Chapter 36
AGRIMRETROGRESSION—THEPHANTOMOFCHANCE
TheVances,whohadbeenbackinthecityeversinceChristmas,hadnotforgottenCarrie;butthey,orratherMrs.Vance,hadnevercalledonher,fortheverysimplereasonthatCarriehadneversentheraddress.Truetohernature,shecorrespondedwithMrs.VanceaslongasshestilllivedinSeventy-eighthStreet,butwhenshewascompelledtomoveintoThirteenth,herfearthatthelatterwouldtakeitasanindicationofreducedcircumstancescausedhertostudysomewayofavoidingthenecessityofgivingheraddress.Notfindinganyconvenientmethod,shesorrowfullyresignedtheprivilegeofwritingtoherfriendentirely.Thelatterwonderedatthisstrangesilence,thoughtCarriemusthaveleftthecity,andintheendgaveherupaslost.SoshewasthoroughlysurprisedtoencounterherinFourteenthStreet,whereshehadgoneshopping.Carriewasthereforthesamepurpose.
“Why,Mrs.Wheeler,”saidMrs.Vance,lookingCarrieoverinaglance,“wherehaveyoubeen.Whyhaven’tyoubeentoseeme.I’vebeenwonderingallthistimewhathadbecomeofyou.Really,I—”
“I’msogladtoseeyou,”saidCarrie,pleasedandyetnonplussed.Ofalltimes,thiswastheworsttoencounterMrs.Vance.“Why,I’mlivingdowntownhere.I’vebeenintendingtocomeandseeyou.Whereareyoulivingnow.”
“InFifty-eighthStreet,”saidMrs.Vance,“justoffSeventhAvenue—218.Whydon’tyoucomeandseeme.”
“Iwill,”saidCarrie.“Really,I’vebeenwantingtocome.IknowIoughtto.It’sashame.Butyouknow—”
“What’syournumber.”saidMrs.Vance.
“ThirteenthStreet,”saidCarrie,reluctantly.“112West.”
“Oh,”saidMrs.Vance,“that’srightnearhere,isn’tit.”
“Yes,”saidCarrie.“Youmustcomedownandseemesometime.”
“Well,you’reafineone,”saidMrs.Vance,laughing,thewhilenotingthatCarrie’sappearancehadmodifiedsomewhat.“Theaddress,too,”sheaddedtoherself.“Theymustbehardup.”
StillshelikedCarriewellenoughtotakeherintow.
“Comewithmeinhereaminute,”sheexclaimed,turningintoastore.
WhenCarriereturnedhome,therewasHurstwood,readingasusual.Heseemedtotakehisconditionwiththeutmostnonchalance.Hisbeardwasatleastfourdaysold.
“Oh,”thoughtCarrie,“ifsheweretocomehereandseehim.”
Sheshookherheadinabsolutemisery.Itlookedasifhersituationwasbecomingunbearable.
Driventodesperation,sheaskedatdinner:
“Didyoueverhearanymorefromthatwholesalehouse.”
“No,”hesaid.“Theydon’twantaninexperiencedman.”
Carriedroppedthesubject,feelingunabletosaymore.
“ImetMrs.Vancethisafternoon,”shesaid,afteratime.
“Did,eh.”heanswered.
“They’rebackinNewYorknow,”Carriewenton.“Shedidlooksonice.”
“Well,shecanafforditaslongasheputsupforit,”returnedHurstwood.“He’sgotasoftjob.”
Hurstwoodwaslookingintothepaper.HecouldnotseethelookofinfinitewearinessanddiscontentCarriegavehim.
“Shesaidshethoughtshe’dcallheresomeday.”
“She’sbeenlonggettingroundtoit,hasn’tshe.”saidHurstwood,withakindofsarcasm.
Thewomandidn’tappealtohimfromherspendingside.
“Oh,Idon’tknow,”saidCarrie,angeredbytheman’sattitude.“PerhapsIdidn’twanthertocome.”
“She’stoogay,”saidHurstwood,significantly.“Noonecankeepupwithherpaceunlessthey’vegotalotofmoney.”
“Mr.Vancedoesn’tseemtofinditveryhard.”
“Hemaynotnow,”answeredHurstwood,doggedly,wellunderstandingtheinference;“buthislifeisn’tdoneyet.Youcan’ttellwhat’llhappen.Hemaygetdownlikeanybodyelse.”
