit, but observant loungers took their places. Time passed, and it came to twelve

o'clock. Hurstwood held on, neither winning nor losing much. Then he grew weary, and on a last hand lost

At a quarter after one in the morning he came out of the place. The chill, bare streets seemed a mockery of his

state. He walked slowly west, little thinking of his row with Carrie. He ascended the stairs and went into his

room as if there had been no trouble. It was his loss that occupied his mind. Sitting down on the bedside he

counted his money. There was now but a hundred and ninety dollars and some change. He put it up and

In the morning Carrie scarcely spoke and he felt as if he must go out again. He had treated her badly, but he

could not afford to make up. Now desperation seized him, and for a day or two, going out thus, he lived like a

gentlemanor what he conceived to be a gentlemanwhich took money. For his escapades he was soon

poorer in mind and body, to say nothing of his purse, which had lost thirty by the process. Then he came

"The rent man comes today," said Carrie, greeting him thus indifferently three mornings later.

It would be useless to explain how in due time the last fifty dollars was in sight. The seven hundred, by his

process of handling, had only carried them into June. Before the final hundred mark was reached he began to

"I don't know," he said one day, taking a trivial expenditure for meat as a text, "it seems to take an awful lot

He looked so disconsolate that it scared her. She began to see that she herself had been drifting. She had felt it

"Well, George," she exclaimed, "why don't you get out and look for something? You could find something."

She gazed weakly at him and said: "Well, what do you think you will do? A hundred dollars won't last long."

Carrie became frightened over this announcement. She thought desperately upon the subject. Frequently she

had considered the stage as a door through which she might enter that gilded state which she had so much

craved. Now, as in Chicago, it came as a last resource in distress. Something must be done if he did not get

She began to wonder how one would go about getting a place. Her experience in Chicago proved that she had

not tried the right way. There must be people who would listen to and try youmen who would give you an

They were talking at the breakfast table, a morning or two later, when she brought up the dramatic subject by

saying that she saw that Sarah Bernhardt was coming to this country. Hurstwood had seen it, too.

Without being clear, there was something in the thought which he objected to. He did not believe any more,

after three years of observation, that Carrie would ever do anything great in that line. She seemed too simple,

too yielding. His idea of the art was that it involved something more pompous. If she tried to get on the stage

she would fall into the hands of some cheap manager and become like the rest of them. He had a good idea of

what he meant by THEM. Carrie was pretty. She would get along all right, but where would he be?

"I'd get that idea out of my head, if I were you. It's a lot more difficult than you think."

"You did," he answered, seeing that he was arousing opposition, "but Chicago isn't New York, by a big

"The stage," he went on, "is all right if you can be one of the big guns, but there's nothing to the rest of it. It

In a flash, he thought he foresaw the result of this thing. Now, when the worst of his situation was

approaching, she would get on the stage in some cheap way and forsake him. Strangely, he had not conceived

well of her mental ability. That was because he did not understand the nature of emotional greatness. He had

never learned that a person might be emotionallyinstead of intellectuallygreat. Avery Hall was too far

away for him to look back and sharply remember. He had lived with this woman too long.

"Well, I do," he answered. "If I were you I wouldn't think of it. It's not much of a profession for a woman."

"It's better than going hungry," said Carrie. "If you don't want me to do that, why don't you get work

The result of this was that she secretly resolved to try. It didn't matter about him. She was not going to be

dragged into poverty and something worse to suit him. She could act. She could get something and then work

up. What would he say then? She pictured herself already appearing in some fine performance on Broadway;

of going every evening to her dressingroom and making up. Then she would come out at eleven o'clock and

see the carriages ranged about, waiting for the people. It did not matter whether she was the star or not. If she

were only once in, getting a decent salary, wearing the kind of clothes she liked, having the money to do

with, going here and there as she pleased, how delightful it would all be. Her mind ran over this picture all

the day long. Hurstwood's dreary state made its beauty become more and more vivid.

Curiously this idea soon took hold of Hurstwood. His vanishing sum suggested that he would need

sustenance. Why could not Carrie assist him a little until he could get something?

"I met John B. Drake today," he said. "He's going to open a hotel here in the fall. He says that he can make a

"If I can only get over this summer," he added, "I think I'll be all right. I'm hearing from some of my friends

Carrie swallowed this story in all its pristine beauty. She sincerely wished he could get through the summer.

"Oh, mercy," she exclaimed, "what will we do? It's only twenty days until the rent will be due again."

"I'll lay my hand to whatever I can get," he said, now that he saw her brighten up. "I can get something."

She cleaned up the things one morning after he had gone, dressed as neatly as her wardrobe permitted, and set

out for Broadway. She did not know that thoroughfare very well. To her it was a wonderful conglomeration

of everything great and mighty. The theatres were therethese agencies must be somewhere about.

She decided to stop in at the Madison Square Theatre and ask how to find the theatrical agents. This seemed

the sensible way. Accordingly, when she reached that theatre she applied to the clerk at the box office.

"Eh?" he said, looking out. "Dramatic agents? I don't know. You'll find them in the 'Clipper,' though. They all

"Yes," said the clerk, marvelling at such ignorance of a common fact. "You can get it at the newsstands," he

Carrie proceeded to get the "Clipper," and tried to find the agents by looking over it as she stood beside the

stand. This could not be done so easily. Thirteenth Street was a number of blocks off, but she went back,

He felt a little diffident about asking concerning her success. The paper she began to scan attracted his

"Have you been all the way over to Broadway to find that out? I could have told you."

She went hunting aimlessly through the crowded columns. Her mind was distracted by this man's

indifference. The difficulty of the situation she was facing was only added to by all he did. Selfcommiseration

brewed in her heart. Tears trembled along her eyelids but did not fall. Hurstwood noticed something.

To recover herself she went into the front room while he searched. Presently she returned. He had a pencil,

Carrie took it and found that one was Mrs. Bermudez, another Marcus Jenks, a third Percy Weil. She paused

Hurstwood saw her depart with some faint stirrings of shame, which were the expression of a manhood

rapidly becoming stultified. He sat a while, and then it became too much. He got up and put on his hat.

"I guess I'll go out," he said to himself, and went, strolling nowhere in particular, but feeling somehow that he

Carrie's first call was upon Mrs. Bermudez, whose address was quite the nearest. It was an oldfashioned

residence turned into offices. Mrs. Bermudez's offices consisted of what formerly had been a back chamber

As Carrie entered she noticed several persons lounging about men, who said nothing and did nothing.

While she was waiting to be noticed, the door of the hall bedroom opened and from it issued two very

mannishlooking women, very tightly dressed, and wearing white collars and cuffs. After them came a portly

lady of about fortyfive, lighthaired, sharpeyed, and evidently goodnatured. At least she was smiling.

"I won't," said the portly woman. "Let's see," she added, "where are you the first week in February?"

Instantly the portly lady's face became exceedingly sober and shrewd. She turned about and fixed on Carrie a

"Well," said Carrie, hesitating how to begin, "do you get places for persons upon the stage?"

"Oh, I see," said the woman, interrupting her. "No, I don't know of anything now."

"You want to get some New York experience," concluded the affable Mrs. Bermudez. "We'll take your name,

"What is your address?" inquired a young lady behind the counter, taking up the curtailed conversation.

"Mrs. George Wheeler," said Carrie, moving over to where she was writing. The woman wrote her address in

She encountered a very similar experience in the office of Mr. Jenks, only he varied it by saying at the close:

"If you could play at some local house, or had a programme with your name on it, I might do something."

"Well," said the man, "it'll cost you something to do that." "How much?" said Carrie, who, ridiculous as it

The agent saw he was dealing with an inexperienced soul, and continued accordingly.

"You'd want to deposit fifty dollars, anyway. No agent would trouble about you for less than that."

"Well, that's hard to say," said the man. "You might get one in a week, or it might be a month. You'd get the

Carrie found ample food for reflection in the fiftydollar proposition. "Maybe they'd take my money and not

give me anything," she thought. She had some jewelrya diamond ring and pin and several other pieces.

"I didn't find out anything today," said Carrie, taking off her gloves. "They all want money to get you a

"Oh, they're like everybody else. You can't tell whether they'd ever get you anything after you did pay them."

"Well, I wouldn't put up fifty on that basis," said Hurstwood, as if he were deciding, money in hand.

Hurstwood heard this, dead to the horror of it. He rocked a little to and fro, and chewed at his finger. It

When Carrie renewed her search, as she did the next day, going to the Casino, she found that in the opera

chorus, as in other fields, employment is difficult to secure. Girls who can stand in a line and look pretty are

as numerous as labourers who can swing a pick. She found there was no discrimination between one and the

other of applicants, save as regards a conventional standard of prettiness and form. Their own opinion or

"Where shall I find Mr. Gray?" she asked of a sulky doorman at the stage entrance of the Casino.

She knew there was no need of calling there now. He would not be in. Nothing remained but to employ the

The dismal story of ventures in other places is quickly told. Mr. Daly saw no one save by appointment. Carrie

waited an hour in a dingy office, quite in spite of obstacles, to learn this fact of the placid, indifferent Mr.

At the Empire Theatre she found a hive of peculiarly listless and indifferent individuals. Everything ornately

At the Lyceum she entered one of those secluded, understairway closets, berugged and bepaneled, which

causes one to feel the greatness of all positions of authority. Here was reserve itself done into a boxoffice

"Ah, be very humble nowvery humble indeed. Tell us what it is you require. Tell it quickly, nervously, and

without a vestige of selfrespect. If no trouble to us in any way, we may see what we can do."

This was the atmosphere of the Lyceumthe attitude, for that matter, of every managerial office in the city.

"I didn't get to see any one," said Carrie. "I just walked, and walked, and waited around."

"I suppose you have to have some friends before you can get in," she added, disconsolately.

Hurstwood saw the difficulty of this thing, and yet it did not seem so terrible. Carrie was tired and dispirited,

but now she could rest. Viewing the world from his rockingchair, its bitterness did not seem to approach so

He was a large and corpulent individual, surfeited with good clothes and good eating, who judged women as

another would horseflesh. Carrie was pretty and graceful. She might be put in even if she did not have any

experience. One of the proprietors had suggested that the chorus was a little weak on looks.

The first of next week was some days off yet. The first of the month was drawing near. Carrie began to worry

"Do you really look for anything when you go out?" she asked Hurstwood one morning as a climax to some

"Of course I do," he said pettishly, troubling only a little over the disgrace of the insinuation.

"I'd take anything," she said, "for the present. It will soon be the first of the month again."

"He would look for something," he thought. "He would go and see if some brewery couldn't get him in

It was the same sort of pilgrimage he had made before. One or two slight rebuffs, and the bravado

Now that his money was so low, he began to observe his clothes and feel that even his best ones were

"I went to see some of the variety managers," she said, aimlessly. "You have to have an act. They don't want

"I saw some of the brewery people today," said Hurstwood. "One man told me he'd try to make a place for

In the face of so much distress on Carrie's part, he had to make some showing, and it was thus he did so. It

"Did I tell you to come around to day?" said the manager, looking her over as she stood before him.

He looked her over again as he stirred among some papers. He was secretly pleased with this pretty,

"I will," she said with difficulty. She could see he wanted her, and turned to go.

A sharp voice answered her mental interrogation, driving away all immediate fears on that score.

"Be sure you're there promptly," the manager said roughly. "You'll be dropped if you're not."

Carrie hastened away. She did not quarrel now with Hurstwood's idleness. She had a placeshe had a place!

In her delight she was almost anxious to tell Hurstwood. But, as she walked homeward, and her survey of the

facts of the case became larger, she began to think of the anomaly of her finding work in several weeks and

"Why don't he get something?" she openly said to herself. "If I can he surely ought to. It wasn't very hard for

She forgot her youth and her beauty. The handicap of age she did not, in her enthusiasm, perceive.

Still, she could not keep her secret. She tried to be calm and indifferent, but it was a palpable sham.

"What sort of a place is it?" he asked, feeling in his veins as if now he might get something good also.

There was more explanation volunteered by Carrie, because she was happy. At last Hurstwood said:

"No, I didn't want to ask," said Carrie. "I guess they pay twelve or fourteen dollars a week."

There was a good dinner in the flat that evening, owing to the mere lifting of the terrible strain. Hurstwood

"Now, tomorrow," he thought, "I'll look around myself," and with renewed hope he lifted his eyes from the

On the morrow Carrie reported promptly and was given a place in the line. She saw a large, empty, shadowy

playhouse, still redolent of the perfumes and blazonry of the night, and notable for its rich, oriental

appearance. The wonder of it awed and delighted her. Blessed be its wondrous reality. How hard she would

try to be worthy of it. It was above the common mass, above idleness, above want, above insignificance.

People came to it in finery and carriages to see. It was ever a centre of light and mirth. And here she was of it.

"Madenda," she replied, instantly mindful of the name Drouet had selected in Chicago. "Carrie Madenda."

"Well, now, Miss Madenda," he said, very affably, as Carrie thought, "you go over there."

This young lady stepped forward, so that Carrie saw where to go, and the rehearsal began.

Carrie soon found that while this drilling had some slight resemblance to the rehearsals as conducted at Avery

Hall, the attitude of the manager was much more pronounced. She had marvelled at the insistence and

superior airs of Mr. Millice, but the individual conducting here had the same insistence, coupled with almost

brutal roughness. As the drilling proceeded, he seemed to wax exceedingly wroth over trifles, and to increase

his lung power in proportion. It was very evident that he had a great contempt for any assumption of dignity

"Clark," he would callmeaning, of course, Miss Clark"why don't you catch step there?"

"By fours, right! Right, I said, right! For heaven's sake, get on to yourself! Right!" and in saying this he

A nervous, comelydressed little girl stepped out. Carrie trembled for her out of the fulness of her own

"Hold on a minute," cried the manager, throwing up his hands, as if in despair. His demeanour was fierce.

At last Carrie's turn came. It was because of her extreme anxiety to do all that was required that brought on

She looked around to see who it could be. A girl behind shoved her a little, but she did not understand.

"Why don't you do it then? Don't go shuffling along as if you were dead. I've got to have people with life in

It was this constant urging, coupled with irascibility and energy, for three long hours. Carrie came away worn

enough in body, but too excited in mind to notice it. She meant to go home and practise her evolutions as

When she reached the flat Hurstwood was not there. For a wonder he was out looking for work, as she

supposed. She took only a mouthful to eat and then practised on, sustained by visions of freedom from

When Hurstwood returned he was not so elated as when he went away, and now she was obliged to drop

practice and get dinner. Here was an early irritation. She would have her work and this. Was she going to act

Each day thereafter brought its cares. She found it was not such a wonderful thing to be in the chorus, and she

also learned that her salary would be twelve dollars a week. After a few days she had her first sight of those

high and mightiesthe leading ladies and gentlemen. She saw that they were privileged and deferred to. She

At home was Hurstwood, daily giving her cause for thought. He seemed to get nothing to do, and yet he made

bold to inquire how she was getting along. The regularity with which he did this smacked of some one who

was waiting to live upon her labour. Now that she had a visible means of support, this irritated her. He

"I got some lard," he would add, as an afterthought. "I thought maybe you might want to make some biscuit."

The calm suggestion of the man astonished her a little, especially in the light of recent developments. Her

dawning independence gave her more courage to observe, and she felt as if she wanted to say things. Still she

could not talk to him as she had to Drouet. There was something in the man's manner of which she had

One day, after her first week's rehearsal, what she expected came openly to the surface.

"We'll have to be rather saving," he said, laying down some meat he had purchased. "You won't get any

Instantly she remembered that she had hoped to buy a few things for herself. She needed clothes. Her hat was

"What will twelve dollars do towards keeping up this flat?" she thought. "I can't do it. Why doesn't he get

The important night of the first real performance came. She did not suggest to Hurstwood that he come and

see. He did not think of going. It would only be money wasted. She had such a small part.

The advertisements were already in the papers; the posters upon the billboards. The leading lady and many

As in Chicago, she was seized with stage fright as the very first entrance of the ballet approached, but later

she recovered. The apparent and painful insignificance of the part took fear away from her. She felt that she

was so obscure it did not matter. Fortunately, she did not have to wear tights. A group of twelve were

assigned pretty goldenhued skirts which came only to a line about an inch above the knee. Carrie happened

In standing about the stage, marching, and occasionally lifting up her voice in the general chorus, she had a

chance to observe the audience and to see the inauguration of a great hit. There was plenty of applause, but

"I could do better than that," Carrie ventured to herself, in several instances. To do her justice, she was right.

After it was over she dressed quickly, and as the manager had scolded some others and passed her, she

imagined she must have proved satisfactory. She wanted to get out quickly, because she knew but few, and

the stars were gossiping. Outside were carriages and some correct youths in attractive clothing, waiting.

Carrie saw that she was scanned closely. The flutter of an eyelash would have brought her a companion. That

Carrie merely hastened her steps and took the Sixth Avenue car. Her head was so full of the wonder of it that

"Did you hear any more from the brewery?" she asked at the end of the week, hoping by the question to stir

"No," he answered, "they're not quite ready yet. I think something will come of that, though."

She said nothing more then, objecting to giving up her own money, and yet feeling that such would have to

be the case. Hurstwood felt the crisis, and artfully decided to appeal to Carrie. He had long since realised how

goodnatured she was, how much she would stand. There was some little shame in him at the thought of

doing so, but he justified himself with the thought that he really would get something. Rent day gave him his

"Well," he said, as he counted it out, "that's about the last of my money. I'll have to get something pretty

"If I could only hold out a little longer I think I could get something. Drake is sure to open a hotel here in

"Is he?" said Carrie, thinking of the short month that still remained until that time.

"Would you mind helping me out until then?" he said appealingly. "I think I'll be all right after that time."

