Chapter 42

ATOUCHOFSPRING—THEEMPTYSHELL

ThosewholookuponHurstwood’sBrooklynventureasanerrorofjudgmentwillnonethelessrealizethenegativeinfluenceonhimofthefactthathehadtriedandfailed.Carriegotawrongideaofit.Hesaidsolittlethatsheimaginedhehadencounterednothingworsethantheordinaryroughness—quittingsosooninthefaceofthisseemedtrifling.Hedidnotwanttowork.

Shewasnowoneofagroupoforientalbeautieswho,inthesecondactofthecomicopera,wereparadedbythevizierbeforethenewpotentateasthetreasuresofhisharem.Therewasnowordassignedtoanyofthem,butontheeveningwhenHurstwoodwashousinghimselfintheloftofthestreet-carbarn,theleadingcomedianandstar,feelingexceedinglyfacetious,saidinaprofoundvoice,whichcreatedarippleoflaughter:

“Well,whoareyou.”

ItmerelyhappenedtobeCarriewhowascurtsyingbeforehim.Itmightaswellhavebeenanyoftheothers,sofarashewasconcerned.Heexpectednoanswerandadullonewouldhavebeenreproved.ButCarrie,whoseexperienceandbeliefinherselfgaveherdaring,curtsiedsweetlyagainandanswered:

“Iamyourstruly.”

Itwasatrivialthingtosay,andyetsomethinginthewayshediditcaughttheaudience,whichlaughed

heartilyatthemockfiercepotentatetoweringbeforetheyoungwoman.Thecomedianalsolikedit,hearingthelaughter.

“IthoughtyournamewasSmith,”hereturned,endeavoringtogetthelastlaugh.

Carriealmosttrembledforherdaringaftershehadsaidthis.Allmembersofthecompanyhadbeenwarnedthattointerpolatelinesor“business”meantafineorworse.Shedidnotknowwhattothink.

Asshewasstandinginherproperpositioninthewings,awaitinganotherentry,thegreatcomedianmadehisexitpastherandpausedinrecognition.

“Youcanjustleavethatinhereafter,”heremarked,seeinghowintelligentsheappeared.“Don’taddanymore,though.”

“Thankyou,”saidCarrie,humbly.Whenhewentonshefoundherselftremblingviolently.

“Well,you’reinluck,”remarkedanothermemberofthechorus.“Thereisn’tanotheroneofushasgotaline.”

Therewasnogainsayingthevalueofthis.Everybodyinthecompanyrealizedthatshehadgotastart.Carriehuggedherselfwhennexteveningthelinesgotthesameapplause.Shewenthomerejoicing,knowingthatsoonsomethingmustcomeofit.ItwasHurstwoodwho,byhispresence,causedhermerrythoughtstofleeandreplacedthemwithsharplongingsforanendofdistress.

Thenextdaysheaskedhimabouthisventure.

“They’renottryingtorunanycarsexceptwithpolice.Theydon’twantanybodyjustnow—notbeforenextweek.”

Nextweekcame,butCarriesawnochange.Hurstwoodseemedmoreapatheticthanever.Hesawheroffmorningstorehearsalsandthelikewiththeutmostcalm.Hereadandread.Severaltimeshefoundhimselfstaringatanitem,butthinkingofsomethingelse.Thefirstoftheselapsesthathesharplynoticed

concernedahilariouspartyhehadonceattendedatadrivingclub,ofwhichhehadbeenamember.Hesat,gazingdownward,andgraduallythoughtheheardtheoldvoicesandtheclinkofglasses.

“You’readandy,Hurstwood,”hisfriendWalkersaid.Hewasstandingagainwelldressed,smiling,good-natured,therecipientofencoresforagoodstory.

Allatoncehelookedup.Theroomwassostillitseemedghostlike.Heheardtheclocktickingaudiblyandhalfsuspectedthathehadbeendozing.Thepaperwassostraightinhishands,however,andtheitemshehadbeenreadingsodirectlybeforehim,thatheridhimselfofthedozeidea.Still,itseemedpeculiar.Whenitoccurredasecondtime,however,itdidnotseemquitesostrange.