Therewassomethingquiteknavishintheman’sattitude.Hiseyeseemedtobecockedwithatwinkleuponthefortunate,expectingtheirdefeat.Hisownstateseemedathingapart—notconsidered.
Thisthingwastheremainsofhisold-timecocksurenessandindependence.Sittinginhisflat,andreadingofthedoingsofotherpeople,sometimesthisindependent,undefeatedmoodcameuponhim.Forgettingthewearinessofthestreetsandthedegradationofsearch,hewouldsometimesprickuphisears.Itwasasifhesaid:
“Icandosomething.I’mnotdownyet.There’salotofthingscomingtomeifIwanttogoafterthem.”
Itwasinthismoodthathewouldoccasionallydressup,goforashave,and,puttingonhisgloves,sallyforthquiteactively.Notwithanydefiniteaim.Itwas
moreabarometriccondition.Hefeltjustrightforbeingoutsideanddoingsomething.
Onsuchoccasions,hismoneywentalso.Heknewofseveralpokerroomsdowntown.AfewacquaintanceshehadindowntownresortsandabouttheCityHall.Itwasachangetoseethemandexchangeafewfriendlycommonplaces.
Hehadoncebeenaccustomedtoholdaprettyfairhandatpoker.Manyafriendlygamehadnettedhimahundreddollarsormoreatthetimewhenthatsumwasmerelysaucetothedishofthegame-nottheallinall.Now,hethoughtofplaying.
“Imightwinacoupleofhundred.I’mnotoutofpractice.”
Itisbutfairtosaythatthisthoughthadoccurredtohimseveraltimesbeforeheacteduponit.ThepokerroomwhichhefirstinvadedwasoverasalooninWestStreet,nearoneoftheferries.Hehadbeentherebefore.Severalgamesweregoing.Thesehewatchedforatimeandnoticedthatthepotswerequitelargefortheanteinvolved.
“Dealmeahand,”hesaidatthebeginningofanewshuffle.Hepulledupachairandstudiedhiscards.Thoseplayingmadethatquietstudyofhimwhichissounapparent,andyetinvariablysosearching.
Poorfortunewaswithhimatfirst.Hereceivedamixedcollectionwithoutprogressionorpairs.Thepotwasopened.
“Ipass,”hesaid.
Onthestrengthofthis,hewascontenttolosehisante.Thedealsdidfairlybyhiminthelongrun,causinghimtocomeawaywithafewdollarstothegood.
Thenextafternoonhewasbackagain,seekingamusementandprofit.Thistimehefollowedupthreeofakindtohisdoom.Therewasabetterhandacrossthetable,heldbyapugnaciousIrishyouth,whowasapoliticalhanger-onoftheTammanydistrictin
whichtheywerelocated.Hurstwoodwassurprisedatthepersistenceofthisindividual,whosebetscamewithasangfroidwhich,ifabluff,wasexcellentart.Hurstwoodbegantodoubt,butkept,orthoughttokeep,atleast,thecooldemeanorwithwhich,inoldentimes,hedeceivedthosepsychicstudentsofthegamingtable,whoseemtoreadthoughtsandmoods,ratherthanexteriorevidences,howeversubtle.Hecouldnotdownthecowardlythoughtthatthismanhadsomethingbetterandwouldstaytotheend,drawinghislastdollarintothepot,shouldhechoosetogosofar.Still,hehopedtowinmuch—hishandwasexcellent.Whynotraiseitfivemore.
“Iraiseyouthree,”saidtheyouth.
“Makeitfive,”saidHurstwood,pushingouthischips.
“Comeagain,”saidtheyouth,pushingoutasmallpileofreds.
“Letmehavesomemorechips,”saidHurstwoodtothekeeperincharge,takingoutabill.
Acynicalgrinlitupthefaceofhisyouthfulopponent.Whenthechipswerelaidout,Hurstwoodmettheraise.
“Fiveagain,”saidtheyouth.
Hurstwood’sbrowwaswet.Hewasdeepinnow—verydeepforhim.Sixtydollarsofhisgoodmoneywasup.Hewasordinarilynocoward,butthethoughtoflosingsomuchweakenedhim.Finallyhegaveway.Hewouldnottrusttothisfinehandanylonger.
“Icall,”hesaid.
“Afullhouse!”saidtheyouth,spreadingouthiscards.
Hurstwood’shanddropped.
“IthoughtIhadyou,”hesaid,weakly.
Theyouthrakedinhischips,andHurstwoodcameaway,notwithoutfirststoppingtocounthisremainingcashonthestair.