"Oh, I'll help you," said Carrie, feeling quite hardhearted at thus forcing him to humbly appeal, and yet her

"Why don't you take anything, George, temporarily?" she said. "What difference does it make? Maybe, after

"I will take anything," he said, relieved, and wincing under reproof. "I'd just as leave dig on the streets.

"Oh, you needn't do that," said Carrie, hurt by the pity of it. "But there must be other things."

What Hurstwood got as the result of this determination was more selfassurance that each particular day was

not the day. At the same time, Carrie passed through thirty days of mental distress.

Her need of clothesto say nothing of her desire for ornaments grew rapidly as the fact developed that for

all her work she was not to have them. The sympathy she felt for Hurstwood, at the time he asked her to tide

him over, vanished with these newer urgings of decency. He was not always renewing his request, but this

love of good appearance was. It insisted, and Carrie wished to satisfy it, wished more and more that

Hurstwood reasoned, when he neared the last ten dollars, that he had better keep a little pocket change and

not become wholly dependent for carfare, shaves, and the like; so when this sum was still in his hand he

"I'm clear out," he said to Carrie one afternoon. "I paid for some coal this morning, and that took all but ten or

Hurstwood went to get it, starting for a can of tomatoes. Carrie scarcely noticed that this was the beginning of

the new order. He took out fifteen cents and bought the can with it. Thereafter it was dribs and drabs of this

sort, until one morning Carrie suddenly remembered that she would not be back until close to dinner time.

"We're all out of flour," she said; "you'd better get some this afternoon. We haven't any meat, either. How

She opened her purse and laid down a half dollar. He pretended not to notice it.

Hurstwood bought the flourwhich all grocers sold in 3 1/2pound packagesfor thirteen cents and paid

fifteen cents for a halfpound of liver and bacon. He left the packages, together with the balance of

twentytwo cents, upon the kitchen table, where Carrie found it. It did not escape her that the change was

accurate. There was something sad in realising that, after all, all that he wanted of her was something to eat.

She felt as if hard thoughts were unjust. Maybe he would get something yet. He had no vices.

That very evening, however, on going into the theatre, one of the chorus girls passed her all newly arrayed in

a pretty mottled tweed suit, which took Carrie's eye. The young woman wore a fine bunch of violets and

seemed in high spirits. She smiled at Carrie goodnaturedly as she passed, showing pretty, even teeth, and

"She can afford to dress well," thought Carrie, "and so could I, if I could only keep my money. I haven't a

She put out her foot and looked at her shoe reflectively. "I'll get a pair of shoes Saturday, anyhow; I don't care

One of the sweetest and most sympathetic little chorus girls in the company made friends with her because in

Carrie she found nothing to frighten her away. She was a gay little Manon, unwitting of society's fierce

conception of morality, but, nevertheless, good to her neighbour and charitable. Little license was allowed the

"It's warm tonight, isn't it?" said this girl, arrayed in pink fleshings and an imitation golden helmet. She also

Carrie looked into her pretty face, with its large blue eyes, and saw little beads of moisture.

This conversation was interrupted by the blare of the orchestra and the sputtering of the calcium lights in the

wings as the line was called to form for a new entrance. No further opportunity for conversation occurred, but

the next evening, when they were getting ready for the stage, this girl appeared anew at her side.

"Oh, they'll take you. I wouldn't go. They won't give you any more, and it will cost you everything you make

"I always have. There's one going on up at the Broadway this month. I'm going to try and get in that if this

Carrie heard this with aroused intelligence. Evidently it wasn't so very difficult to get on. Maybe she also

"Do you?" said the girl. "They pay me fifteen, and you do more work than I do. I wouldn't stand it if I were

you. They're just giving you less because they think you don't know. You ought to be making fifteen."

"Well, you'll get more at the next place if you want it," went on the girl, who admired Carrie very much.

To say the truth, Carrie did unconsciously move about with an air pleasing and somewhat distinctive. It was

"Of course you can," answered the girl. "You come with me when I go. I'll do the talking."

Carrie heard this, flushing with thankfulness. She liked this little gaslight soldier. She seemed so experienced

Still, in the morning, when her household duties would infringe upon her and Hurstwood sat there, a perfect

load to contemplate, her fate seemed dismal and unrelieved. It did not take so very much to feed them under

Hurstwood's closemeasured buying, and there would possibly be enough for rent, but it left nothing else.

Carrie bought the shoes and some other things, which complicated the rent problem very seriously. Suddenly,

"I don't believe," she exclaimed, looking into her purse at breakfast, "that I'll have enough to pay the rent."

"Well, I've got twentytwo dollars, but there's everything to be paid for this week yet, and if I use all I get

Saturday to pay this, there won't be any left for next week. Do you think your hotel man will open his hotel

"Don't worry about it. Maybe the grocer will wait. He can do that. We've traded there long enough to make

On this account, Hurstwood, this very day, looked grocer Oeslogge clearly in the eye as he ordered a pound

Hurstwood, still tactful in distress, added nothing to this. It seemed an easy thing. He looked out of the door,

and then gathered up his coffee when ready and came away. The game of a desperate man had begun.

Rent was paid, and now came the grocer. Hurstwood managed by paying out of his own ten and collecting

from Carrie at the end of the week. Then he delayed a day next time settling with the grocer, and so soon had

his ten back, with Oeslogge getting his pay on this Thursday or Friday for last Saturday's bill.

This entanglement made Carrie anxious for a change of some sort. Hurstwood did not seem to realise that she

had a right to anything. He schemed to make what she earned cover all expenses, but seemed not to trouble

"He talks about worrying," thought Carrie. "If he worried enough he couldn't sit there and wait for me. He'd

get something to do. No man could go seven months without finding something if he tried."

The sight of him always around in his untidy clothes and gloomy appearance drove Carrie to seek relief in

other places. Twice a week there were matinees, and then Hurstwood ate a cold snack, which he prepared

himself. Two other days there were rehearsals beginning at ten in the morning and lasting usually until one.

Now, to this Carrie added a few visits to one or two chorus girls, including the blueeyed soldier of the

golden helmet. She did it because it was pleasant and a relief from dulness of the home over which her

The blueeyed soldier's name was OsborneLola Osborne. Her room was in Nineteenth Street near Fourth

Avenue, a block now given up wholly to office buildings. Here she had a comfortable back room, looking

over a collection of back yards in which grew a number of shade trees pleasant to see.

"Yes; but I can't get along with my people. They always want me to do what they want. Do you live here?"

Carrie was ashamed to say that she was married. She had talked so much about getting more salary and

confessed to so much anxiety about her future, that now, when the direct question of fact was waiting, she

Miss Osborne took it for granted that, like herself, Carrie's time was her own. She invariably asked her to

stay, proposing little outings and other things of that sort until Carrie began neglecting her dinner hours.

Hurstwood noticed it, but felt in no position to quarrel with her. Several times she came so late as scarcely to

"Do you rehearse in the afternoons?" Hurstwood once asked, concealing almost completely the cynical

As a matter of fact she was, but only in such a way as furnished the least straw of an excuse. Miss Osborne

and she had gone to the office of the manager who was to produce the new opera at the Broadway and

returned straight to the former's room, where they had been since three o'clock.

Carrie felt this question to be an infringement on her liberty. She did not take into account how much liberty

she was securing. Only the latest step, the newest freedom, must not be questioned.

Hurstwood saw it all clearly enough. He was shrewd after his kind, and yet there was enough decency in the

man to stop him from making any effectual protest. In his almost inexplicable apathy he was content to droop

supinely while Carrie drifted out of his life, just as he was willing supinely to see opportunity pass beyond his

control. He could not help clinging and protesting in a mild, irritating, and ineffectual way, howevera way

A further enlargement of this chasm between them came when the manager, looking between the wings upon

the brightly lighted stage where the chorus was going through some of its glittering evolutions, said to the

"Who is that fourth girl there on the rightthe one coming round at the end now?"

Astonished at this change, she thought that the heretofore leader must be ill; but when she saw her in the line,

with a distinct expression of something unfavourable in her eye, she began to think that perhaps it was merit.

She had a chic way of tossing her head to one side, and holding her arms as if for actionnot listlessly. In

"That girl knows how to carry herself," said the manager, another evening. He began to think that he should

like to talk with her. If he hadn't made it a rule to have nothing to do with the members of the chorus, he

"Put that girl at the head of the white column," he suggested to the man in charge of the ballet.

This white column consisted of some twenty girls, all in snowwhite flannel trimmed with silver and blue. Its

leader was most stunningly arrayed in the same colours, elaborated, however, with epaulets and a belt of

silver, with a short sword dangling at one side. Carrie was fitted for this costume, and a few days later

appeared, proud of her new laurels. She was especially gratified to find that her salary was now eighteen

"I'll not give him the rest of my money," said Carrie. "I do enough. I am going to get me something to wear."

As a matter of fact, during this second month she had been buying for herself as recklessly as she dared,

regardless of the consequences. There were impending more complications rent day, and more extension of

the credit system in the neighbourhood. Now, however, she proposed to do better by herself.

Her first move was to buy a shirt waist, and in studying these she found how little her money would

buyhow much, if she could only use all. She forgot that if she were alone she would have to pay for a room

and board, and imagined that every cent of her eighteen could be spent for clothes and things that she liked.

At last she picked upon something, which not only used up all her surplus above twelve, but invaded that

sum. She knew she was going too far, but her feminine love of finery prevailed. The next day Hurstwood

Hurstwood said nothing. He had seen the new things she was buying; the way she was neglecting household

duties; the readiness with which she was slipping out afternoons and staying. He felt that something was

"I don't want you to do it all," he said. "I only want a little help until I can get something to do."

"Oh, yes," answered Carrie. "That's always the way. It takes more than I can earn to pay for things. I don't see

"Well, I did," he said, angered almost to harsh words. "You needn't throw up your success to me. All I asked

was a little help until I could get something. I'm not down yet. I'll come up all right."

"Well," she said, "here's the money," and emptied it out on the table. "I haven't got quite enough to pay it all.

She put it back, and proceeded to get dinner early and in good time. Her little bravado made her feel as if she

"She's making more than she says," thought Hurstwood. "She says she's making twelve, but that wouldn't buy

all those things. I don't care. Let her keep her money. I'll get something again one of these days. Then she can

He only said this in his anger, but it prefigured a possible course of action and attitude well enough.

"I don't care," thought Carrie. "He ought to be told to get out and do something. It isn't right that I should

In these days Carrie was introduced to several youths, friends of Miss Osborne, who were of the kind most

aptly described as gay and festive. They called once to get Miss Osborne for an afternoon drive. Carrie was

"Oh, do come. They're awful nice boys. We'll get you back in time. We're only going for a drive in Central

After Drouet and Hurstwood, there was the least touch of cynicism in her attitude toward young

menespecially of the gay and frivolous sort. She felt a little older than they. Some of their pretty

compliments seemed silly. Still, she was young in heart and body and youth appealed to her.

"Oh, we'll be right back, Miss Madenda," said one of the chaps, bowing. "You wouldn't think we'd keep you

They were off for a driveshe, looking about and noticing fine clothing, the young men voicing those silly

pleasantries and weak quips which pass for humour in coy circles. Carrie saw the great park parade of

carriages, beginning at the Fiftyninth Street entrance and winding past the Museum of Art to the exit at One

Hundred and Tenth Street and Seventh Avenue. Her eye was once more taken by the show of wealththe

elaborate costumes, elegant harnesses, spirited horses, and, above all, the beauty. Once more the plague of

poverty galled her, but now she forgot in a measure her own troubles so far as to forget Hurstwood. He

waited until four, five, and even six. It was getting dark when he got up out of his chair.

Carrie had really discovered her neglect, but only at a quarter after five, and the open carriage was now far up

"A quarter after five," said her companion, consulting an elegant, openfaced watch.

"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Carrie. Then she settled back with a sigh. "There's no use crying over spilt milk,"

"Of course it is," said the youth, who saw visions of a fine dinner now, and such invigorating talk as would

result in a reunion after the show. He was greatly taken with Carrie. "We'll drive down to Delmonico's now

Carrie thought of Hurstwood. Never before had she neglected dinner without an excuse.

They drove back, and at 6.15 sat down to dine. It was the Sherry incident over again, the remembrance of

which came painfully back to Carrie. She remembered Mrs. Vance, who had never called again after

At this figure her mind halted. It was a strong, clean vision. He liked better books than she read, better people

"What are you thinking about, Miss Madenda?" inquired her merry companion. "Come, now, let's see if I can

She shook it off and ate. She forgot, in part, and was merry. When it came to the aftertheatre proposition,

"No," said Carrie, "I can't. You've been so kind, but you'll have to excuse me."

"Cheer up, old man," whispered his companion. "We'll go around, anyhow. She may change her mind."

There was no aftertheatre lark, however, so far as Carrie was concerned. She made her way homeward,

thinking about her absence. Hurstwood was asleep, but roused up to look as she passed through to her own

"Ah, Carrie," he answered, "what's the use saying that? I don't care. You needn't tell me that, though."

"I couldn't," said Carrie, her colour rising. Then, seeing that he looked as if he said "I know," she exclaimed:

From now on, her indifference to the flat was even greater. There seemed no common ground on which they

could talk to one another. She let herself be asked for expenses. It became so with him that he hated to do it.

He preferred standing off the butcher and baker. He ran up a grocery bill of sixteen dollars with Oeslogge,

laying in a supply of staple articles, so that they would not have to buy any of those things for some time to

come. Then he changed his grocery. It was the same with the butcher and several others. Carrie never heard

He asked for such as he could expect, drifting farther and farther into a situation which could have but one

Carrie became disgusted. "Such a man," she said to herself frequently. More and more she visited. She put

most of her spare money in clothes, which, after all, was not an astonishing amount. At last the opera she was

with announced its departure within four weeks. "Last two weeks of the Great Comic Opera success

Carrie was delighted. She began to feel that she had a place in the world. People recognised ability.

So changed was her state that the home atmosphere became intolerable. It was all poverty and trouble there,

or seemed to be, because it was a load to bear. It became a place to keep away from. Still she slept there, and

did a fair amount of work, keeping it in order. It was a sitting place for Hurstwood. He sat and rocked, rocked

and read, enveloped in the gloom of his own fate. October went by, and November. It was the dead of winter

Carrie was doing better, that he knew. Her clothes were improved now, even fine. He saw her coming and

going, sometimes picturing to himself her rise. Little eating had thinned him somewhat. He had no appetite.

His clothes, too, were a poor man's clothes. Talk about getting something had become even too threadbare

and ridiculous for him. So he folded his hands and waitedfor what, he could not anticipate.

At last, however, troubles became too thick. The hounding of creditors, the indifference of Carrie, the silence

of the flat, and presence of winter, all joined to produce a climax. It was effected by the arrival of Oeslogge,

"Well, we had it all right," he answered. Then he went to the door. "I can't pay you anything on that today,"

Carrie was standing farther back in the room, hearing it all. She was greatly distressed. It was so bad and

"Well," he said, "there's no use talking about it now. If you'll come in Saturday, I'll pay you something on it."

"How are we going to pay it?" asked Carrie, astonished by the bill. "I can't do it."

"Well, you don't have to," he said. "He can't get what he can't get. He'll have to wait."

"What's the use of your standing there and talking like that, now?" he asked. "Do you think I've had it alone?

"Well, it's too much, anyhow," said Carrie. "I oughtn't to be made to pay for it. I've got more than I can pay

"All right," replied Hurstwood, sitting down in silence. He was sick of the grind of this thing.

There had been appearing in the papers about this time rumours and notices of an approaching strike on the

trolley lines in Brooklyn. There was general dissatisfaction as to the hours of labour required and the wages

paid. As usualand for some inexplicable reasonthe men chose the winter for the forcing of the hand of

Hurstwood had been reading of this thing, and wondering concerning the huge tieup which would follow. A

day or two before this trouble with Carrie, it came. On a cold afternoon, when everything was grey and it

threatened to snow, the papers announced that the men had been called out on all the lines. Being so utterly

idle, and his mind filled with the numerous predictions which had been made concerning the scarcity of

labour this winter and the panicky state of the financial market, Hurstwood read this with interest. He noted

the claims of the striking motormen and conductors, who said that they had been wont to receive two dollars

a day in times past, but that for a year or more "trippers" had been introduced, which cut down their chance of

livelihood onehalf, and increased their hours of servitude from ten to twelve, and even fourteen. These

"trippers" were men put on during the busy and rush hours, to take a car out for one trip. The compensation

paid for such a trip was only twentyfive cents. When the rush or busy hours were over, they were laid off.

Worst of all, no man might know when he was going to get a car. He must come to the barns in the morning

and wait around in fair and foul weather until such time as he was needed. Two trips were an average reward

for so much waitinga little over three hours' work for fifty cents. The work of waiting was not counted.

The men complained that this system was extending, and that the time was not far off when but a few out of

7,000 employees would have regular twodollaraday work at all. They demanded that the system be

abolished, and that ten hours be considered a day's work, barring unavoidable delays, with $2.25 pay. They

demanded immediate acceptance of these terms, which the various trolley companies refused.

Hurstwood at first sympathised with the demands of these men indeed, it is a question whether he did not

always sympathise with them to the end, belie him as his actions might. Reading nearly all the news, he was

attracted first by the scareheads with which the trouble was noted in the "World." He read it fullythe

"They're foolish to strike in this sort of weather," he thought to himself. "Let 'em win if they can, though."

The next day there was even a larger notice of it. "Brooklynites Walk," said the "World." "Knights of Labour

Hurstwood read this, formulating to himself his own idea of what would be the outcome. He was a great

"They can't win," he said, concerning the men. "They haven't any money. The police will protect the

He didn't sympathise with the corporations, but strength was with them. So was property and public utility.