Butcherandgroceryman,bakerandcoalman—notthegroupwithwhomhewasthendealing,butthosewhohadtrustedhimtothelimit—called.Hemetthemallblandly,becomingdeftinexcuse.Atlasthebecamebold,pretendedtobeout,orwavedthemoff.

“Theycan’tgetbloodoutofaturnip,”hesaid.“ifIhaditI’dpaythem.”

Carrie’slittlesoldierfriend,MissOsborne,seeinghersucceeding,hadbecomeasortofsatellite.LittleOsbornecouldneverofherselfamounttoanything.Sheseemedtorealizeitinasortofpussy-likewayandinstinctivelyconcludedtoclingwithhersoftlittleclawstoCarrie.

“Oh,you’llgetup,”shekepttellingCarriewithadmiration.“You’resogood.”

TimidasCarriewas,shewasstrongincapability.Therelianceofothersmadeherfeelasifshemust,andwhenshemustshedared.Experienceoftheworldandofnecessitywasinherfavor.Nolongerthelightestwordofamanmadeherheaddizzy.Shehadlearnedthatmencouldchangeandfail.Flatteryinitsmostpalpableformhadlostitsforcewithher.Itrequiredsuperiority—kindlysuperior-ity—tomoveher—thesuperiorityofageniuslikeAmes.

“Idon’tliketheactorsinourcompany,”shetoldLolaoneday.“They’reallsostruckonthemselves.”

“Don’tyouthinkMr.Barclay’sprettynice.”inquiredLola,whohadreceivedacondescendingsmileortwofromthatquarter.

“Oh,he’sniceenough,”answeredCarrie;“butheisn’tsincere.Heassumessuchanair.”

LolafeltforherfirstholduponCarrieinthefollowingmanner:

“Areyoupayingroom-rentwhereyouare.”

“Certainly,”answeredCarrie.“Why.”

“IknowwhereIcouldgettheloveliestroomandbath,cheap.It’stoobigforme,butitwouldbejustrightfortwo,andtherentisonlysixdollarsaweekforboth.”

“Where.”saidCarrie.

“InSeventeenthStreet.”

“Well,Idon’tknowasI’dcaretochange,”saidCarrie,whowasalreadyturningoverthethree-dollarrateinhermind.Shewasthinkingifshehadonlyherselftosupportthiswouldleaveherseventeenforherself.

NothingcameofthisuntilaftertheBrooklynadventureofHurstwood’sandhersuccesswiththespeakingpart.Thenshebegantofeelasifshemustbefree.ShethoughtofleavingHurstwoodandthusmakinghimactforhimself,buthehaddevelopedsuchpeculiartraitsshefearedhemightresistanyefforttothrowhimoff.Hemighthuntheroutattheshowandhoundherinthatway.Shedidnotwhollybelievethathewould,buthemight.This,sheknew,wouldbeanembarrassingthingifhemadehimselfconspicuousinanyway.Ittroubledhergreatly.

Thingswereprecipitatedbytheofferofabetterpart.OneoftheactressesplayingthepartofamodestsweetheartgavenoticeofleavingandCarriewasselected.

“Howmuchareyougoingtoget.”askedMissOsborne,onhearingthegoodnews.

“Ididn’taskhim,”saidCarrie.

“Well,findout.Goodness,you’llnevergetanythingifyoudon’task.Tellthemyoumusthavefortydollars,anyhow.”

“Oh,no,”saidCarrie.

“Certainly!”exclaimedLola.“Ask‘em,anyway.”

Carriesuccumbedtothisprompting,waiting,however,untilthemanagergavehernoticeofwhatclothingshemusthavetofitthepart.

“HowmuchdoIget.”sheinquired.

“Thirty-fivedollars,”hereplied.

Carriewastoomuchastonishedanddelightedtothinkofmentioningforty.Shewasnearlybesideherself,andalmosthuggedLola,whoclungtoheratthenews.