“Threehundredandfortydollars,”hesaid.
Withthislossandordinaryexpenses,somuchhadalreadygone.
Backintheflat,hedecidedhewouldplaynomore.
RememberingMrs.Vance’spromisetocall,Carriemadeoneothermildprotest.ItwasconcerningHurstwood’sappearance.Thisveryday,cominghome,hechangedhisclothestotheoldtogshesataroundin.
“Whatmakesyoualwaysputonthoseoldclothes.”askedCarrie.
“What’stheusewearingmygoodonesaroundhere.”heasked.
“Well,Ishouldthinkyou’dfeelbetter.”Thensheadded:“Someonemightcall.”
“Who.”hesaid.
“Well,Mrs.Vance,”saidCarrie.
“Sheneedn’tseeme,”heanswered,sullenly.
ThislackofprideandinterestmadeCarriealmosthatehim.
“Oh,”shethought,“therehesits.‘Sheneedn’tseeme.’Ishouldthinkhewouldbeashamedofhimself.”
TherealbitternessofthisthingwasaddedwhenMrs.Vancedidcall.Itwasononeofhershoppingrounds.Makingherwayupthecommonplacehall,sheknockedatCarrie’sdoor.Tohersubsequentandagonizingdistress,Carriewasout.Hurstwoodopenedthedoor,half-thinkingthattheknockwasCarrie’s.Foronce,hewastakenhonestlyaback.Thelostvoiceofyouthandpridespokeinhim.
“Why,”hesaid,actuallystammering,“howdoyoudo.”
“Howdoyoudo.”saidMrs.Vance,whocouldscarcelybelievehereyes.Hisgreatconfusionsheinstantlyperceived.Hedidnotknowwhethertoinviteherinornot.
“Isyourwifeathome.”sheinquired.
“No,”hesaid,“Carrie’sout;butwon’tyoustepin.She’llbebackshortly.”
“No-o,”saidMrs.Vance,realizingthechangeofit
all.“I’mreallyverymuchinahurry.IthoughtI’djustrunupandlookin,butIcouldn’tstay.Justtellyourwifeshemustcomeandseeme.”
“Iwill,”saidHurstwood,standingback,andfeelingintensereliefathergoing.Hewassoashamedthathefoldedhishandsweakly,ashesatinthechairafterwards,andthought.
Carrie,cominginfromanotherdirection,thoughtshesawMrs.Vancegoingaway.Shestrainedhereyes,butcouldnotmakesure.
“Wasanybodyherejustnow.”sheaskedofHurstwood.
“Yes,”hesaidguiltily;“Mrs.Vance.”
“Didsheseeyou.”sheasked,expressingherfulldespair.ThiscutHurstwoodlikeawhip,andmadehimsullen.
“Ifshehadeyes,shedid.Iopenedthedoor.”
“Oh,”saidCarrie,closingonehandtightlyoutofsheernervousness.“Whatdidshehavetosay.”
“Nothing,”heanswered.“Shecouldn’tstay.”
“Andyoulookinglikethat!”saidCarrie,throwingasidealongreserve.
“Whatofit.”hesaid,angering.“Ididn’tknowshewascoming,didI.”
“Youknewshemight,”saidCarrie.“Itoldyoushesaidshewascoming.I’veaskedyouadozentimestowearyourotherclothes.Oh,Ithinkthisisjustterrible.”
“Oh,letup,”heanswered.“Whatdifferencedoesitmake.Youcouldn’tassociatewithher,anyway.They’vegottoomuchmoney.
“WhosaidIwantedto.”saidCarrie,fiercely.
“Well,youactlikeit,rowingaroundovermylooks.You’dthinkI’dcommitted—”
Carrieinterrupted:
“It’strue,”shesaid.“Icouldn’tifIwantedto,butwhosefaultisit.You’reveryfreetositandtalkaboutwhoIcouldassociatewith.Whydon’tyougetoutand
lookforwork.”
Thiswasathunderboltincamp.
“What’sittoyou.”hesaid,rising,almostfiercely.“Ipaytherent,don’tI.Ifurnishthe—”
“Yes,youpaytherent,”saidCarrie.“Youtalkasiftherewasnothingelseintheworldbutaflattositaroundin.Youhaven’tdoneathingforthreemonthsexceptsitaroundandinterferehere.I’dliketoknowwhatyoumarriedmefor.”