Among other things, he noticed a circular issued by one of the companies, which read:

The motormen and conductors and other employees of this company having abruptly left its service, an

opportunity is now given to all loyal men who have struck against their will to be reinstated, providing they

will make their applications by twelve o'clock noon on Wednesday, January 16th. Such men will be given

employment (with guaranteed protection) in the order in which such applications are received, and runs and

positions assigned them accordingly. Otherwise, they will be considered discharged, and every vacancy will

WANTED.50 skilled motormen, accustomed to Westinghouse system, to run U.S. mail cars only, in the

He noted particularly in each the "protection guaranteed." It signified to him the unassailable power of the

"They've got the militia on their side," he thought. "There isn't anything those men can do."

While this was still in his mind, the incident with Oeslogge and Carrie occurred. There had been a good deal

to irritate him, but this seemed much the worst. Never before had she accused him of stealingor very near

that. She doubted the naturalness of so large a bill. And he had worked so hard to make expenses seem light.

He had been "doing" butcher and baker in order not to call on her. He had eaten very littlealmost nothing.

He thought that he really must do something now. It was too cheap to sit around after such an insinuation as

He got up and looked out the window into the chilly street. It came gradually into his mind, as he stood there,

"Why not?" his mind said. "Any one can get work over there. You'll get two a day."

"Oh, there won't be much of that," he answered. "They've called out the police. Any one who wants to run a

For several hours he argued pro and con with this mental counsellor, feeling no need to act at once in a matter

In the morning he put on his best clothes, which were poor enough, and began stirring about, putting some

bread and meat into a page of a newspaper. Carrie watched him, interested in this new move.

"Over to Brooklyn," he answered. Then, seeing her still inquisitive, he added: "I think I can get on over

"Yes," he returned; "but you can't go by what the papers say. They'll run the cars all right."

He looked rather determined now, in a desolate sort of way, and Carrie felt very sorry. Something of the old

Hurstwood was here the least shadow of what was once shrewd and pleasant strength. Outside, it was

Now he left before she did, which was a remarkable thing, and tramped eastward to Fourteenth Street and

Sixth Avenue, where he took the car. He had read that scores of applicants were applying at the office of the

Brooklyn City Railroad building and were being received. He made his way there by horsecar and ferrya

dark, silent manto the offices in question. It was a long way, for no cars were running, and the day was

cold; but he trudged along grimly. Once in Brooklyn, he could clearly see and feel that a strike was on.

People showed it in their manner. Along the routes of certain tracks not a car was running. About certain

corners and nearby saloons small groups of men were lounging. Several spring wagons passed him, equipped

with plain wooden chairs, and labelled "Flatbush" or "Prospect Park. Fare, Ten Cents." He noticed cold and

When he came near the office in question, he saw a few men standing about, and some policemen. On the far

corners were other menwhom he took to be strikerswatching. All the houses were small and wooden,

the streets poorly paved. After New York, Brooklyn looked actually poor and hardup.

He made his way into the heart of the small group, eyed by policemen and the men already there. One of the

"The offices are up those steps," said the bluecoat. His face was a very neutral thing to contemplate. In his

heart of hearts, he sympathised with the strikers and hated this "scab." In his heart of hearts, also, he felt the

dignity and use of the police force, which commanded order. Of its true social significance, he never once

dreamed. His was not the mind for that. The two feelings blended in himneutralised one another and him.

He would have fought for this man as determinedly as for himself, and yet only so far as commanded. Strip

Hurstwood ascended a dusty flight of steps and entered a small, dustcoloured office, in which were a railing,

He was not at all abashed by his position. He knew these people needed men. If one didn't take him, another

"Well, we prefer experienced men, of course," said the man. He paused, while Hurstwood smiled

indifferently. Then he added: "Still, I guess you can learn. What is your name?"

The man wrote an order on a small card. "Take that to our barns," he said, "and give it to the foreman. He'll

Hurstwood went down and out. He walked straight away in the direction indicated, while the policemen

"I have my mind he'll get his fill," returned the latter, quietly. They had been in strikes before.

The barn at which Hurstwood applied was exceedingly shorthanded, and was being operated practically by

three men as directors. There were a lot of green hands aroundqueer, hungrylooking men, who looked as

if want had driven them to desperate means. They tried to be lively and willing, but there was an air of

Hurstwood went back through the barns and out into a large, enclosed lot, where were a series of tracks and

loops. A halfdozen cars were there, manned by instructors, each with a pupil at the lever. More pupils were

In silence Hurstwood viewed this scene, and waited. His companions took his eye for a while, though they

did not interest him much more than the cars. They were an uncomfortablelooking gang, however. One or

two were very thin and lean. Several were quite stout. Several others were rawboned and sallow, as if they

"Did you see by the paper they are going to call out the militia?" Hurstwood heard one of them remark.

"Think we're liable to have much trouble?" said another, whom Hurstwood did not see.

"That Scotchman that went out on the last car," put in a voice, "told me that they hit him in the ear with a

"One of those fellows on the Fifth Avenue line must have had a hell of a time, according to the papers,"

drawled another. "They broke his car windows and pulled him off into the street 'fore the police could stop

Hurstwood hearkened without much mental comment. These talkers seemed scared to him. Their gabbling

was feverishthings said to quiet their own minds. He looked out into the yard and waited.

Two of the men got around quite near him, but behind his back. They were rather social, and he listened to

"I had a job in Newark until last October," returned the other, with reciprocal feeling.

There were some words which passed too low to hear. Then the conversation became strong again.

"I don't blame these fellers for striking," said one. "They've got the right of it, all right, but I had to get

"Same here," said the other. "If I had any job in Newark I wouldn't be over here takin' chances like these."

"It's hell these days, ain't it?" said the man. "A poor man ain't nowhere. You could starve, by God, right in the

"Right you are," said the other. "The job I had I lost 'cause they shut down. They run all summer and lay up a

Hurstwood paid some little attention to this. Somehow, he felt a little superior to these twoa little better

"Poor devils," he thought, speaking out of the thoughts and feelings of a bygone period of success. "Next,"

He went out and climbed on the platform. The instructor took it for granted that no preliminaries were

"You see this handle," he said, reaching up to an electric cutoff, which was fastened to the roof. "This throws

the current off or on. If you want to reverse the car you turn it over here. If you want to send it forward, you

"Now, this handle here regulates your speed. To here," he said, pointing with his finger, "gives you about

four miles an hour. This is eight. When it's full on, you make about fourteen miles an hour."

Hurstwood watched him calmly. He had seen motormen work before. He knew just about how they did it,

"One thing you want to be careful about, and that is to start easy. Give one degree time to act before you start

another. The one fault of most men is that they always want to throw her wide open. That's bad. It's

The exmanager laid hand to the lever and pushed it gently, as he thought. It worked much easier than he

imagined, however, with the result that the car jerked quickly forward, throwing him back against the door.

He straightened up sheepishly, while the instructor stopped the car with the brake.

Hurstwood found, however, that handling a brake and regulating speed were not so instantly mastered as he

had imagined. Once or twice he would have ploughed through the rear fence if it had not been for the hand

and word of his companion. The latter was rather patient with him, but he never smiled.

"You've got to get the knack of working both arms at once," he said. "It takes a little practice."

One o'clock came while he was still on the car practising, and he began to feel hungry. The day set in

snowing, and he was cold. He grew weary of running to and fro on the short track.

They ran the car to the end and both got off. Hurstwood went into the barn and sought a car step, pulling out

his paperwrapped lunch from his pocket. There was no water and the bread was dry, but he enjoyed it. There

was no ceremony about dining. He swallowed and looked about, contemplating the dull, homely labour of the

thing. It was disagreeablemiserably disagreeablein all its phases. Not because it was bitter, but because

The intention was to give him an afternoon of practice, but the greater part of the time was spent in waiting

At last evening came, and with it hunger and a debate with himself as to how he should spend the night. It

was halfpast five. He must soon eat. If he tried to go home, it would take him two hours and a half of cold

walking and riding. Besides he had orders to report at seven the next morning, and going home would

necessitate his rising at an unholy and disagreeable hour. He had only something like a dollar and fifteen

cents of Carrie's money, with which he had intended to pay the two weeks' coal bill before the present idea

"They must have some place around here," he thought. "Where does that fellow from Newark stay?"

Finally he decided to ask. There was a young fellow standing near one of the doors in the cold, waiting a last

turn. He was a mere boy in yearstwentyone aboutbut with a body lank and long, because of privation.

"How do they arrange this, if a man hasn't any money?" inquired Hurstwood, discreetly.

"Yes. I just told him I didn't have anything. Gee, I couldn't go home. I live way over in Hoboken."

"They've got a place upstairs here, I understand. I don't know what sort of a thing it is. Purty tough, I guess.

"Isn't there some place I can stay around here tonight?" he inquired. "If I have to go back to New York, I'm

He meant to ask for a meal ticket, but the seemingly proper moment never came, and he decided to pay

He ate in a cheap restaurant in the vicinity, and, being cold and lonely, went straight off to seek the loft in

question. The company was not attempting to run cars after nightfall. It was so advised by the police.

The room seemed to have been a lounging place for night workers. There were some nine cots in the place,

two or three wooden chairs, a soap box, and a small, roundbellied stove, in which a fire was blazing. Early

as he was, another man was there before him. The latter was sitting beside the stove warming his hands.

Hurstwood approached and held out his own toward the fire. He was sick of the bareness and privation of all

things connected with his venture, but was steeling himself to hold out. He fancied he could for a while.

Rising, he went to one of the cots and stretched himself, removing only his shoes, and pulling the one blanket

and dirty old comforter over him in a sort of bundle. The sight disgusted Hurstwood, but he did not dwell on

it, choosing to gaze into the stove and think of something else. Presently he decided to retire, and picked a

While he was doing so, the youth who had advised him to come here entered, and, seeing Hurstwood, tried to

Hurstwood did not take this to himself. He thought it to be an expression of individual satisfaction, and so did

not answer. The youth imagined he was out of sorts, and set to whistling softly. Seeing another man asleep,

Hurstwood made the best of a bad lot by keeping on his clothes and pushing away the dirty covering from his

head, but at last he dozed in sheer weariness. The covering became more and more comfortable, its character

In the morning he was aroused out of a pleasant dream by several men stirring about in the cold, cheerless

room. He had been back in Chicago in fancy, in his own comfortable home. Jessica had been arranging to go

somewhere, and he had been talking with her about it. This was so clear in his mind, that he was startled now

by the contrast of this room. He raised his head, and the cold, bitter reality jarred him into wakefulness.

There was no water on this floor. He put on his shoes in the cold and stood up, shaking himself in his

He found a hydrant, with a trough which had once been used for horses, but there was no towel here, and his

handkerchief was soiled from yesterday. He contented himself with wetting his eyes with the icecold water.

He breakfasted as poorly as the night before on some fried steak and bad coffee. Then he went back.

"Here," said the foreman, motioning him, when he came in. "You take this car out in a few minutes."

Hurstwood climbed up on the platform in the gloomy barn and waited for a signal. He was nervous, and yet

On this the fourth day of the strike, the situation had taken a turn for the worse. The strikers, following the

counsel of their leaders and the newspapers, had struggled peaceably enough. There had been no great

violence done. Cars had been stopped, it is true, and the men argued with. Some crews had been won over

and led away, some windows broken, some jeering and yelling done; but in no more than five or six instances

had men been seriously injured. These by crowds whose acts the leaders disclaimed.

Idleness, however, and the sight of the company, backed by the police, triumphing, angered the men. They

saw that each day more cars were going on, each day more declarations were being made by the company

officials that the effective opposition of the strikers was broken. This put desperate thoughts in the minds of

the men. Peaceful methods meant, they saw, that the companies would soon run all their cars and those who

had complained would be forgotten. There was nothing so helpful to the companies as peaceful methods.

All at once they blazed forth, and for a week there was storm and stress. Cars were assailed, men attacked,

policemen struggled with, tracks torn up, and shots fired, until at last street fights and mob movements

"Run your car out," called the foreman, waving a vigorous hand at him. A green conductor jumped up behind

and rang the bell twice as a signal to start. Hurstwood turned the lever and ran the car out through the door

into the street in front of the barn. Here two brawny policemen got up beside him on the platformone on

At the sound of a gong near the barn door, two bells were given by the conductor and Hurstwood opened his

"'Tis cold, all right, this morning," said the one on the left, who possessed a rich brogue.

"I had enough of it yesterday," said the other. "I wouldn't want a steady job of this."

Neither paid the slightest attention to Hurstwood, who stood facing the cold wind, which was chilling him

"Keep a steady gait," the foreman had said. "Don't stop for any one who doesn't look like a real passenger.

"The last man must have gone through all right," said the officer on the left. "I don't see his car anywhere."

"Who's on there?" asked the second officer, referring, of course, to its complement of policemen.

There was another silence, in which the car ran smoothly along. There were not so many houses along this

part of the way. Hurstwood did not see many people either. The situation was not wholly disagreeable to him.

He was brought out of this feeling by the sudden appearance of a curve ahead, which he had not expected. He

shut off the current and did an energetic turn at the brake, but not in time to avoid an unnaturally quick turn.

It shook him up and made him feel like making some apologetic remarks, but he refrained.

"You want to look out for them things," said the officer on the left, condescendingly.

Around the corner a more populated way appeared. One or two pedestrians were in view ahead. A boy

coming out of a gate with a tin milk bucket gave Hurstwood his first objectionable greeting.

Hurstwood heard it, but tried to make no comment, even to himself. He knew he would get that, and much

Hurstwood obeyed. At the corner he saw the wisdom of it. No sooner did the man perceive the intention to

Some half dozen men, standing on the corner, flung taunts and jeers after the speeding car.

Hurstwood winced the least bit. The real thing was slightly worse than the thoughts of it had been.

Now came in sight, three or four blocks farther on, a heap of something on the track.

Hurstwood ran the car close and stopped. He had not done so wholly, however, before a crowd gathered

about. It was composed of exmotormen and conductors in part, with a sprinkling of friends and

"Come off the car, pardner," said one of the men in a voice meant to be conciliatory. "You don't want to take

"Stand back," yelled one of the officers, leaning over the platform railing. "Clear out of this, now. Give the

"Listen, pardner," said the leader, ignoring the policeman and addressing Hurstwood. "We're all working

men, like yourself. If you were a regular motorman, and had been treated as we've been, you wouldn't want

any one to come in and take your place, would you? You wouldn't want any one to do you out of your chance

"Shut her off! shut her off!" urged the other of the policemen, roughly. "Get out of this, now," and he jumped

the railing and landed before the crowd and began shoving. Instantly the other officer was down beside him.

"Stand back, now," they yelled. "Get out of this. What the hell do you mean? Out, now."

"Don't shove me," said one of the strikers, determinedly. "I'm not doing anything."

"Get out of this!" cried the officer, swinging his club. "I'll give ye a bat on the sconce. Back, now."

"What the hell!" cried another of the strikers, pushing the other way, adding at the same time some lusty

Crack came an officer's club on his forehead. He blinked his eyes blindly a few times, wabbled on his legs,

threw up his hands, and staggered back. In return, a swift fist landed on the officer's neck.

Infuriated by this, the latter plunged left and right, laying about madly with his club. He was ably assisted by

his brother of the blue, who poured ponderous oaths upon the troubled waters. No severe damage was done,

owing to the agility of the strikers in keeping out of reach. They stood about the sidewalk now and jeered.

"Where is the conductor?" yelled one of the officers, getting his eye on that individual, who had come

nervously forward to stand by Hurstwood. The latter had stood gazing upon the scene with more

"Why don't you come down here and get these stones off the track?" inquired the officer. "What you standing

Hurstwood breathed heavily in excitement and jumped down with the nervous conductor as if he had been

Cold as it was, these officers were hot and mad. Hurstwood worked with the conductor, lifting stone after

"Ah, you scab, you!" yelled the crowd. "You coward! Steal a man's job, will you? Rob the poor, will you, you

Not all of this was delivered by one man. It came from here and there, incorporated with much more of the

"Work, you blackguards," yelled a voice. "Do the dirty work. You're the suckers that keep the poor people

"May God starve ye yet," yelled an old Irish woman, who now threw open a nearby window and stuck out

"Yes, and you," she added, catching the eye of one of the policemen. "You bloody, murtherin' thafe! Crack

"Go to the devil, you old hag," he half muttered as he stared round upon the scattered company.

Now the stones were off, and Hurstwood took his place again amid a continued chorus of epithets. Both

officers got up beside him and the conductor rang the bell, when, bang! bang! through window and door

came rocks and stones. One narrowly grazed Hurstwood's head. Another shattered the window behind.

"Throw open your lever," yelled one of the officers, grabbing at the handle himself.

Hurstwood complied and the car shot away, followed by a rattle of stones and a rain of curses.

"That hit me in the neck," said one of the officers. "I gave him a good crack for it,

"I know that big guy that called us a " said the first. "I'll get him yet for that."

Hurstwood, warmed and excited, gazed steadily ahead. It was an astonishing experience for him. He had read

of these things, but the reality seemed something altogether new. He was no coward in spirit. The fact that he

had suffered this much now rather operated to arouse a stolid determination to stick it out. He did not recur in

They now ran into the business heart of Brooklyn uninterrupted. People gazed at the broken windows of the

car and at Hurstwood in his plain clothes. Voices called "scab" now and then, as well as other epithets, but no

crowd attacked the car. At the downtown end of the line, one of the officers went to call up his station and

"There's a gang out there," he said, "laying for us yet. Better send some one over there and clean them out."