“Itisn’tasmuchasyououghttoget,”saidthelatter,“especiallywhenyou’vegottobuyclothes.”

Carrierememberedthiswithastart.Wheretogetthemoney.Shehadnonelaidupforsuchanemergency.Rentdaywasdrawingnear.

“I’llnotdoit,”shesaid,rememberinghernecessity.“Idon’tusetheflat.I’mnotgoingtogiveupmymoneythistime.I’llmove.”

FittingintothiscameanotherappealfromMissOsborne,moreurgentthanever.

“Comelivewithme,won’tyou.”shepleaded.“Wecanhavetheloveliestroom.Itwon’tcostyouhardlyanythingthatway.”

“I’dliketo,”saidCarrie,frankly.

“Oh,do,”saidLola.“We’llhavesuchagoodtime.”

Carriethoughtawhile.

“IbelieveIwill,”shesaid,andthenadded:“I’llhavetoseefirst,though.”Withtheideathusgrounded,rentdayapproaching,andclothescallingforinstantpurchase,shesoonfoundexcuseinHurstwood’slassitude.Hesaidlessanddroopedmorethanever.

Asrentdayapproached,anideagrewinhim.Itwasfosteredbythedemandsofcreditorsandtheimpossibilityofholdingupmanymore.Twenty-eightdollarswastoomuchforrent.“It’shardonher,”hethought.“Wecouldgetacheaperplace.”

Stirredwiththisidea,hespokeatthebreakfasttable.

“Don’tyouthinkwepaytoomuchrenthere.”heasked.

“IndeedIdo,”saidCarrie,notcatchinghisdrift.

“Ishouldthinkwecouldgetasmallerplace,”hesuggested.“Wedon’tneedfourrooms.”

Hercountenance,hadhebeenscrutinizingher,wouldhaveexhibitedthedisturbanceshefeltatthisevidenceofhisdeterminationtostaybyher.Hesawnothingremarkableinaskinghertocomedownlower.

“Oh,Idon’tknow,”sheanswered,growingwary.

“Theremustbeplacesaroundherewherewecouldgetacoupleofrooms,whichwoulddojustaswell.”

Herheartrevolted.“Never!”shethought.Whowouldfurnishthemoneytomove.Tothinkofbeingintworoomswithhim!Sheresolvedtospendhermoneyforclothesquickly,beforesomethingterriblehappened.Thatverydayshedidit.Havingdoneso,therewasbutoneotherthingtodo.

“Lola,”shesaid,visitingherfriend,“IthinkI’llcome.”

“Oh,jolly!”criedthelatter.

“Canwegetitrightaway.”sheasked,meaningtheroom.

“Certainly,”criedLola.

Theywenttolookatit.Carriehadsavedtendollarsfromherexpenditures—enoughforthisandherboardbeside.Herenlargedsalarywouldnotbeginfortendaysyet—wouldnotreachherforseventeen.Shepaidhalfofthesixdollarswithherfriend.

“Now,I’vejustenoughtogetontotheendoftheweek,”sheconfided.

“Oh,I’vegotsome,”saidLola.“I’vegottwenty-fivedollars,ifyouneedit.”

“No,”saidCarrie.“IguessI’llgetalong.”

TheydecidedtomoveFriday,whichwastwodaysaway.Nowthatthethingwassettled,Carrie’sheartmisgaveher.Shefeltverymuchlikeacriminalinthematter.EachdaylookingatHurstwood,shehadrealizedthat,alongwiththedisagreeablenessofhisattitude,therewassomethingpathetic.

Shelookedathimthesameeveningshehadmadeuphermindtogo,andnowheseemednotsoshiftlessandworthless,butrundownandbeatenuponbychance.Hiseyeswerenotkeen,hisfacemarked,hishandsflabby.Shethoughthishairhadatouchofgray.Allunconsciousofhisdoom,herockedandreadhispaper,whilesheglancedathim.

Knowingthattheendwassonear,shebecamerathersolicitous.