“Ididn’tmarryyou,”hesaid,inasnarlingtone.
“I’dliketoknowwhatyoudid,then,inMontreal.”sheanswered.
“Well,Ididn’tmarryyou,”heanswered.“Youcangetthatoutofyourhead.Youtalkasthoughyoudidn’tknow.”
Carrielookedathimamoment,hereyesdistending.Shehadbelieveditwasalllegalandbindingenough.
“Whatdidyoulietomefor,then.”sheasked,fiercely.“Whatdidyouforcemetorunawaywithyoufor.”
Hervoicebecamealmostasob.
“Force!”hesaid,withcurledlip.“AlotofforcingIdid.”
“Oh!”saidCarrie,breakingunderthestrain,andturning.“Oh,oh!”andshehurriedintothefrontroom.
Hurstwoodwasnowhotandwakedup.Itwasagreatshakingupforhim,bothmentalandmoral.Hewipedhisbrowashelookedaround,andthenwentforhisclothesanddressed.NotasoundcamefromCarrie;sheceasedsobbingwhensheheardhimdressing.Shethought,atfirst,withthefaintestalarm,ofbeingleftwithoutmoney—notoflosinghim,thoughhemightbegoingawaypermanently.Sheheardhimopenthetopofthewardrobeandtakeouthishat.Thenthedining-roomdoorclosed,andsheknewhehadgone.
Afterafewmomentsofsilence,shestoodup,dry-eyed,andlookedoutthewindow.Hurstwoodwasjuststrollingupthestreet,fromtheflat,towardSixthAvenue.
ThelattermadeprogressalongThirteenthandacrossFourteenthStreettoUnionSquare.
“Lookforwork!”hesaidtohimself.“Lookforwork!Shetellsmetogetoutandlookforwork.”
Hetriedtoshieldhimselffromhisownmentalaccusation,whichtoldhimthatshewasright.
“WhatacursedthingthatMrs.Vance’scallwas,anyhow,”hethought.“Stoodrightthere,andlookedmeover.Iknowwhatshewasthinking.”
HerememberedthefewtimeshehadseenherinSeventy-eightStreet.Shewasalwaysaswell-looker,andhehadtriedtoputontheairofbeingworthyofsuchasshe,infrontofher.Now,tothinkshehadcaughthimlookingthisway.Hewrinkledhisforeheadinhisdistress.
“Thedevil!”hesaidadozentimesinanhour.
Itwasaquarterafterfourwhenheleftthehouse.Carriewasintears.Therewouldbenodinnerthatnight.
“Whatthedeuce,”hesaid,swaggeringmentallytohidehisownshamefromhimself.“I’mnotsobad.I’mnotdownyet.”
Helookedaroundthesquare,andseeingtheseverallargehotels,decidedtogotoonefordinner.Hewouldgethispapersandmakehimselfcomfortablethere.
HeascendedintothefineparloroftheMortonHouse,thenoneofthebestNewYorkhotels,and,findingacushionedseat,read.Itdidnottroublehimmuchthathisdecreasingsumofmoneydidnotallowofsuchextravagance.Likethemorphinefiend,hewasbecomingaddictedtohisease.Anythingtorelievehismentaldistress,tosatisfyhiscravingforcomfort.Hemustdoit.Nothoughtsforthemorrow—hecouldnotstandtothinkofitanymorethanhecouldofanyothercalamity.Likethecertaintyofdeath,hetriedtoshutthecertaintyofsoonbeingwithoutadollarcompletelyoutofhismind,andhecameveryneardoingit.
Well-dressedguestsmovingtoandfrooverthethickcarpetscarriedhimbacktotheolddays.Ayounglady,aguestofthehouse,playingapianoinanalcovepleasedhim.Hesattherereading.
Hisdinnercosthim$1.50.Byeighto’clockhewasthrough,andthen,seeingguestsleavingandthecrowdofpleasure-seekersthickeningoutsidewonderedwhereheshouldgo.Nothome.Carriewouldbeup.No,hewouldnotgobacktherethisevening.Hewouldstayoutandknockaroundasamanwhowasindependent-notbroke—wellmight.Heboughtacigar,andwentoutsideonthecornerwhereotherindividualswerelounging—brokers,racingpeople,thespians—hisownfleshandblood.Ashestoodthere,hethoughtoftheoldeveningsinChicago,andhowheusedtodisposeofthem.Many’sthegamehehadhad.Thistookhimtopoker.