The car ran back more quietlyhooted, watched, flung at, but not attacked. Hurstwood breathed freely when

The car was turned in and he was allowed to loaf a while, but later he was again called. This time a new team

of officers was aboard. Slightly more confident, he sped the car along the commonplace streets and felt

somewhat less fearful. On one side, however, he suffered intensely. The day was raw, with a sprinkling of

snow and a gusty wind, made all the more intolerable by the speed of the car. His clothing was not intended

for this sort of work. He shivered, stamped his feet, and beat his arms as he had seen other motormen do in

the past, but said nothing. The novelty and danger of the situation modified in a way his disgust and distress

at being compelled to be here, but not enough to prevent him from feeling grim and sour. This was a dog's

The one thought that strengthened him was the insult offered by Carrie. He was not down so low as to take all

that, he thought. He could do somethingthis, evenfor a while. It would get better. He would save a little.

A boy threw a clod of mud while he was thus reflecting and hit him upon the arm. It hurt sharply and angered

At one of the corners, where the car slowed up because of a turn, an exmotorman, standing on the sidewalk,

"Won't you come out, pardner, and be a man? Remember we're fighting for decent day's wages, that's all.

Hurstwood pretended not to see him. He kept his eyes straight on before and opened the lever wide. The

All morning this went on and long into the afternoon. He made three such trips. The dinner he had was no

stay for such work and the cold was telling on him. At each end of the line he stopped to thaw out, but he

could have groaned at the anguish of it. One of the barnmen, out of pity, loaned him a heavy cap and a pair of

On the second trip of the afternoon he ran into a crowd about half way along the line, that had blocked the

"Come down, pardner, and be a man. Don't fight the poor. Leave that to the corporations."

He saw the same fellow who had called to him from the corner. Now, as before, he pretended not to hear him.

"Come down," the man repeated gently. "You don't want to fight poor men. Don't fight at all." It was a most

A third policeman joined the other two from somewhere and some one ran to telephone for more officers.

"Come off of that," he exclaimed, jerking at him and trying to pull him over the railing.

"I'll show youyou scab!" cried a young Irishman, jumping up on the car and aiming a blow at Hurstwood.

"Away from here," shouted an officer, hastening to the rescue, and adding, of course, the usual oaths.

Hurstwood recovered himself, pale and trembling. It was becoming serious with him now. People were

He began to waver in his resolution, when a patrol wagon rolled up and more officers dismounted. Now the

The end came with a real mob, which met the car on its return trip a mile or two from the barns. It was an

exceedingly poorlooking neighbourhood. He wanted to run fast through it, but again the track was blocked.

He saw men carrying something out to it when he was yet a halfdozen blocks away.

"I'll give them something this time," said the second officer, whose patience was becoming worn. Hurstwood

suffered a qualm of body as the car rolled up. As before, the crowd began hooting, but now, rather than come

near, they threw things. One or two windows were smashed and Hurstwood dodged a stone.

Both policemen ran out toward the crowd, but the latter replied by running toward the car. A womana

mere girl in appearance was among these, bearing a rough stick. She was exceedingly wrathful and struck

at Hurstwood, who dodged. Thereupon, her companions, duly encouraged, jumped on the car and pulled

"Ah, you sucker," he heard some one say. Kicks and blows rained on him. He seemed to be suffocating. Then

He was let loose and recovered himself. Now he recognised two officers. He felt as if he would faint from

exhaustion. Something was wet on his chin. He put up his hand and felt, then looked. It was red.

His senses became cleared now and he looked around. He was standing in a little store, where they left him

for the moment. Outside, he could see, as he stood wiping his chin, the car and the excited crowd. A patrol

"Come on, now, if you want to take your car," said an officer, opening the door and looking in.

He walked out, feeling rather uncertain of himself. He was very cold and frightened.

Hurstwood went toward the car and stepped nervously on. As he did so there was a pistol shot. Something

"Who fired that?" he heard an officer exclaim. "By God! who did that?" Both left him, running toward a

He walked homeward in a blinding snowstorm, reaching the ferry by dusk. The cabins were filled with

comfortable souls, who studied him curiously. His head was still in such a whirl that he felt confused. All the

wonder of the twinkling lights of the river in a white storm passed for nothing. He trudged doggedly on until

he reached the flat. There he entered and found the room warm. Carrie was gone. A couple of evening papers

were lying on the table where she left them. He lit the gas and sat down. Then he got up and stripped to

examine his shoulder. It was a mere scratch. He washed his hands and face, still in a brown study, apparently,

and combed his hair. Then he looked for something to eat, and finally, his hunger gone, sat down in his

"Well," he said, after a time, his nature recovering itself, "that's a pretty tough game over there."

"Strike Spreading in Brooklyn," he read. "Rioting Breaks Out in all Parts of the City."

He adjusted his paper very comfortably and continued. It was the one thing he read with absorbing interest.

Those who look upon Hurstwood's Brooklyn venture as an error of judgment will none the less realise the

negative influence on him of the fact that he had tried and failed. Carrie got a wrong idea of it. He said so

little that she imagined he had encountered nothing worse than the ordinary roughnessquitting so soon in

She was now one of a group of oriental beauties who, in the second act of the comic opera, were paraded by

the vizier before the new potentate as the treasures of his harem. There was no word assigned to any of them,

but on the evening when Hurstwood was housing himself in the loft of the streetcar barn, the leading

comedian and star, feeling exceedingly facetious, said in a profound voice, which created a ripple of laughter:

It merely happened to be Carrie who was courtesying before him. It might as well have been any of the

others, so far as he was concerned. He expected no answer and a dull one would have been reproved. But

Carrie, whose experience and belief in herself gave her daring, courtesied sweetly again and answered:

It was a trivial thing to say, and yet something in the way she did it caught the audience, which laughed

heartily at the mockfierce potentate towering before the young woman. The comedian also liked it, hearing

"I thought your name was Smith," he returned, endeavouring to get the last laugh.

Carrie almost trembled for her daring after she had said this. All members of the company had been warned

that to interpolate lines or "business" meant a fine or worse. She did not know what to think.

As she was standing in her proper position in the wings, awaiting another entry, the great comedian made his

"You can just leave that in hereafter," he remarked, seeing how intelligent she appeared. "Don't add any

"Thank you," said Carrie, humbly. When he went on she found herself trembling violently.

"Well, you're in luck," remarked another member of the chorus. "There isn't another one of us has got a line."

There was no gainsaying the value of this. Everybody in the company realised that she had got a start. Carrie

hugged herself when next evening the lines got the same applause. She went home rejoicing, knowing that

soon something must come of it. It was Hurstwood who, by his presence, caused her merry thoughts to flee

"They're not trying to run any cars except with police. They don't want anybody just nownot before next

Next week came, but Carrie saw no change. Hurstwood seemed more apathetic than ever. He saw her off

mornings to rehearsals and the like with the utmost calm. He read and read. Several times he found himself

staring at an item, but thinking of something else. The first of these lapses that he sharply noticed concerned a

hilarious party he had once attended at a driving club, of which he had been a member. He sat, gazing

downward, and gradually thought he heard the old voices and the clink of glasses.

"You're a dandy, Hurstwood," his friend Walker said. He was standing again well dressed, smiling,

All at once he looked up. The room was so still it seemed ghostlike. He heard the clock ticking audibly and

half suspected that he had been dozing. The paper was so straight in his hands, however, and the items he had

been reading so directly before him, that he rid himself of the doze idea. Still, it seemed peculiar. When it

Butcher and grocery man, baker and coal mannot the group with whom he was then dealing, but those who

had trusted him to the limitcalled. He met them all blandly, becoming deft in excuse. At last he became

Carrie's little soldier friend, Miss Osborne, seeing her succeeding, had become a sort of satellite. Little

Osborne could never of herself amount to anything. She seemed to realise it in a sort of pussylike way and

Timid as Carrie was, she was strong in capability. The reliance of others made her feel as if she must, and

when she must she dared. Experience of the world and of necessity was in her favour. No longer the lightest

word of a man made her head dizzy. She had learned that men could change and fail. Flattery in its most

palpable form had lost its force with her. It required superioritykindly superiorityto move herthe

"I don't like the actors in our company," she told Lola one day. "They're all so struck on themselves."

"Don't you think Mr. Barclay's pretty nice?" inquired Lola, who had received a condescending smile or two

"Oh, he's nice enough," answered Carrie; "but he isn't sincere. He assumes such an air."

"I know where I could get the loveliest room and bath, cheap. It's too big for me, but it would be just right for

"Well, I don't know as I'd care to change," said Carrie, who was already turning over the threedollar rate in

her mind. She was thinking if she had only herself to support this would leave her seventeen for herself.

Nothing came of this until after the Brooklyn adventure of Hurstwood's and her success with the speaking

part. Then she began to feel as if she must be free. She thought of leaving Hurstwood and thus making him

act for himself, but he had developed such peculiar traits she feared he might resist any effort to throw him

off. He might hunt her out at the show and hound her in that way. She did not wholly believe that he would,

but he might. This, she knew, would be an embarrassing thing if he made himself conspicuous in any way. It

Things were precipitated by the offer of a better part. One of the actresses playing the part of a modest

"Well, find out. Goodness, you'll never get anything if you don't ask. Tell them you must have forty dollars,

Carrie succumbed to this prompting, waiting, however, until the manager gave her notice of what clothing

Carrie was too much astonished and delighted to think of mentioning forty. She was nearly beside herself,

"It isn't as much as you ought to get," said the latter, "especially when you've got to buy clothes."

Carrie remembered this with a start. Where to get the money? She had none laid up for such an emergency.

"I'll not do it," she said, remembering her necessity. "I don't use the flat. I'm not going to give up my money

"Come live with me, won't you?" she pleaded. "We can have the loveliest room. It won't cost you hardly

With the idea thus grounded, rent day approaching, and clothes calling for instant purchase, she soon found

As rent day approached, an idea grew in him. It was fostered by the demands of creditors and the

impossibility of holding up many more. Twentyeight dollars was too much for rent. "It's hard on her," he

"I should think we could get a smaller place," he suggested. "We don't need four rooms."

Her countenance, had he been scrutinising her, would have exhibited the disturbance she felt at this evidence

of his determination to stay by her. He saw nothing remarkable in asking her to come down lower.

"There must be places around here where we could get a couple of rooms, which would do just as well."

Her heart revolted. "Never!" she thought. Who would furnish the money to move? To think of being in two

rooms with him! She resolved to spend her money for clothes quickly, before something terrible happened.

They went to look at it. Carrie had saved ten dollars from her expendituresenough for this and her board

beside. Her enlarged salary would not begin for ten days yetwould not reach her for seventeen. She paid

They decided to move Friday, which was two days away. Now that the thing was settled, Carrie's heart

misgave her. She felt very much like a criminal in the matter. Each day looking at Hurstwood, she had

realised that, along with the disagreeableness of his attitude, there was something pathetic.

She looked at him the same evening she had made up her mind to go, and now he seemed not so shiftless and

worthless, but run down and beaten upon by chance. His eyes were not keen, his face marked, his hands

flabby. She thought his hair had a touch of grey. All unconscious of his doom, he rocked and read his paper,

"Will you go over and get some canned peaches?" she asked Hurstwood, laying down a twodollar bill.

Hurstwood rose and took the money, slipping on his overcoat and getting his hat. Carrie noticed that both of

these articles of apparel were old and poor looking in appearance. It was plain enough before, but now it

came home with peculiar force. Perhaps he couldn't help it, after all. He had done well in Chicago. She

remembered his fine appearance the days he had met her in the park. Then he was so sprightly, so clean. Had

"Oh, go on and keep it," she replied, rather unnerved. "There'll be other things."

He wondered at this, not knowing the pathetic figure he had become in her eyes. She restrained herself with

To say truly, this would have been Carrie's attitude in any case. She had looked back at times upon her

parting from Drouet and had regretted that she had served him so badly. She hoped she would never meet

him again, but she was ashamed of her conduct. Not that she had any choice in the final separation. She had

gone willingly to seek him, with sympathy in her heart, when Hurstwood had reported him ill. There was

something cruel somewhere, and not being able to track it mentally to its logical lair, she concluded with

feeling that he would never understand what Hurstwood had done and would see hardhearted decision in her

deed; hence her shame. Not that she cared for him. She did not want to make any one who had been good to

She did not realise what she was doing by allowing these feelings to possess her. Hurstwood, noticing the

Going to Miss Osborne's that afternoon, she found that little lady packing and singing.

"Oh, I can't," said Carrie. "I'll be there Friday. Would you mind lending me the twentyfive dollars you spoke

"Oh, that's all right," answered the little girl, goodnaturedly, glad to be of service.

It had been days since Hurstwood had done more than go to the grocery or to the newsstand. Now the

weariness of indoors was upon himhad been for two daysbut chill, grey weather had held him back.

Friday broke fair and warm. It was one of those lovely harbingers of spring, given as a sign in dreary winter

that earth is not forsaken of warmth and beauty. The blue heaven, holding its one golden orb, poured down a

crystal wash of warm light. It was plain, from the voice of the sparrows, that all was halcyon outside. Carrie

He went out into the streets and tramped north, along Seventh Avenue, idly fixing upon the Harlem River as

an objective point. He had seen some ships up there, the time he had called upon the brewers. He wondered

Passing Fiftyninth Street, he took the west side of Central Park, which he followed to Seventyeighth

Street. Then he remembered the neighbourhood and turned over to look at the mass of buildings erected. It

was very much improved. The great open spaces were filling up. Coming back, he kept to the Park until

110th Street, and then turned into Seventh Avenue again, reaching the pretty river by one o'clock.

There it ran winding before his gaze, shining brightly in the clear light, between the undulating banks on the

right and the tall, treecovered heights on the left. The springlike atmosphere woke him to a sense of its

loveliness, and for a few moments he stood looking at it, folding his hands behind his back. Then he turned

and followed it toward the east side, idly seeking the ships he had seen. It was four o'clock before the waning

day, with its suggestion of a cooler evening, caused him to return. He was hungry and would enjoy eating in

When he reached the flat by halfpast five, it was still dark. He knew that Carrie was not there, not only

because there was no light showing through the transom, but because the evening papers were stuck between

the outside knob and the door. He opened with his key and went in. Everything was still dark. Lighting the

gas, he sat down, preparing to wait a little while. Even if Carrie did come now, dinner would be late. He read

As he did so, he noticed that the room seemed a little queer. What was it? He looked around, as if he missed

something, and then saw an envelope near where he had been sitting. It spoke for itself, almost without

Reaching over, he took it, a sort of chill settling upon him even while he reached. The crackle of the envelope

"Dear George," he read, crunching the money in one hand, "I'm going away. I'm not coming back any more.

It's no use trying to keep up the flat; I can't do it. I wouldn't mind helping you, if I could, but I can't support us

both, and pay the rent. I need what little I make to pay for my clothes. I'm leaving twenty dollars. It's all I

have just now. You can do whatever you like with the furniture. I won't want it.CARRIE.

He dropped the note and looked quietly round. Now he knew what he missed. It was the little ornamental

clock, which was hers. It had gone from the mantelpiece. He went into the front room, his bedroom, the

parlour, lighting the gas as he went. From the chiffonier had gone the knickknacks of silver and plate. From

the tabletop, the lace coverings. He opened the wardrobeno clothes of hers. He opened the

drawersnothing of hers. Her trunk was gone from its accustomed place. Back in his own room hung his old

He stepped into the parlour and stood for a few moments looking vacantly at the floor. The silence grew

oppressive. The little flat seemed wonderfully deserted. He wholly forgot that he was hungry, that it was only

Suddenly, he found that the money was still in his hands. There were twenty dollars in all, as she had said.

Now he walked back, leaving the lights ablaze, and feeling as if the flat were empty.

The place that had been so comfortable, where he had spent so many days of warmth, was now a memory.

Something colder and chillier confronted him. He sank down in his chair, resting his chin in his handmere

Installed in her comfortable room, Carrie wondered how Hurstwood had taken her departure. She arranged a

few things hastily and then left for the theatre, half expecting to encounter him at the door. Not finding him,

her dread lifted, and she felt more kindly toward him. She quite forgot him until about to come out, after the

show, when the chance of his being there frightened her. As day after day passed and she heard nothing at all,

the thought of being bothered by him passed. In a little while she was, except for occasional thoughts, wholly

It is curious to note how quickly a profession absorbs one. Carrie became wise in theatrical lore, hearing the

gossip of little Lola. She learned what the theatrical papers were, which ones published items about actresses

and the like. She began to read the newspaper notices, not only of the opera in which she had so small a part,

but of others. Gradually the desire for notice took hold of her. She longed to be renowned like others, and

read with avidity all the complimentary or critical comments made concerning others high in her profession.

It was about this time that the newspapers and magazines were beginning to pay that illustrative attention to

the beauties of the stage which has since become fervid. The newspapers, and particularly the Sunday

newspapers, indulged in large decorative theatrical pages, in which the faces and forms of wellknown

theatrical celebrities appeared, enclosed with artistic scrolls. The magazines also or at least one or two of the

newer ones published occasional portraits of pretty stars, and now and again photos of scenes from various

plays. Carrie watched these with growing interest. When would a scene from her opera appear? When would

The Sunday before taking her new part she scanned the theatrical pages for some little notice. It would have

accorded with her expectations if nothing had been said, but there in the squibs, tailing off several more

"The part of Katisha, the country maid, in 'The Wives of Abdul' at the Broadway, heretofore played by Inez

Carew, will be hereafter filled by Carrie Madenda, one of the cleverest members of the chorus."

Carrie hugged herself with delight. Oh, wasn't it just fine! At last! The first, the longhoped for, the delightful

notice! And they called her clever. She could hardly restrain herself from laughing loudly. Had Lola seen it?

"They've got a notice here of the part I'm going to play tomorrow night," said Carrie to her friend.

"Oh, jolly! Have they?" cried Lola, running to her. "That's all right," she said, looking. "You'll get more now,

"Did I? Well, I should say," returned the little girl. "They had a frame around it."