“Willyougooverandgetsomecannedpeaches.”sheaskedHurstwood,layingdownatwo-dollarbill.

“Certainly,”hesaid,lookinginwonderatthemoney.

“Seeifyoucangetsomeniceasparagus,”sheadded.“I’llcookitfordinner.”

Hurstwoodroseandtookthemoney,slippingonhisovercoatandgettinghishat.Carrienoticedthatbothofthesearticlesofapparelwereoldandpoorlookinginappearance.Itwasplainenoughbefore,butnowitcamehomewithpeculiarforce.Perhapshecouldn’thelpit,afterall.HehaddonewellinChicago.Sherememberedhisfineappearancethedayshehadmetherinthepark.Thenhewassosprightly,soclean.Haditbeenallhisfault.

Hecamebackandlaidthechangedownwiththefood.

“You’dbetterkeepit,”sheobserved.“We’llneedotherthings.”

“No,”hesaid,withasortofpride;“youkeepit.”

“Oh,goonandkeepit,”shereplied,rather

unnerved.“There’llbeotherthings.”

Hewonderedatthis,notknowingthepatheticfigurehehadbecomeinhereyes.Sherestrainedherselfwithdifficultyfromshowingaquaverinhervoice.

Tosaytruly,thiswouldhavebeenCarrie’sattitudeinanycase.ShehadlookedbackattimesuponherpartingfromDrouetandhadregrettedthatshehadservedhimsobadly.Shehopedshewouldnevermeethimagain,butshewasashamedofherconduct.Notthatshehadanychoiceinthefinalseparation.Shehadgonewillinglytoseekhim,withsympathyinherheart,whenHurstwoodhadreportedhimill.Therewassomethingcruelsomewhere,andnotbeingabletotrackitmentallytoitslogicallair,sheconcludedwithfeelingthathewouldneverunderstandwhatHurstwoodhaddoneandwouldseehard-hearteddecisioninherdeed;hencehershame.Notthatshecaredforhim.Shedidnotwanttomakeanyonewhohadbeengoodtoherfeelbadly.

Shedidnotrealizewhatshewasdoingbyallowingthesefeelingstopossessher.Hurstwood,noticingthekindness,conceivedbetterofher.“Carrie’sgood-natured,anyhow,”hethought.

GoingtoMissOsborne’sthatafternoon,shefoundthatlittleladypackingandsinging.

“Whydon’tyoucomeoverwithmetoday.”sheasked.

“Oh,Ican’t,”saidCarrie.“I’llbethereFriday.Wouldyoumindlendingmethetwenty-fivedollarsyouspokeof.”

“Why,no,”saidLola,goingforherpurse.

“Iwanttogetsomeotherthings,”saidCarrie.

“Oh,that’sallright,”answeredthelittlegirl,good-naturedly,gladtobeofservice.IthadbeendayssinceHurstwoodhaddonemorethangotothegroceryortothenews-stand.Nowthewearinessofindoorswasuponhim—hadbeenfortwodays—butchill,grayweatherhadheldhimback.Fridaybrokefair

andwarm.Itwasoneofthoselovelyharbingersofspring,givenasasignindrearywinterthatearthisnotforsakenofwarmthandbeauty.Theblueheaven,holdingitsonegoldenorb,poureddownacrystalwashofwarmlight.Itwasplain,fromthevoiceofthesparrows,thatallwashalcyonoutside.Carrieraisedthefrontwindows,andfeltthesouthwindblowing.

“It’slovelyoutto-day,”sheremarked.

“Isit.”saidHurstwood.

Afterbreakfast,heimmediatelygothisotherclothes.

“Willyoubebackforlunch.”askedCarrienervously.

“No,”hesaid.

Hewentoutintothestreetsandtrampednorth,alongSeventhAvenue,idlyfixingupontheHarlemRiverasanobjectivepoint.Hehadseensomeshipsupthere,thetimehehadcalleduponthebrewers.Hewonderedhowtheterritorythereaboutswasgrowing.