“Ididn’tdothatthingrighttheotherday,”hethought,referringtohislossofsixtydollars.“Ishouldn’thaveweakened.Icouldhavebluffedthatfellowdown.Iwasn’tinform,that’swhatailedme.”
Thenhestudiedthepossibilitiesofthegameasithadbeenplayed,andbegantofigurehowhemighthavewon,inseveralinstances,bybluffingalittleharder.
“I’moldenoughtoplaypokeranddosomethingwithit.I’lltrymyhandto-night.”
Visionsofabigstakefloatedbeforehim.Supposinghedidwinacoupleofhundred,wouldn’thebeinit.Lotsofsportsheknewmadetheirlivingatthisgame,andagoodliving,too.
“TheyalwayshadasmuchasIhad,”hethought.
Sooffhewenttoapokerroomintheneighborhood,feelingmuchashehadintheolddays.Inthisperiodofself-forgetfulness,arousedfirstbytheshockofargumentandperfectedbyadinnerinthehotel,withcocktailsandcigars,hewasasnearlyliketheoldHurstwoodashewouldeverbeagain.ItwasnottheoldHurstwood—onlyamanarguingwithadividedconscienceandluredbyaphantom.
Thispokerroomwasmuchliketheotherone,onlyitwasabackroominabetterdrinkingresort.Hurstwoodwatchedawhile,andthen,seeinganinterestinggame,joinedin.Asbefore,itwenteasyforawhile,hewinningafewtimesandcheeringup,losingafewpotsandgrowingmoreinterestedanddeterminedonthataccount.Atlastthefascinatinggametookastrongholdonhim.Heenjoyeditsrisksandventured,onatriflinghand,tobluffthecompanyandsecureafairstake.Tohisself-satisfactionintenseandstrong,hedidit.
Intheheightofthisfeelinghebegantothinkhisluckwaswithhim.Nooneelsehaddonesowell.Nowcameanothermoderatehand,andagainhetriedtoopenthejack-potonit.Therewereotherstherewhowerealmostreadinghisheart,soclosewastheirobservation.
“Ihavethreeofakind,”saidoneoftheplayerstohimself.“I’lljuststaywiththatfellowtothefinish.”
Theresultwasthatbiddingbegan.
“Iraiseyouten.”
“Good.”
“Tenmore.”
“Good.”
“Tenagain.”
“Rightyouare.”
ItgottowhereHurstwoodhadseventy-fivedollarsup.Theothermanreallybecameserious.Perhapsthisindividual(Hurstwood)reallydidhaveastiffhand.
“Icall,”hesaid.
Hurstwoodshowedhishand.Hewasdone.Thebitterfactthathehadlostseventy-fivedollarsmadehimdesperate.
“Let’shaveanotherpot,”hesaid,grimly.
“Allright,”saidtheman.
Someoftheotherplayersquit,butobservantloungerstooktheirplaces.Timepassed,anditcametotwelveo’clock.Hurstwoodheldon,neitherwinningnorlosingmuch.Thenhegrewweary,andonalasthandlosttwentymore.Hewassickatheart.
Ataquarterafteroneinthemorninghecameoutoftheplace.Thechill,barestreetsseemedamockeryofhisstate.Hewalkedslowlywest,littlethinkingofhisrowwithCarrie.Heascendedthestairsandwentintohisroomasiftherehadbeennotrouble.Itwashislossthatoccupiedhismind.Sittingdownonthebedsidehecountedhismoney.Therewasnowbutahundredandninetydollarsandsomechange.Heputitupandbegantoundress.
“Iwonderwhat’sgettingintome,anyhow.”hesaid.
InthemorningCarriescarcelyspokeandhefeltasifhemustgooutagain.Hehadtreatedherbadly,buthecouldnotaffordtomakeup.Nowdesperationseizedhim,andforadayortwo,goingoutthus,helivedlikeagentleman—orwhatheconceivedtobeagentleman—whichtookmoney.Forhisescapadeshewassoonpoorerinmindandbody,tosaynothingofhispurse,whichhadlostthirtybytheprocess.Thenhecamedowntocold,bittersenseagain.
“Therentmancomesto-day,”saidCarrie,greetinghimthusindifferentlythreemorningslater.
“Hedoes.”
“Yes;thisisthesecond,”answeredCarrie.
Hurstwoodfrowned.Thenindespairhegotouthispurse.
“Itseemsanawfullottopayforrent,”hesaid.
Hewasnearinghislasthundreddollars.