"But they will," said Lola. "You'll see. You do better than most that get theirs in now."

Carrie felt deeply grateful for this. She almost loved Lola for the sympathy and praise she extended. It was so

Fulfilling her part capably brought another notice in the papers that she was doing her work acceptably. This

The first week she got her thirtyfive dollars, it seemed an enormous sum. Paying only three dollars for room

rent seemed ridiculous. After giving Lola her twentyfive, she still had seven dollars left. With four left over

from previous earnings, she had eleven. Five of this went to pay the regular installment on the clothes she had

to buy. The next week she was even in greater feather. Now, only three dollars need be paid for room rent

"You'd better save a little for summer," cautioned Lola. "We'll probably close in May."

The regular entrance of thirtyfive dollars a week to one who has endured scant allowances for several years

is a demoralising thing. Carrie found her purse bursting with good green bills of comfortable denominations.

Having no one dependent upon her, she began to buy pretty clothes and pleasing trinkets, to eat well, and to

ornament her room. Friends were not long in gathering about. She met a few young men who belonged to

Lola's staff. The members of the opera company made her acquaintance without the formality of introduction.

One of these discovered a fancy for her. On several occasions he strolled home with her.

In the rosy restaurant, filled with the merry lovers of late hours, she found herself criticising this man. He was

too stilted, too selfopinionated. He did not talk of anything that lifted her above the common run of clothes

"She's not so inexperienced as she looks," he thought, and thereafter his respect and ardour were increased.

She could not help sharing in Lola's love for a good time. There were days when they went carriage riding,

nights when after the show they dined, afternoons when they strolled along Broadway, tastefully dressed. She

At last her picture appeared in one of the weeklies. She had not known of it, and it took her breath. "Miss

Carrie Madenda," it was labelled. "One of the favourites of 'The Wives of Abdul' company." At Lola's advice

she had had some pictures taken by Sarony. They had got one there. She thought of going down and buying a

few copies of the paper, but remembered that there was no one she knew well enough to send them to. Only

The metropolis is a cold place socially, and Carrie soon found that a little money brought her nothing. The

world of wealth and distinction was quite as far away as ever. She could feel that there was no warm,

sympathetic friendship back of the easy merriment with which many approached her. All seemed to be

seeking their own amusement, regardless of the possible sad consequence to others. So much for the lessons

In April she learned that the opera would probably last until the middle or the end of May, according to the

size of the audiences. Next season it would go on the road. She wondered if she would be with it. As usual,

"They're putting on a summer play at the Casino," she announced, after figuratively putting her ear to the

They tried in time and were apprised of the proper date to apply again. That was May 16th. Meanwhile their

"Those that want to go with the show next season," said the manager, "will have to sign this week."

"Well, I won't," said the little girl, who had a resource in her admirers. "I went once and I didn't have

The manager who was putting on the summer skit at the Casino had never heard of Carrie, but the several

notices she had received, her published picture, and the programme bearing her name had some little weight

"Didn't I tell you?" said Lola. "It doesn't do you any good to go away from New York. They forget all about

Now, because Carrie was pretty, the gentlemen who made up the advance illustrations of shows about to

appear for the Sunday papers selected Carrie's photo along with others to illustrate the announcement.

Because she was very pretty, they gave it excellent space and drew scrolls about it. Carrie was delighted.

Still, the management did not seem to have seen anything of it. At least, no more attention was paid to her

than before. At the same time there seemed very little in her part. It consisted of standing around in all sorts

of scenes, a silent little Quakeress. The author of the skit had fancied that a great deal could be made of such

a part, given to the right actress, but now, since it had been doled out to Carrie, he would as leave have had it

"Don't kick, old man," remarked the manager. "If it don't go the first week we will cut it out."

Carrie had no warning of this halcyon intention. She practised her part ruefully, feeling that she was

"That isn't so bad," said the author, the manager noting the curious effect which Carrie's blues had upon the

Carrie did not know it, but there was the least show of wrinkles between her eyes and her mouth was

"I mean it," he said. "Frown hard when Mr. Sparks dances. I want to see how it looks."

It was easy enough to do. Carrie scowled. The effect was something so quaint and droll it caught even the

"Suppose you try frowning all through. Do it hard. Look mad. It'll make the part really funny."

On the opening night it looked to Carrie as if there were nothing to her part, after all. The happy, sweltering

audience did not seem to see her in the first act. She frowned and frowned, but to no effect. Eyes were riveted

In the second act, the crowd, wearied by a dull conversation, roved with its eyes about the stage and sighted

her. There she was, greysuited, sweetfaced, demure, but scowling. At first the general idea was that she

was temporarily irritated, that the look was genuine and not fun at all. As she went on frowning, looking now

at one principal and now at the other, the audience began to smile. The portly gentlemen in the front rows

began to feel that she was a delicious little morsel. It was the kind of frown they would have loved to force

At last, the chief comedian, singing in the centre of the stage, noticed a giggle where it was not expected.

Then another and another. When the place came for loud applause it was only moderate. What could be the

All at once, after an exit, he caught sight of Carrie. She was frowning alone on the stage and the audience was

"By George, I won't stand that!" thought the thespian. "I'm not going to have my work cut up by some one

"Why, that's all right," said the manager, when the kick came. "That's what she's supposed to do. You needn't

"No, she don't," returned the former, soothingly. "It's only a little fun on the side."

"It is, eh?" exclaimed the big comedian. "She killed my hand all right. I'm not going to stand that."

"Well, wait until after the show. Wait until tomorrow. We'll see what we can do."

The next act, however, settled what was to be done. Carrie was the chief feature of the play. The audience,

the more it studied her, the more it indicated its delight. Every other feature paled beside the quaint, teasing,

delightful atmosphere which Carrie contributed while on the stage. Manager and company realised she had

The critics of the daily papers completed her triumph. There were long notices in praise of the quality of the

burlesque, touched with recurrent references to Carrie. The contagious mirth of the thing was repeatedly

"Miss Madenda presents one of the most delightful bits of character work ever seen on the Casino stage,"

observed the stage critic of the "Sun." "It is a bit of quiet, unassuming drollery which warms like good wine.

Evidently the part was not intended to take precedence, as Miss Madenda is not often on the stage, but the

audience, with the characteristic perversity of such bodies, selected for itself. The little Quakeress was

marked for a favourite the moment she appeared, and thereafter easily held attention and applause. The

The critic of the "Evening World," seeking as usual to establish a catch phrase which should "go" with the

The result was miraculous so far as Carrie's fortune was concerned. Even during the morning she received a

"You seem to have taken the town by storm," he wrote. "This is delightful. I am as glad for your sake as for

That evening when she entered the theatre the manager had a most pleasant greeting for her.

"Mr. Stevens," he said, referring to the author, "is preparing a little song, which he would like you to sing

"It isn't anything difficult. 'It's something that is very simple,' he says, 'and would suit you exactly.'"

"Would you mind coming to the boxoffice a few moments before you dress?" observed the manager, in

"Now, of course," he said, "we want to be fair with you in the matter of salary. Your contract here only calls

for thirty dollars a week for the next three months. How would it do to make it, say, one hundred and fifty a

Carrie looked and beheld a new contract made out like the other one, with the exception of the new figures of

"One hundred and fifty a week!" she murmured, when she was again alone. She found, after allas what

millionaire has not?that there was no realising, in consciousness, the meaning of large sums. It was only a

Down in a thirdrate Bleecker Street hotel, the brooding Hurstwood read the dramatic item covering Carrie's

success, without at first realising who was meant. Then suddenly it came to him and he read the whole thing

"I guess she's struck it," he thought, a picture of the old shiny, plushcovered world coming back, with its

lights, its ornaments, its carriages, and flowers. Ah, she was in the walled city now! Its splendid gates had

opened, admitting her from a cold, dreary outside. She seemed a creature afar offlike every other celebrity

When Carrie got back on the stage, she found that over night her dressingroom had been changed.

No longer any need of climbing several flights of steps to a small coop shared with another. Instead, a

comparatively large and commodious chamber with conveniences not enjoyed by the small fry overhead. She

breathed deeply and with delight. Her sensations were more physical than mental. In fact, she was scarcely

Gradually the deference and congratulation gave her a mental appreciation of her state. She was no longer

ordered, but requested, and that politely. The other members of the cast looked at her enviously as she came

out arrayed in her simple habit, which she wore all through the play. All those who had supposedly been her

equals and superiors now smiled the smile of sociability, as much as to say: "How friendly we have always

been." Only the star comedian whose part had been so deeply injured stalked by himself. Figuratively, he

Doing her simple part, Carrie gradually realised the meaning of the applause which was for her, and it was

sweet. She felt mildly guilty of somethingperhaps unworthiness. When her associates addressed her in the

wings she only smiled weakly. The pride and daring of place were not for her. It never once crossed her mind

to be reserved or haughtyto be other than she had been. After the performances she rode to her room with

Then came a week in which the first fruits of success were offered to her lipsbowl after bowl. It did not

matter that her splendid salary had not begun. The world seemed satisfied with the promise. She began to get

letters and cards. A Mr. Withers whom she did not know from Adamhaving learned by some hook or

"You will excuse me for intruding," he said; "but have you been thinking of changing your apartments?"

"Well, I am connected with the Wellingtonthe new hotel on Broadway. You have probably seen notices of

Carrie recognised the name as standing for one of the newest and most imposing hostelries. She had heard it

"Just so," went on Mr. Withers, accepting her acknowledgment of familiarity. "We have some very elegant

rooms at present which we would like to have you look at, if you have not made up your mind where you

intend to reside for the summer. Our apartments are perfect in every detailhot 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 took her to be a millionaire.

"Well, now, that is what I came to talk with you privately about. Our regular rates are anywhere from three to

"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. Possibly you have not thought about it,

"Of course. Every hotel depends upon the repute of its patrons. A wellknown actress like yourself," and he

bowed politely, while Carrie flushed, "draws attention to the hotel, andalthough you may not believe

"Oh, yes," returned Carrie, vacantly, trying to arrange this curious proposition in her mind.

"Now," continued Mr. Withers, swaying his derby hat softly and beating one of his polished shoes upon the

floor, "I want to arrange, if possible, to have you come and stop at the Wellington. You need not trouble

about terms. In fact, we need hardly discuss them. Anything will do for the summera mere

"You can come today or tomorrowthe earlier the betterand we will give you your choice of nice,

"You're very kind," said Carrie, touched by the agent's extreme affability. "I should like to come very much. I

"You need not trouble about that at all," interrupted Mr. Withers. "We can arrange that to your entire

satisfaction at any time. If three dollars a day is satisfactory to you, it will be so to us. All you have to do is to

pay that sum to the clerk at the end of the week or month, just as you wish, and he will give you a receipt for

"I did not mean at once," he returned. "Any time will do. Would this afternoon be inconvenient?"

"I have a roommate," she added, "who will have to go wherever I do. I forgot about that."

"Oh, very well," said Mr. Withers, blandly. "It is for you to say whom you want with you. As I say, all that

"Did they really?" exclaimed the latter, thinking of the Wellington as a group of managers. "Isn't that fine?

Oh, jolly! It's so swell. That's where we dined that night we went with those two Cushing boys. Don't you

The rooms which Mr. Withers displayed to Carrie and Lola were three and batha suite on the parlour floor.

They were done in chocolate and dark red, with rugs and hangings to match. Three windows looked down

into busy Broadway on the east, three into a side street which crossed there. There were two lovely bedrooms,

set with brass and white enamel beds, white ribbontrimmed chairs and chiffoniers to match. In the third

room, or parlour, was a piano, a heavy piano lamp, with a shade of gorgeous pattern, a library table, several

huge easy rockers, some dado book shelves, and a gilt curio case, filled with oddities. Pictures were upon the

walls, soft Turkish pillows upon the divan footstools of brown plush upon the floor. Such accommodations

"It is comfortable," said Carrie, who was lifting a lace curtain and looking down into crowded Broadway.

The bath was a handsome affair, done in white enamel, with a large, bluebordered stone tub and nickel

trimmings. It was bright and commodious, with a bevelled mirror set in the wall at one end and incandescent

"Well, then, any time you find it convenient to move in, they are ready. The boy will bring you the keys at the

Carrie noted the elegantly carpeted and decorated hall, the marbled lobby, and showy waitingroom. It was

"I guess we'd better move right away, don't you think so?" she observed to Lola, thinking of the

Dressing, after the matinee on Wednesday, a knock came at her dressingroom door.

"Tell her I'll be right out," she said softly. Then, looking at the card, added: "Mrs. Vance."

"Why, you little sinner," the latter exclaimed, as she saw Carrie coming toward her across the now vacant

Carrie laughed merrily. There was no trace of embarrassment in her friend's manner. You would have thought

"I don't know," returned Carrie, warming, in spite of her first troubled feelings, toward this handsome,

"Well, you know, I saw your picture in the Sunday paper, but your name threw me off. I thought it must be

you or somebody that looked just like you, and I said: 'Well, now, I will go right down there and see.' I was

"Fine. But aren't you a success! Dear, oh! All the papers talking about you. I should think you would be just

"Well, anyhow, here you are. Can't you come up and take dinner with me now? Where are you stopping?"

"At the Wellington," said Carrie, who permitted herself a touch of pride in the acknowledgment.

"Oh, are you?" exclaimed the other, upon whom the name was not without its proper effect.

Tactfully, Mrs. Vance avoided the subject of Hurstwood, of whom she could not help thinking. No doubt

"Oh, I don't think I can," said Carrie, "tonight. I have so little time. I must be back here by 7.30. Won't you

"I'd be delighted, but I can't tonight," said Mrs. Vance studying Carrie's fine appearance. The latter's good

fortune made her seem more than ever worthy and delightful in the others eyes. "I promised faithfully to be

home at six." Glancing at the small gold watch pinned to her bosom, she added: "I must be going, too. Tell

"Yes. You know I can't stay six months in one place. I just have to move. Remember nowhalfpast five."

"I won't forget," said Carrie, casting a glance at her as she went away. Then it came to her that she was as

good as this woman nowperhaps better. Something in the other's solicitude and interest made her feel as if

Now, as on each preceding day, letters were handed her by the doorman at the Casino. This was a feature

which had rapidly developed since Monday. What they contained she well knew. MASH NOTES were old

affairs in their mildest form. She remembered having received her first one far back in Columbia City. Since

then, as a chorus girl, she had received othersgentlemen who prayed for an engagement. They were

common sport between her and Lola, who received some also. They both frequently made light of them.

Now, however, they came thick and fast. Gentlemen with fortunes did not hesitate to note, as an addition to

their own amiable collection of virtues, that they had their horses and carriages. Thus one:

"I have a million in my own right. I could give you every luxury. There isn't anything you could ask for that

you couldn't have. I say this, not because I want to speak of my money, but because I love you and wish to

gratify your every desire. It is love that prompts me to write. Will you not give me one halfhour in which to

Such of these letters as came while Carrie was still in the Seventeenth Street place were read with more

interestthough never delightthan those which arrived after she was installed in her luxurious quarters at

the Wellington. Even there her vanityor that selfappreciation which, in its more rabid form, is called

vanitywas not sufficiently cloyed to make these things wearisome. Adulation, being new in any form,

pleased her. Only she was sufficiently wise to distinguish between her old condition and her new one. She

had not had fame or money before. Now they had come. She had not had adulation and affectionate

propositions before. Now they had come. Wherefore? She smiled to think that men should suddenly find her

so much more attractive. In the least way it incited her to coolness and indifference.

"Do look here," she remarked to Lola. "See what this man says: 'If you will only deign to grant me one

halfhour,'" she repeated, with an imitation of languor. "The idea. Aren't men silly?"

"He must have lots of money, the way he talks," observed Lola. "That's what they all say," said Carrie,

"Indeed I won't," said Carrie. "I know what he'd say. I don't want to meet anybody that way."

Thus crowded fortune. For this whole week, though her large salary had not yet arrived, it was as if the world

understood and trusted her. Without moneyor the requisite sum, at leastshe enjoyed the luxuries which

money could buy. For her the doors of fine places seemed to open quite without the asking. These palatial

chambers, how marvellously they came to her. The elegant apartments of Mrs. Vance in the Chelseathese

were hers. Men sent flowers, love notes, offers of fortune. And still her dreams ran riot. The one hundred and

fifty! the one hundred and fifty! What a door to an Aladdin's cave it seemed to be. Each day, her head almost

turned by developments, her fancies of what her fortune must be, with ample money, grew and multiplied.

She conceived of delights which were notsaw lights of joy that never were on land or sea. Then, at last,

after a world of anticipation, came her first installment of one hundred and fifty dollars.

It was paid to her in greenbacksthree twenties, six tens, and six fives. Thus collected it made a very

convenient roll. It was accompanied by a smile and a salutation from the cashier who paid it.

"Ah, yes," said the latter, when she applied; "Miss Madendaone hundred and fifty dollars. Quite a success

Right after came one of the insignificant members of the company, and she heard the changed tone of

"How much?" said the same cashier, sharply. One, such as she had only recently been, was waiting for her

modest salary. It took her back to the few weeks in which she had collectedor rather had receivedalmost

with the air of a domestic, fourfifty per week from a lordly foreman in a shoe factorya man who, in

distributing the envelopes, had the manner of a prince doling out favours to a servile group of petitioners. She

knew that out in Chicago this very day the same factory chamber was full of poor homelyclad girls working

in long lines at clattering machines; that at noon they would eat a miserable lunch in a halfhour; that

Saturday they would gather, as they had when she was one of them, and accept the small pay for work a

hundred times harder than she was now doing. Oh, it was so easy now! The world was so rosy and bright.

She felt so thrilled that she must needs walk back 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 her one hundred and fifty in hand, Carrie could think of nothing particularly to do. In itself, as a

tangible, apparent thing which she could touch and look upon, it was a diverting thing for a few days, but this

soon passed. Her hotel bill did not require its use. Her clothes had for some time been wholly satisfactory.

Another day or two and she would receive another hundred and fifty. It began to appear as if this were not so

startlingly necessary to maintain her present state. If she wanted to do anything better or move higher she

Now a critic called to get up one of those tinsel interviews which shine with clever observations, show up the

wit of critics, display the folly of celebrities, and divert the public. He liked Carrie, and said so,

publiclyadding, however, that she was merely pretty, goodnatured, and lucky. This cut like a knife. The

"Herald," getting up an entertainment for the benefit of its free ice fund, did her the honour to beg her to

appear along with celebrities for nothing. She was visited by a young author, who had a play which he

thought she could produce. Alas, she could not judge. It hurt her to think it. Then she found she must put her

money in the bank for safety, and so moving, finally reached the place where it struck her that the door to

Gradually she began to think it was because it was summer. Nothing was going on much save such

entertainments as the one in which she was the star. Fifth Avenue was boarded up where the rich had deserted

their mansions. Madison Avenue was little better. Broadway was full of loafing thespians in search of next

season's engagements. The whole city was quiet and her nights were taken up with her work. Hence the

"I don't know," she said to Lola one day, sitting at one of the windows which looked down into Broadway, "I

"No," said Lola, "not very often. You won't go anywhere. That's what's the matter with you."

"Why, there're lots of places," returned Lola, who was thinking of her own lightsome tourneys with the gay

"I don't want to go with these people who write to me. I know what kind they are."

"You oughtn't to be lonely," said Lola, thinking of Carrie's success. "There're lots would give their ears to be

The gloomy Hurstwood, sitting in his cheap hotel, where he had taken refuge with seventy dollarsthe price

of his furniture between him and nothing, saw a hot summer out and a cool fall in, reading. He was not

wholly indifferent to the fact that his money was slipping away. As fifty cents after fifty cents were paid out

for a day's lodging he became uneasy, and finally took a cheaper roomthirtyfive cents a dayto make

his money last longer. Frequently he saw notices of Carrie. Her picture was in the "World" once or twice, and

an old "Herald" he found in a chair informed him that she had recently appeared with some others at a benefit

for something or other. He read these things with mingled feelings. Each one seemed to put her farther and

farther away into a realm which became more imposing as it receded from him. On the billboards, too, he

saw a pretty poster, showing her as the Quaker Maid, demure and dainty. More than once he stopped and

looked at these, gazing at the pretty face in a sullen sort of way. His clothes were shabby, and he presented a

Somehow, so long as he knew she was at the Casino, though he had never any intention of going near her,

there was a subconscious comfort for himhe was not quite alone. The show seemed such a fixture that,

after a month or two, he began to take it for granted that it was still running. In September it went on the road

and he did not notice it. When all but twenty dollars of his money was gone, he moved to a fifteencent

lodginghouse in the Bowery, where there was a bare loungingroom filled with tables and benches as well

as some chairs. Here his preference was to close his eyes and dream of other days, a habit which grew upon

him. It was not sleep at first, but a mental hearkening back to scenes and incidents in his Chicago life. As the

present became darker, the past grew brighter, and all that concerned it stood in relief.

He was unconscious of just how much this habit had hold of him until one day he found his lips repeating an

old answer he had made to one of his friends. They were in Fitzgerald and Moy's. It was as if he stood in the

door of his elegant little office, comfortably dressed, talking to Sagar Morrison about the value of South

The movement of his lips aroused him. He wondered whether he had really spoken. The next time he noticed

It was a funny English story he was telling to a company of actors. Even as his voice recalled him, he was

smiling. A crusty old codger, sitting near by, seemed disturbed; at least, he stared in a most pointed way.

Hurstwood straightened up. The humour of the memory fled in an instant and he felt ashamed. For relief, he

One day, looking down the ad. columns of the "Evening World," he saw where a new play was at the Casino.

Instantly, he came to a mental halt. Carrie had gone! He remembered seeing a poster of her only yesterday,

but no doubt it was one left uncovered by the new signs. Curiously, this fact shook him up. He had almost to

admit that somehow he was depending upon her being in the city. Now she was gone. He wondered how this

important fact had skipped him. Goodness knows when she would be back now. Impelled by a nervous fear,

he rose and went into the dingy hall, where he counted his remaining money, unseen. There were but ten

He wondered how all these other lodginghouse people around him got along. They didn't seem to do

anything. Perhaps they beggedunquestionably they did. Many was the dime he had given to such as they in

his day. He had seen other men asking for money on the streets. Maybe he could get some that way. There

Sitting in the lodginghouse room, he came to his last fifty cents. He had saved and counted until his health

was affected. His stoutness had gone. With it, even the semblance of a fit in his clothes. Now he decided he

must do something, and, walking about, saw another day go by, bringing him down to his last twenty

Summoning all his courage, he crossed to Broadway and up to the Broadway Central hotel. Within a block he

halted, undecided. A big, heavyfaced porter was standing at one of the side entrances, looking out.

Hurstwood purposed to appeal to him. Walking straight up, he was upon him before he could turn away.

"My friend," he said, recognising even in his plight the man's inferiority, "is there anything about this hotel

"I'm out of work and out of money and I've got to get something, it doesn't matter what. I don't care to talk

about what I've been, but if you'd tell me how to get something to do, I'd be much obliged to you. It wouldn't

The porter still gazed, trying to look indifferent. Then, seeing that Hurstwood was about to go on, he said:

Inside went the exmanager and straight to an office off the clerk's desk. One of the managers of the hotel

"Could you give me something to do for a few days?" he said. "I'm in a position where I have to get

The comfortable manager looked at him, as much as to say: "Well, I should judge so."

"I came here," explained Hurstwood, nervously, "because I've been a manager myself in my day. I've had bad

luck in a way but I'm not here to tell you that. I want something to do, if only for a week."

"It wasn't a hotel," said Hurstwood. "I was manager of Fitzgerald and Moy's place in Chicago for fifteen

"Well, by foolishness of my own. It isn't anything to talk about now. You could find out if you wanted to. I'm

The hotel man was slightly interested in this story. He could hardly tell what to do with such a figure, and yet

In reply to a bell and a disappearing hallboy, Olsen, the head porter, appeared.

"Olsen," said the manager, "is there anything downstairs you could find for this man to do? I'd like to give

"I don't know, sir," said Olsen. "We have about all the help we need. I think I could find something, sir,

Hurstwood followed. Out of the manager's sight, the head porter's manner changed.

Hurstwood said nothing. To him the big trunk hustler was a subject for private contempt.

The latter looked Hurstwood over, and seeing something keen and intellectual in his eyes, said:

Thus was Hurstwood installed in the Broadway Central, but not for long. He was in no shape or mood to do

the scrub work that exists about the foundation of every hotel. Nothing better offering, he was set to aid the

fireman, to work about the basement, to do anything and everything that might offer. Porters, cooks, firemen,

clerksall were over him. Moreover his appearance did not please these individualshis temper was too

With the stolidity and indifference of despair, however, he endured it all, sleeping in an attic at the roof of the

house, eating what the cook gave him, accepting a few dollars a week, which he tried to save. His constitution

One day the following February he was sent on an errand to a large coal company's office. It had been

snowing and thawing and the streets were sloppy. He soaked his shoes in his progress and came back feeling

dull and weary. All the next day he felt unusually depressed and sat about as much as possible, to the

In the afternoon some boxes were to be moved to make room for new culinary supplies. He was ordered to

This he did, but soon grew rapidly worse. It seemed all he could do to crawl to his room, where he remained

In three weeks the worst was over, but it was nearly the first of May before his strength permitted him to be

No more weakly looking object ever strolled out into the spring sunshine than the once hale, lusty manager.

All his corpulency had fled. His face was thin and pale, his hands white, his body flabby. Clothes and all, he

weighed but one hundred and thirtyfive pounds. Some old garments had been given hima cheap brown

coat and misfit pair of trousers. Also some change and advice. He was told to apply to the charities.

Again he resorted to the Bowery lodginghouse, brooding over where to look. From this it was but a step to

His first application was in sunny Second Avenue. A welldressed man came leisurely strolling toward him

"Would you mind giving me ten cents?" he said, directly. "I'm in a position where I must ask some one."

"Much obliged," said Hurstwood, softly, but the other paid no more attention to him.

Satisfied with his success and yet ashamed of his situation, he decided that he would only ask for twentyfive

cents more, since that would be sufficient. He strolled about sizing up people, but it was long before just the

right face and situation arrived. When he asked, he was refused. Shocked by this result, he took an hour to

recover and then asked again. This time a nickel was given him. By the most watchful effort he did get

The next day he resorted to the same effort, experiencing a variety of rebuffs and one or two generous

receptions. At last it crossed his mind that there was a science of faces, and that a man could pick the liberal

It was no pleasure to him, however, this stopping of passersby. He saw one man taken up for it and now

troubled lest he should be arrested. Nevertheless, he went on, vaguely anticipating that indefinite something

It was with a sense of satisfaction, then, that he saw announced one morning the return of the Casino

Company, "with Miss Carrie Madenda." He had thought of her often enough in days past. How successful

she washow much money she must have! Even now, however, it took a severe run of ill luck to decide him

Accordingly, he headed for the Casino one afternoon, passing it several times in an effort to locate the stage

entrance. Then he sat in Bryant Park, a block away, waiting. "She can't refuse to help me a little," he kept

Beginning with halfpast six, he hovered like a shadow about the Thirtyninth Street entrance, pretending

always to be a hurrying pedestrian and yet fearful lest he should miss his object. He was slightly nervous, too,

now that the eventful hour had arrived; but being weak and hungry, his ability to suffer was modified. At last

he saw that the actors were beginning to arrive, and his nervous tension increased, until it seemed as if he

Once he thought he saw Carrie coming and moved forward, only to see that he was mistaken.

"She can't be long, now," he said to himself, half fearing to encounter her and equally depressed at the

thought that she might have gone in by another way. His stomach was so empty that it ached.

Individual after individual passed him, nearly all well dressed, almost all indifferent. He saw coaches rolling

by, gentlemen passing with ladiesthe evening's merriment was beginning in this region of theatres and

Suddenly a coach rolled up and the driver jumped down to open the door. Before Hurstwood could act, two

ladies flounced across the broad walk and disappeared in the stage door. He thought he saw Carrie, but it was

so unexpected, so elegant and far away, he could hardly tell. He waited a while longer, growing feverish with

want, and then seeing that the stage door no longer opened, and that a merry audience was arriving, he

"Lord," he said, hastening out of the street into which the more fortunate were pouring, "I've got to get

At that hour, when Broadway is wont to assume its most interesting aspect, a peculiar individual invariably

took his stand at the corner of Twentysixth Street and Broadwaya spot which is also intersected by Fifth

Avenue. This was the hour when the theatres were just beginning to receive their patrons. Fire signs

announcing the night's amusements blazed on every hand. Cabs and carriages, their lamps gleaming like

yellow eyes, pattered by. Couples and parties of three and four freely mingled in the common crowd, which

poured by in a thick stream, laughing and jesting. On Fifth Avenue were loungersa few wealthy strollers, a

gentleman in evening dress with his lady on his arm, some clubmen passing from one smokingroom to

another. Across the way the great hotels showed a hundred gleaming windows, their cafes and billiardrooms

filled with a comfortable, welldressed, and pleasureloving throng. All about was the night, pulsating with

the thoughts of pleasure and exhilarationthe curious enthusiasm of a great city bent upon finding joy in a

This unique individual was no less than an exsoldier turned religionist, who, having suffered the whips and

privations of our peculiar social system, had concluded that his duty to the God which he conceived lay in

aiding his fellowman. The form of aid which he chose to administer was entirely original with himself. It

consisted of securing a bed for all such homeless wayfarers as should apply to him at this particular spot,

though he had scarcely the wherewithal to provide a comfortable habitation for himself. Taking his place

amid this lightsome atmosphere, he would stand, his stocky figure cloaked in a great cape overcoat, his head

protected by a broad slouch hat, awaiting the applicants who had in various ways learned the nature of his

charity. For a while he would stand alone, gazing like any idler upon an everfascinating scene. On the

evening in question, a policeman passing saluted him as "captain," in a friendly way. An urchin who had

frequently seen him before, stopped to gaze. All others took him for nothing out of the ordinary, save in the

matter of dress, and conceived of him as a stranger whistling and idling for his own amusement.

As the first halfhour waned, certain characters appeared. Here and there in the passing crowds one might

see, now and then, a loiterer edging interestedly near. A slouchy figure crossed the opposite corner and

glanced furtively in his direction. Another came down Fifth Avenue to the corner of Twentysixth Street,

took a general survey, and hobbled off again. Two or three noticeable Bowery types edged along the Fifth

Avenue side of Madison Square, but did not venture over. The soldier, in his cape overcoat, walked a short

As nine o'clock approached, some of the hubbub of the earlier hour passed. The atmosphere of the hotels was

not so youthful. The air, too, was colder. On every hand curious figures were movingwatchers and

peepers, without an imaginary circle, which they seemed afraid to entera dozen in all. Presently, with the

arrival of a keener sense of cold, one figure came forward. It crossed Broadway from out the shadow of

Twentysixth Street, and, in a halting, circuitous way, arrived close to the waiting figure. There was

something shamefaced or diffident about the movement, as if the intention were to conceal any idea of

stopping until the very last moment. Then suddenly, close to the soldier, came the halt.

The captain looked in recognition, but there was no especial greeting. The newcomer nodded slightly and

murmured something like one who waits for gifts. The other simply motioned toward the edge of the walk.

By this the spell was broken. Even while the soldier resumed his short, solemn walk, other figures shuffled

forward. They did not so much as greet the leader, but joined the one, sniffling and hitching and scraping

The motley company had increased to ten. One or two knew each other and conversed. Others stood off a few

feet, not wishing to be in the crowd and yet not counted out. They were peevish, crusty, silent, eying nothing

There would have been talking soon, but the soldier gave them no chance. Counting sufficient to begin, he

They fell into a sort of broken, ragged line. One might see, now, some of the chief characteristics by contrast.

There was a wooden leg in the line. Hats were all drooping, a group that would ill become a secondhand

Hester Street basement collection. Trousers were all warped and frayed at the bottom and coats worn and

faded. In the glare of the store lights, some of the faces looked dry and chalky; others were red with blotches

and puffed in the cheeks and under the eyes; one or two were rawboned and reminded one of railroad hands.

A few spectators came near, drawn by the seemingly conferring group, then more and more, and quickly

"Silence!" exclaimed the captain. "Now, then, gentlemen, these men are without beds. They have to have

some place to sleep tonight. They can't lie out in the streets. I need twelve cents to put one of them to bed.

"Well, we'll have to wait here, boys, until some one does. Twelve cents isn't so very much for one man."

"Here's fifteen," exclaimed a young man, peering forward with strained eyes. "It's all I can afford."

"All right. Now I have fifteen. Step out of the line," and seizing one by the shoulder, the captain marched him

"I have three cents left. These men must be put to bed somehow. There are"counting"one, two, three,

four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve men. Nine cents more will put the next man to bed; give

him a good, comfortable bed for the night. I go right along and look after that myself. Who will give me nine

"Now, I have eight cents. Four more will give this man a bed. Come, gentlemen. We are going very slow this

"That," said the captain, looking at the coin, "pays for two beds for two men and gives me five on the next

Coming down Sixth Avenue this evening, Hurstwood chanced to cross east through Twentysixth Street

toward Third Avenue. He was wholly disconsolate in spirit, hungry to what he deemed an almost mortal

extent, weary, and defeated. How should he get at Carrie now? It would be eleven before the show was over.

If she came in a coach, she would go away in one. He would need to interrupt under most trying

circumstances. Worst of all, he was hungry and weary, and at best a whole day must intervene, for he had not

When he neared Broadway, he noticed the captain's gathering of wanderers, but thinking it to be the result of

a street preacher or some patent medicine fakir, was about to pass on. However, in crossing the street toward

Madison Square Park, he noticed the line of men whose beds were already secured, stretching out from the

main body of the crowd. In the glare of the neighbouring electric light he recognised a type of his own

kindthe figures whom he saw about the streets and in the lodginghouses, drifting in mind and body like

There was the captain curtly pleading as before. He heard with astonishment and a sense of relief the

oftrepeated words: "These men must have a bed." Before him was the line of unfortunates whose beds were

yet to be had, and seeing a newcomer quietly edge up and take a position at the end of the line, he decided to

do likewise. What use to contend? He was weary tonight. It was a simple way out of one difficulty, at least.

Back of him, where some of those were whose beds were safe, a relaxed air was apparent. The strain of

uncertainty being removed, he heard them talking with moderate freedom and some leaning toward

sociability. Politics, religion, the state of the government, some newspaper sensations, and the more notorious

facts the world over, found mouthpieces and auditors there. Cracked and husky voices pronounced forcibly

There were squints, and leers, and some dull, oxlike stares from those who were too dull or too weary to

Standing tells. Hurstwood became more weary waiting. He thought he should drop soon and shifted restlessly

from one foot to the other. At last his turn came. The man ahead had been paid for and gone to the blessed

"Twelve cents, gentlementwelve cents puts this man to bed. He wouldn't stand here in the cold if he had

Hurstwood swallowed something that rose to his throat. Hunger and weakness had made a coward of him.

Now the latter put a kindly hand on the exmanager's shoulder. "Line up over there," he said.

Once there, Hurstwood breathed easier. He felt as if the world were not quite so bad with such a good man in

"Captain's a great feller, ain't he?" said the man aheada little, woebegone, helplesslooking sort of

individual, who looked as though he had ever been the sport and care of fortune.

"Huh! there's a lot back there yet," said a man farther up, leaning out and looking back at the applicants for

A cab had stopped. Some gentleman in evening dress reached out a bill to the captain, who took it with

simple thanks and turned away to his line. There was a general craning of necks as the jewel in the white shirt

"That fixes up nine men for the night," said the captain, counting out as many of the line near him. "Line up

Money came slowly. In the course of time the crowd thinned out to a meagre handful. Fifth Avenue, save for

an occasional cab or foot passenger, was bare. Broadway was thinly peopled with pedestrians. Only now and

then a stranger passing noticed the small group, handed out a coin, and went away, unheeding.

The captain remained stolid and determined. He talked on, very slowly, uttering the fewest words and with a

"Come; I can't stay out here all night. These men are getting tired and cold. Some one give me four cents."

There came a time when he said nothing at all. Money was handed him, and for each twelve cents he singled

out a man and put him in the other line. Then he walked up and down as before, looking at the ground.

The theatres let out. Fire signs disappeared. A clock struck eleven. Another halfhour and he was down to the

"Come, now," he exclaimed to several curious observers; "eighteen cents will fix us all up for the night.

Eighteen cents. I have six. Somebody give me the money. Remember, I have to go over to Brooklyn yet

tonight. Before that I have to take these men down and put them to bed. Eighteen cents."

No one responded. He walked to and fro, looking down for several minutes, occasionally saying softly:

"Eighteen cents." It seemed as if this paltry sum would delay the desired culmination longer than all the rest

had. Hurstwood, buoyed up slightly by the long line of which he was a part, refrained with an effort from

At last a lady in opera cape and rustling skirts came down Fifth Avenue, accompanied by her escort.

Hurstwood gazed wearily, reminded by her both of Carrie in her new world and of the time when he had

While he was gazing, she turned and, looking at the remarkable company, sent her escort over. He came,

"Thanks," said the captain, turning to the two remaining applicants. "Now we have some for tomorrow

Therewith he lined up the last two and proceeded to the head, counting as he went.

"One hundred and thirtyseven," he announced. "Now, boys, line up. Right dress there. We won't be much

He placed himself at the head and called out "Forward." Hurstwood moved with the line. Across Fifth

Avenue, through Madison Square by the winding paths, east on Twentythird Street, and down Third Avenue

wound the long, serpentine company. Midnight pedestrians and loiterers stopped and stared as the company

passed. Chatting policemen, at various corners, stared indifferently or nodded to the leader, whom they had

seen before. On Third Avenue they marched, a seemingly weary way, to Eighth Street, where there was a

Outside in the gloom they stood, while the leader parleyed within. Then doors swung open and they were

Some one was at the head showing rooms, so that there was no delay for keys. Toiling up the creaky stairs,

Hurstwood looked back and saw the captain, watching; the last one of the line being included in his broad

solicitude. Then he gathered his cloak about him and strolled out into the night.

"I can't stand much of this," said Hurstwood, whose legs ached him painfully, as he sat down upon the

miserable bunk in the small, lightless chamber allotted to him. "I've got to eat, or I'll die."

Playing in New York one evening on this her return, Carrie was putting the finishing touches to her toilet

before leaving for the night, when a commotion near the stage door caught her ear. It included a familiar

"Well, well!" said Drouet. "I do swear! Why, how are you? I knew that was you the moment I saw you."

"Aren't you going to shake hands with me? Well, you're a dandy! That's all right, shake hands."

Carrie put out her hand, smiling, if for nothing more than the man's exuberant goodnature. Though older, he

was but slightly changed. The same fine clothes, the same stocky body, the same rosy countenance.

"That fellow at the door there didn't want to let me in, until I paid him. I knew it was you, all right. Say,

you've got a great show. You do your part fine. I knew you would. I just happened to be passing to night and

thought I'd drop in for a few minutes. I saw your name on the programme, but I didn't remember it until you

came on the stage. Then it struck me all at once. Say, you could have knocked me down with a feather. That's

"Oh, very well," said Carrie, lingering in her dressingroom. She was rather dazed by the assault. "How have

"You don't say so! Well, sir, this is the first I've heard of it. I knew you would, though. I always said you

"Well, you do look great," he said. "I never saw anybody improve so. You're taller, aren't you?"

He gazed at her dress, then at her hair, where a becoming hat was set jauntily, then into her eyes, which she

took all occasion to avert. Evidently he expected to restore their old friendship at once and without

"Well," he said, seeing her gather up her purse, handkerchief, and the like, preparatory to departing, "I want

"Aw, let the engagement go. Come on. I can get rid of him. I want to have a good talk with you."

"No, no," said Carrie; "I can't. You mustn't ask me any more. I don't care for a late dinner."

As a result of this, she noticed a shade of thought pass over his face, as if he were beginning to realise that

things were changed. Goodnature dictated something better than this for one who had always liked her.

"You come around to the hotel tomorrow," she said, as sort of penance for error. "You can take dinner with

"At the Waldorf," she answered, mentioning the fashionable hostelry then but newly erected.

The next day Drouet called, but it was with no especial delight that Carrie remembered her appointment.

However, seeing him, handsome as ever, after his kind, and most genially disposed, her doubts as to whether

Genial egotist that he was, he went at once into a detailed account of his own career.

"I'm going to have a business of my own pretty soon," he observed in one place. "I can get backing for two

Drouet mused for a moment. He had not been sure until now that the exmanager was not an influential

figure in the background. He imagined not; but this assurance relieved him. It must be that Carrie had got rid

of himas well she ought, he thought. "A man always makes a mistake when he does anything like that," he

"I don't know what you are talking about," said Carrie. Could it be he would refer so rudely to Hurstwood's

"Oho!" said Drouet, incredulously. "You knew he took ten thousand dollars with him when he left, didn't

"Well, that's funny," said Drouet. "He did, you know. It was in all the papers."

Carrie looked vacantly at the richly carpeted floor. A new light was shining upon all the years since her

enforced flight. She remembered now a hundred things that indicated as much. She also imagined that he

took it on her account. Instead of hatred springing up there was a kind of sorrow generated. Poor fellow!

At dinner Drouet, warmed up by eating and drinking and softened in mood, fancied he was winning Carrie to

her oldtime goodnatured regard for him. He began to imagine it would not be so difficult to enter into her

life again, high as she was. Ah, what a prize! he thought. How beautiful, how elegant, how famous! In her

"I never saw anybody do better than you did then, Cad," he added ruefully, as he leaned an elbow on the

"You mustn't talk that way," said Carrie, bringing in the least touch of coldness.

"No," she answered, rising. "Besides, it's time I was getting ready for the theatre. I'll have to leave you.

Reluctantly Drouet gave up the bright table and followed. He saw her to the elevator and, standing there, said:

Then he strolled sadly down the hall, all his old longing revived, because she was now so far off. The merry

froufrou of the place spoke all of her. He thought himself hardly dealt with. Carrie, however, had other

That night it was that she passed Hurstwood, waiting at the Casino, without observing him.

The next night, walking to the theatre, she encountered him face to face. He was waiting, more gaunt than

ever, determined to see her, if he had to send in word. At first she did not recognise the shabby, baggy figure.

She turned and recognised him on the instant. If there ever had lurked any feeling in her heart against him, it

deserted her now. Still, she remembered what Drouet said about his having stolen the money.

"I've been sick," he answered. "I've just got out of the hospital. For God's sake, let me have a little money,

"Of course," said Carrie, her lip trembling in a strong effort to maintain her composure. "But what's the

She was opening her purse, and now pulled out all the bills in ita five and two twos.

"I've been sick, I told you," he said, peevishly, almost resenting her excessive pity. It came hard to him to

Carrie looked at him, while pedestrians stared at her. She felt the strain of publicity. So did Hurstwood.

"Why don't you tell me what's the matter with you?" she asked, hardly knowing what to do. "Where are you

"Oh, I've got a room down in the Bowery," he answered. "There's no use trying to tell you here. I'm all right

He seemed in a way to resent her kindly inquiriesso much better had fate dealt with her.

"Better go on in," he said. "I'm much obliged, but I won't bother you any more."

For days this apparition was a drag on her soul before it began to wear partially away. Drouet called again,

So peculiar, indeed, was her lonely, selfwithdrawing temper, that she was becoming an interesting figure in

Not long after the management decided to transfer the show to London. A second summer season did not

In the hurry of departure, Hurstwood was forgotten. Both he and Drouet were left to discover that she was

gone. The latter called once, and exclaimed at the news. Then he stood in the lobby, chewing the ends of his

"She isn't so much," he said; but in his heart of hearts he did not believe this.

Hurstwood shifted by curious means through a long summer and fall. A small job as janitor of a dance hall

helped him for a month. Begging, sometimes going hungry, sometimes sleeping in the park, carried him over

more days. Resorting to those peculiar charities, several of which, in the press of hungry search, he

accidentally stumbled upon, did the rest. Toward the dead of winter, Carrie came back, appearing on

Broadway in a new play; but he was not aware of it. For weeks he wandered about the city, begging, while

the fire sign, announcing her engagement, blazed nightly upon the crowded street of amusements. Drouet saw

About this time Ames returned to New York. He had made a little success in the West, and now opened a

laboratory in Wooster Street. Of course, he encountered Carrie through Mrs. Vance; but there was nothing

responsive between them. He thought she was still united to Hurstwood, until otherwise informed. Not

knowing the facts then, he did not profess to understand, and refrained from comment.

"She ought not to be in comedy," he said. "I think she could do better than that."

One afternoon they met at the Vances' accidentally, and began a very friendly conversation. She could hardly

tell why the onetime keen interest in him was no longer with her. Unquestionably, it was because at that time

he had represented something which she did not have; but this she did not understand. Success had given her

the momentary feeling that she was now blessed with much of which he would approve. As a matter of fact,

her little newspaper fame was nothing at all to him. He thought she could have done better, by far.

"You didn't go into comedydrama, after all?" he said, remembering her interest in that form of art.

He looked at her in such a peculiar way that she realised she had failed. It moved her to add: "I want to,

"I should think you would," he said. "You have the sort of disposition that would do well in comedydrama."

It surprised her that he should speak of disposition. Was she, then, so clearly in his mind?

Carrie smiled and coloured slightly. He was so innocently frank with her that she drew nearer in friendship.

This is all that was said at the time, owing to an interruption, but later they met again. He was sitting in a

corner after dinner, staring at the floor, when Carrie came up with another of the guests. Hard work had given

his face the look of one who is weary. It was not for Carrie to know the thing in it which appealed to her.

"I'll be back in a moment," said her companion, who saw nothing in the inventor.

They listened a few moments in silence, touched by the same feeling, only hers reached her through the heart.

"I don't know what it is about music," she started to say, moved by the inexplicable longings which surged

Suddenly he turned to considering the peculiarity of her disposition, expressing her feelings so frankly.

He thought a while, and then went off into a seemingly alien observation which, however, accorded with their

"The world is full of desirable situations, but, unfortunately, we can occupy but one at a time. It doesn't do us

The music ceased and he arose, taking a standing position before her, as if to rest himself.

"Why don't you get into some good, strong comedydrama?" he said. He was looking directly at her now,

studying her face. Her large, sympathetic eyes and paintouched mouth appealed to him as proofs of his

"Yes," he said; "I do. I don't suppose you're aware of it, but there is something about your eyes and mouth

Carrie thrilled to be taken so seriously. For the moment, loneliness deserted her. Here was praise which was

"It's in your eyes and mouth," he went on abstractedly. "I remember thinking, the first time I saw you, that

there was something peculiar about your mouth. I thought you were about to cry."

"Then I noticed that that was your natural look, and tonight I saw it again. There's a shadow about your

eyes, too, which gives your face much this same character. It's in the depth of them, I think."

She looked away, pleased that he should speak thus, longing to be equal to this feeling written upon her

She had cause to ponder over this until they met againseveral weeks or more. It showed her she was

drifting away from the old ideal which had filled her in the dressingrooms of the Avery stage and thereafter,

"I know why you should be a success," he said, another time, "if you had a more dramatic part. I've studied it

"Well," he said, as one pleased with a puzzle, "the expression in your face is one that comes out in different

things. You get the same thing in a pathetic song, or any picture which moves you deeply. It's a thing the

"The world is always struggling to express itself," he went on. "Most people are not capable of voicing their

feelings. They depend upon others. That is what genius is for. One man expresses their desires for them in

music; another one in poetry; another one in a play. Sometimes nature does it in a faceit makes the face

He looked at her with so much of the import of the thing in his eyes that she caught it. At least, she got the

idea that her look was something which represented the world's longing. She took it to heart as a creditable

"That puts a burden of duty on you. It so happens that you have this thing. It is no credit to youthat is, I

mean, you might not have had it. You paid nothing to get it. But now that you have it, you must do something

"I should say, turn to the dramatic field. You have so much sympathy and such a melodious voice. Make

Carrie did not understand this last. All the rest showed her that her comedy success was little or nothing.

"Why, just this. You have this quality in your eyes and mouth and in your nature. You can lose it, you know.

If you turn away from it and live to satisfy yourself alone, it will go fast enough. The look will leave your

eyes. Your mouth will change. Your power to act will disappear. You may think they won't, but they will.

He was so interested in forwarding all good causes that he sometimes became enthusiastic, giving vent to

these preachments. Something in Carrie appealed to him. He wanted to stir her up.

The effect of this was like roiling helpless waters. Carrie troubled over it in her rockingchair for days.

"I don't believe I'll stay in comedy so very much longer," she eventually remarked to Lola.

Still, she did nothinggrieving. It was a long way to this better thingor seemed soand comfort was

In the city, at that time, there were a number of charities similar in nature to that of the captain's, which

Hurstwood now patronised in a like unfortunate way. One was a convent missionhouse of the Sisters of

Mercy in Fifteenth Streeta row of red brick family dwellings, before the door of which hung a plain

wooden contribution box, on which was painted the statement that every noon a meal was given free to all

those who might apply and ask for aid. This simple announcement was modest in the extreme, covering, as it

did, a charity so broad. Institutions and charities are so large and so numerous in New York that such things

as this are not often noticed by the more comfortably situated. But to one whose mind is upon the matter, they

grow exceedingly under inspection. Unless one were looking up this matter in particular, he could have stood

at Sixth Avenue and Fifteenth Street for days around the noon hour and never have noticed that out of the

vast crowd that surged along that busy thoroughfare there turned out, every few seconds, some

weatherbeaten, heavyfooted specimen of humanity, gaunt in countenance and dilapidated in the matter of

clothes. The fact is none the less true, however, and the colder the day the more apparent it became. Space

and a lack of culinary room in the missionhouse, compelled an arrangement which permitted of only

twentyfive or thirty eating at one time, so that a line had to be formed outside and an orderly entrance

effected. This caused a daily spectacle which, however, had become so common by repetition during a

number of years that now nothing was thought of it. The men waited patiently, like cattle, in the coldest

weatherwaited for several hours before they could be admitted. No questions were asked and no service

rendered. They ate and went away again, some of them returning regularly day after day the winter through.

A big, motherly looking woman invariably stood guard at the door during the entire operation and counted

the admissible number. The men moved up in solemn order. There was no haste and no eagerness displayed.

It was almost a dumb procession. In the bitterest weather this line was to be found here. Under an icy wind

there was a prodigious slapping of hands and a dancing of feet. Fingers and the features of the face looked as

if severely nipped by the cold. A study of these men in broad light proved them to be nearly all of a type.

They belonged to the class that sit on the park benches during the endurable days and sleep upon them during

the summer nights. They frequent the Bowery and those downattheheels East Side streets where poor

clothes and shrunken features are not singled out as curious. They are the men who are in the lodginghouse

sittingrooms during bleak and bitter weather and who swarm about the cheaper shelters which only open at

six in a number of the lower East Side streets. Miserable food, illtimed and greedily eaten, had played havoc

with bone and muscle. They were all pale, flabby, sunkeneyed, hollowchested, with eyes that glinted and

shone and lips that were a sickly red by contrast. Their hair was but half attended to, their ears anaemic in

hue, and their shoes broken in leather and run down at heel and toe. They were of the class which simply

floats and drifts, every wave of people washing up one, as breakers do driftwood upon a stormy shore.

For nearly a quarter of a century, in another section of the city, Fleischmann, the baker, had given a loaf of

bread to any one who would come for it to the side door of his restaurant at the corner of Broadway and

Tenth Street, at midnight. Every night during twenty years about three hundred men had formed in line and at

the appointed time marched past the doorway, picked their loaf from a great box placed just outside, and

vanished again into the night. From the beginning to the present time there had been little change in the

character or number of these men. There were two or three figures that had grown familiar to those who had

seen this little procession pass year after year. Two of them had missed scarcely a night in fifteen years.

There were about forty, more or less, regular callers. The remainder of the line was formed of strangers. In

times of panic and unusual hardships there were seldom more than three hundred. In times of prosperity,

when little is heard of the unemployed, there were seldom less. The same number, winter and summer, in

storm or calm, in good times and bad, held this melancholy midnight rendezvous at Fleischmann's bread box.

At both of these two charities, during the severe winter which was now on, Hurstwood was a frequent visitor.

On one occasion it was peculiarly cold, and finding no comfort in begging about the streets, he waited until

noon before seeking this free offering to the poor. Already, at eleven o'clock of this morning, several such as

he had shambled forward out of Sixth Avenue, their thin clothes flapping and fluttering in the wind. They

leaned against the iron railing which protects the walls of the Ninth Regiment Armory, which fronts upon that

section of Fifteenth Street, having come early in order to be first in. Having an hour to wait, they at first

lingered at a respectful distance; but others coming up, they moved closer in order to protect their right of

precedence. To this collection Hurstwood came up from the west out of Seventh Avenue and stopped close to

the door, nearer than all the others. Those who had been waiting before him, but farther away, now drew

near, and by a certain stolidity of demeanour, no words being spoken, indicated that they were first.

Seeing the opposition to his action, he looked sullenly along the line, then moved out, taking his place at the

They peered eagerly at the door, where all must enter. A grocery man drove up and carried in several baskets

of eatables. This started some words upon grocery men and the cost of food in general.

The line was growing rapidly. Already there were fifty or more, and those at the head, by their demeanour,

evidently congratulated themselves upon not having so long to wait as those at the foot. There was much

"It don't matter how near you get to the front, so long as you're in the first twentyfive," commented one of

"This here Single Tax is the thing," said another. "There ain't going to be no order till it comes."

For the most part there was silence; gaunt men shuffling, glancing, and beating their arms.

At last the door opened and the motherlylooking sister appeared. She only looked an order. Slowly the line

moved up and, one by one, passed in, until twentyfive were counted. Then she interposed a stout arm, and

the line halted, with six men on the steps. Of these the exmanager was one. Waiting thus, some talked, some

ejaculated concerning the misery of it; some brooded, as did Hurstwood. At last he was admitted, and, having

At eleven o'clock of another evening, perhaps two weeks later, he was at the midnight offering of a

loafwaiting patiently. It had been an unfortunate day with him, but now he took his fate with a touch of

philosophy. If he could secure no supper, or was hungry late in the evening, here was a place he could come.

A few minutes before twelve, a great box of bread was pushed out, and exactly on the hour a portly,

roundfaced German took position by it, calling "Ready." The whole line at once moved forward each taking

his loaf in turn and going his separate way. On this occasion, the exmanager ate his as he went plodding the

By January he had about concluded that the game was up with him. Life had always seemed a precious thing,

but now constant want and weakened vitality had made the charms of earth rather dull and inconspicuous.

Several times, when fortune pressed most harshly, he thought he would end his troubles; but with a change of

weather, or the arrival of a quarter or a dime, his mood would change, and he would wait. Each day he would

find some old paper lying about and look into it, to see if there was any trace of Carrie, but all summer and

fall he had looked in vain. Then he noticed that his eyes were beginning to hurt him, and this ailment rapidly

increased until, in the dark chambers of the lodgings he frequented, he did not attempt to read. Bad and

irregular eating was weakening every function of his body. The one recourse left him was to doze when a

He was beginning to find, in his wretched clothing and meagre state of body, that people took him for a

chronic type of bum and beggar. Police hustled him along, restaurant and lodginghouse keepers turned him

out promptly the moment he had his due; pedestrians waved him off. He found it more and more difficult to

At last he admitted to himself that the game was up. It was after a long series of appeals to pedestrians, in

"Give me a little something, will you, mister?" he said to the last one. "For God's sake, do; I'm starving."

"Aw, get out," said the man, who happened to be a common type himself. "You're no good. I'll give you

Hurstwood put his hands, red from cold, down in his pockets. Tears came into his eyes.

"That's right," he said; "I'm no good now. I was all right. I had money. I'm going to quit this," and, with death

in his heart, he started down toward the Bowery. People had turned on the gas before and died; why shouldn't

he? He remembered a lodginghouse where there were little, close rooms, with gasjets in them, almost

prearranged, he thought, for what he wanted to do, which rented for fifteen cents. Then he remembered that

On the way he met a comfortablelooking gentleman, coming, cleanshaven, out of a fine barber shop.

The gentleman looked him over and fished for a dime. Nothing but quarters were in his pocket.

Hurstwood moved on, wondering. The sight of the large, bright coin pleased him a little. He remembered that

he was hungry and that he could get a bed for ten cents. With this, the idea of death passed, for the time

being, out of his mind. It was only when he could get nothing but insults that death seemed worth while.

One day, in the middle of the winter, the sharpest spell of the season set in. It broke grey and cold in the first

day, and on the second snowed. Poor luck pursuing him, he had secured but ten cents by nightfall, and this he

had spent for food. At evening he found himself at the Boulevard and Sixtyseventh Street, where he finally

turned his face Boweryward. Especially fatigued because of the wandering propensity which had seized him

in the morning, he now half dragged his wet feet, shuffling the soles upon the sidewalk. An old, thin coat was

turned up about his red earshis cracked derby hat was pulled down until it turned them outward. His hands

When he reached Fortysecond Street, the fire signs were already blazing brightly. Crowds were hastening to

dine. Through bright windows, at every corner, might be seen gay companies in luxuriant restaurants. There

In his weary and hungry state, he should never have come here. The contrast was too sharp. Even he was

People turned to look after him, so uncouth was his shambling figure. Several officers followed him with

Once he paused in an aimless, incoherent sort of way and looked through the windows of an imposing

restaurant, before which blazed a fire sign, and through the large, plate windows of which could be seen the

red and gold decorations, the palms, the white napery, and shining glassware, and, above all, the comfortable

crowd. Weak as his mind had become, his hunger was sharp enough to show the importance of this. He

stopped stock still, his frayed trousers soaking in the slush, and peered foolishly in.

At Broadway and Thirtyninth Street was blazing, in incandescent fire, Carrie's name. "Carrie Madenda," it

read, "and the Casino Company." All the wet, snowy sidewalk was bright with this radiated fire. It was so

bright that it attracted Hurstwood's gaze. He looked up, and then at a large, giltframed posterboard, on

Hurstwood gazed at it a moment, snuffling and hunching one shoulder, as if something were scratching him.

"Well?" said the attendant, staring at him. Seeing him pause, he went over and shoved him. "Get out of here,"

"You do, eh?" the other said, almost tickled at the spectacle. "Get out of here," and he shoved him again.

"I want to see Miss Madenda," he tried to explain, even as he was being hustled away. "I'm all right. I"

The man gave him a last push and closed the door. As he did so, Hurstwood slipped and fell in the snow. It

hurt him, and some vague sense of shame returned. He began to cry and swear foolishly.

"God damned dog!" he said. "Damned old cur," wiping the slush from his worthless coat. "II hired such

Now a fierce feeling against Carrie welled upjust one fierce, angry thought before the whole thing slipped

Hopelessly he turned back into Broadway again and slopped onward and away, begging, crying, losing track

of his thoughts, one after another, as a mind decayed and disjointed is wont to do.

It was truly a wintry evening, a few days later, when his one distinct mental decision was reached. Already, at

four o'clock, the sombre hue of night was thickening the air. A heavy snow was fallinga fine picking,

whipping snow, borne forward by a swift wind in long, thin lines. The streets were bedded with itsix

inches of cold, soft carpet, churned to a dirty brown by the crush of teams and the feet of men. Along

Broadway men picked their way in ulsters and umbrellas. Along the Bowery, men slouched through it with

collars and hats pulled over their ears. In the former thoroughfare businessmen and travellers were making for

comfortable hotels. In the latter, crowds on cold errands shifted past dingy stores, in the deep recesses of

which lights were already gleaming. There were early lights in the cable cars, whose usual clatter was

reduced by the mantle about the wheels. The whole city was muffled by this fastthickening mantle.

In her comfortable chambers at the Waldorf, Carrie was reading at this time "Pere Goriot," which Ames had

recommended to her. It was so strong, and Ames's mere recommendation had so aroused her interest, that she

caught nearly the full sympathetic significance of it. For the first time, it was being borne in upon her how

silly and worthless had been her earlier reading, as a whole. Becoming wearied, however, she yawned and

came to the window, looking out upon the old winding procession of carriages rolling up Fifth Avenue.

"Terrible!" said that little lady, joining her. "I hope it snows enough to go sleigh riding."

"Oh, dear," said Carrie, with whom the sufferings of Father Goriot were still keen. "That's all you think of.

"I would, too," said Lola. "But people never gave me anything when I was hard up."

"Look at that man over there," laughed Lola, who had caught sight of some one falling down. "How sheepish

In the lobby of the Imperial, Mr. Charles Drouet was just arriving, shaking the snow from a very handsome

ulster. Bad weather had driven him home early and stirred his desire for those pleasures which shut out the

snow and gloom of life. A good dinner, the company of a young woman, and an evening at the theatre were

"Why, hello, Harry!" he said, addressing a lounger in one of the comfortable lobby chairs. "How are you?"

"Well, I should say," said the other. "I've been just sitting here thinking where I'd go tonight."

"Come along with me," said Drouet. "I can introduce you to something dead swell."

"Oh, a couple of girls over here in Fortieth Street. We could have a dandy time. I was just looking for you."

"All right," said Drouet, creaking off in his good shoes toward the elevator. The old butterfly was as light on

On an incoming vestibuled Pullman, speeding at forty miles an hour through the snow of the evening, were

"First call for dinner in the diningcar," a Pullman servitor was announcing, as he hastened through the aisle

"I don't believe I want to play any more," said the youngest, a blackhaired beauty, turned supercilious by

"Shall we go into dinner?" inquired her husband, who was all that fine raiment can make.

"Jessica," said her mother, who was also a study in what good clothing can do for age, "push that pin down in

Jessica obeyed, incidentally touching at her lovely hair and looking at a little jewelfaced watch. Her

husband studied her, for beauty, even cold, is fascinating from one point of view.

"Well, we won't have much more of this weather," he said. "It only takes two weeks to get to Rome."

Mrs. Hurstwood nestled comfortably in her corner and smiled. It was so nice to be the motherinlaw of a

"Do you suppose the boat will sail promptly?" asked Jessica, "if it keeps up like this?"

Passing down the aisle came a very fairhaired banker's son, also of Chicago, who had long eyed this

supercilious beauty. Even now he did not hesitate to glance at her, and she was conscious of it. With a

specially conjured show of indifference, she turned her pretty face wholly away. It was not wifely modesty at

At this moment Hurstwood stood before a dirty four story building in a side street quite near the Bowery,

whose onetime coat of buff had been changed by soot and rain. He mingled with a crowd of mena crowd

It began with the approach of two or three, who hung about the closed wooden doors and beat their feet to

keep them warm. They had on faded derby hats with dents in them. Their misfit coats were heavy with

melted snow and turned up at the collars. Their trousers were mere bags, frayed at the bottom and wobbling

over big, soppy shoes, torn at the sides and worn almost to shreds. They made no effort to go in, but shifted

ruefully about, digging their hands deep in their pockets and leering at the crowd and the increasing lamps.

With the minutes, increased the number. There were old men with grizzled beards and sunken eyes, men who

were comparatively young but shrunken by diseases, men who were middleaged. None were fat. There was

a face in the thick of the collection which was as white as drained veal. There was another red as brick. Some

came with thin, rounded shoulders, others with wooden legs, still others with frames so lean that clothes only

flapped about them. There were great ears, swollen noses, thick lips, and, above all, red, bloodshot eyes.

Not a normal, healthy face in the whole mass; not a straight figure; not a straightforward, steady glance.

In the drive of the wind and sleet they pushed in on one another. There were wrists, unprotected by coat or

pocket, which were red with cold. There were ears, half covered by every conceivable semblance of a hat,

which still looked stiff and bitten. In the snow they shifted, now one foot, now another, almost rocking in

With the growth of the crowd about the door came a murmur. It was not conversation, but a running comment

Now a sharper lash of wind cut down and they huddled closer. It was an edging, shifting, pushing throng.

There was no anger, no pleading, no threatening words. It was all sullen endurance, unlightened by either wit

A carriage went jingling by with some reclining figure in it. One of the men nearest the door saw it.

"Eh, eh, eh!" yelled another, the carriage having long since passed out of hearing.

Little by little the night crept on. Along the walk a crowd turned out on its way home. Men and shopgirls

went by with quick steps. The crosstown cars began to be crowded. The gas lamps were blazing, and every

window bloomed ruddy with a steady flame. Still the crowd hung about the door, unwavering.

This seemed to renew the general interest in the closed door, and many gazed in that direction. They looked

at it as dumb brutes look, as dogs paw and whine and study the knob. They shifted and blinked and muttered,

now a curse, now a comment. Still they waited and still the snow whirled and cut them with biting flakes. On

the old hats and peaked shoulders it was piling. It gathered in little heaps and curves and no one brushed it

off. In the centre of the crowd the warmth and steam melted it, and water trickled off hat rims and down

noses, which the owners could not reach to scratch. On the outer rim the piles remained unmelted.

Hurstwood, who could not get in the centre, stood with head lowered to the weather and bent his form.

A light appeared through the transom overhead. It sent a thrill of possibility through the watchers. There was

a murmur of recognition. At last the bars grated inside and the crowd pricked up its ears. Footsteps shuffled

within and it murmured again. Some one called: "Slow up there, now," and then the door opened. It was push

and jam for a minute, with grim, beast silence to prove its quality, and then it melted inward, like logs

floating, and disappeared. There were wet hats and wet shoulders, a cold, shrunken, disgruntled mass,

pouring in between bleak walls. It was just six o'clock and there was supper in every hurrying pedestrian's

Hurstwood laid down his fifteen cents and crept off with weary steps to his allotted room. It was a dingy

affairwooden, dusty, hard. A small gasjet furnished sufficient light for so rueful a corner.

Now he began leisurely to take off his clothes, but stopped first with his coat, and tucked it along the crack

under the door. His vest he arranged in the same place. His old wet, cracked hat he laid softly upon the table.

It seemed as if he thought a while, for now he arose and turned the gas out, standing calmly in the blackness,

hidden from view. After a few moments, in which he reviewed nothing, but merely hesitated, he turned the

gas on again, but applied no match. Even then he stood there, hidden wholly in that kindness which is night,

while the uprising fumes filled the room. When the odour reached his nostrils, he quit his attitude and

fumbled for the bed. "What's the use?" he said, weakly, as he stretched himself to rest.

And now Carrie had attained that which in the beginning seemed life's object, or, at least, such fraction of it

as human beings ever attain of their original desires. She could look about on her gowns and carriage, her

furniture and bank account. Friends there were, as the world takes itthose who would bow and smile in

acknowledgment of her success. For these she had once craved. Applause there was, and publicityonce far

off, essential things, but now grown trivial and indifferent. Beauty alsoher type of lovelinessand yet she

was lonely. In her rockingchair she sat, when not otherwise engagedsinging and dreaming.

Thus in life there is ever the intellectual and the emotional naturethe mind that reasons, and the mind that

feels. Of one come the men of actiongenerals and statesmen; of the other, the poets and dreamersartists

As harps in the wind, the latter respond to every breath of fancy, voicing in their moods all the ebb and flow

Man has not yet comprehended the dreamer any more than he has the ideal. For him the laws and morals of

the world are unduly severe. Ever hearkening to the sound of beauty, straining for the flash of its distant

wings, he watches to follow, wearying his feet in travelling. So watched Carrie, so followed, rocking and

And it must be remembered that reason had little part in this. Chicago dawning, she saw the city offering

more of loveliness than she had ever known, and instinctively, by force of her moods alone, clung to it. In

fine raiment and elegant surroundings, men seemed to be contented. Hence, she drew near these things.

Chicago, New York; Drouet, Hurstwood; the world of fashion and the world of stagethese were but

incidents. Not them, but that which they represented, she longed for. Time proved the representation false.

Oh, the tangle of human life! How dimly as yet we see. Here was Carrie, in the beginning poor,

unsophisticated. emotional; responding with desire to everything most lovely in life, yet finding herself

turned as by a wall. Laws to say: "Be allured, if you will, by everything lovely, but draw not nigh unless by

righteousness." Convention to say: "You shall not better your situation save by honest labour." If honest

labour be unremunerative and difficult to endure; if it be the long, long road which never reaches beauty, but

wearies the feet and the heart; if the drag to follow beauty be such that one abandons the admired way, taking

rather the despised path leading to her dreams quickly, who shall cast the first stone? Not evil, but longing for

that which is better, more often directs the steps of the erring. Not evil, but goodness more often allures the

Amid the tinsel and shine of her state walked Carrie, unhappy. As when Drouet took her, she had thought:

"Now I am lifted into that which is best"; as when Hurstwood seemingly offered her the better way: "Now am

I happy." But since the world goes its way past all who will not partake of its folly, she now found herself

alone. Her purse was open to him whose need was greatest. In her walks on Broadway, she no longer thought

of the elegance of the creatures who passed her. Had they more of that peace and beauty which glimmered

Drouet abandoned his claim and was seen no more. Of Hurstwood's death she was not even aware. A slow,

black boat setting out from the pier at Twentyseventh Street upon its weekly errand bore, with many others,

Thus passed all that was of interest concerning these twain in their relation to her. Their influence upon her

life is explicable alone by the nature of her longings. Time was when both represented for her all that was

most potent in earthly success. They were the personal representatives of a state most blessed to attainthe

titled ambassadors of comfort and peace, aglow with their credentials. It is but natural that when the world

which they represented no longer allured her, its ambassadors should be discredited. Even had Hurstwood

returned in his original beauty and glory, he could not now have allured her. She had learned that in his

Sitting alone, she was now an illustration of the devious ways by which one who feels, rather than reasons,

may be led in the pursuit of beauty. Though often disillusioned, she was still waiting for that halcyon day

when she would be led forth among dreams become real. Ames had pointed out a farther step, but on and on

beyond that, if accomplished, would lie others for her. It was forever to be the pursuit of that radiance of

Oh, Carrie, Carrie! Oh, blind strivings of the human heart! Onward onward, it saith, and where beauty leads,

there it follows. Whether it be the tinkle of a lone sheep bell o'er some quiet landscape, or the glimmer of

beauty in sylvan places, or the show of soul in some passing eye, the heart knows and makes answer,

following. It is when the feet weary and hope seems vain that the heartaches and the longings arise. Know,

then, that for you is neither surfeit nor content. In your rockingchair, by your window dreaming, shall you

long, alone. In your rockingchair, by your window, shall you dream such happiness as you may never feel.