PassingFifty-ninthStreet,hetookthewestsideofCentralPark,whichhefollowedtoSeventy-eighthStreet.Thenherememberedtheneighborhoodandturnedovertolookatthemassofbuildingserected.Itwasverymuchimproved.Thegreatopenspaceswerefillingup.Comingback,hekepttotheParkuntil110thStreet,andthenturnedintoSeventhAvenueagain,reachingtheprettyriverbyoneo’clock.

Thereitranwindingbeforehisgaze,shiningbrightlyintheclearlight,betweentheundulatingbanksontherightandthetall,tree-coveredheightsontheleft.Thespring-likeatmospherewokehimtoasenseofitsloveliness,andforafewmomentshestoodlookingatit,foldinghishandsbehindhisback.Thenheturnedandfollowedittowardtheeastside,idlyseekingtheshipshehadseen.Itwasfouro’clockbeforethewaningday,withitssuggestionofacoolerevening,causedhimtoreturn.Hewashungryandwouldenjoyeatinginthewarmroom.

Whenhereachedtheflatbyhalf-pastfive,itwasstilldark.HeknewthatCarriewasnotthere,notonlybecausetherewasnolightshowingthroughthetransom,butbecausetheeveningpaperswerestuckbetweentheoutsideknobandthedoor.Heopenedwithhiskeyandwentin.Everythingwasstilldark.Lightingthegas,hesatdown,preparingtowaitalittlewhile.EvenifCarriedidcomenow,dinnerwouldbelate.Hereaduntilsix,thengotuptofixsomethingforhimself.

Ashedidso,henoticedthattheroomseemedalittlequeer.Whatwasit.Helookedaround,asifhemissedsomething,andthensawanenvelopenearwherehehadbeensitting.Itspokeforitself,almostwithoutfurtheractiononhispart.

Reachingover,hetookit,asortofchillsettlinguponhimevenwhilehereached.Thecrackleoftheenvelopeinhishandswasloud.Greenpapermoneylaysoftwithinthenote.

“DearGeorge,”heread,crunchingthemoneyinonehand,“I’mgoingaway.I’mnotcomingbackanymore.It’snousetryingtokeepuptheflat;Ican’tdoit.Iwouldn’tmindhelpingyou,ifIcould,butIcan’tsupportusboth,andpaytherent.IneedwhatlittleImaketopayformyclothes.I’mleavingtwentydollars.It’sallIhavejustnow.Youcandowhateveryoulikewiththefurniture.Iwon’twantit.—CARRIE.

Hedroppedthenoteandlookedquietlyround.Nowheknewwhathemissed.Itwasthelittleornamentalclock,whichwashers.Ithadgonefromthemantelpiece.Hewentintothefrontroom,hisbedroom,theparlor,lightingthegasashewent.Fromthechiffonierhadgonetheknick-knacksofsilverandplate.Fromthetabletop,thelacecoverings.Heopenedthewardrobe—noclothesofhers.Heopenedthedrawers—nothingofhers.Hertrunkwasgonefromitsaccustomedplace.Backinhisownroomhunghisoldclothes,justashehadleftthem.Nothing

elsewasgone.

Hesteppedintotheparlorandstoodforafewmomentslookingvacantlyatthefloor.Thesilencegrewoppressive.Thelittleflatseemedwonderfullydeserted.Hewhollyforgotthathewashungry,thatitwasonlydinner-time.Itseemedlaterinthenight.

Suddenly,hefoundthatthemoneywasstillinhishands.Thereweretwentydollarsinall,asshehadsaid.Nowhewalkedback,leavingthelightsablaze,andfeelingasiftheflatwereempty.

“I’llgetoutofthis,”hesaidtohimself.

Thenthesheerlonelinessofhissituationrusheduponhiminfull.

“Leftme!”hemuttered,andrepeated,“leftme!”

Theplacethathadbeensocomfortable,wherehehadspentsomanydaysofwarmth,wasnowamemory.Somethingcolderandchillierconfrontedhim.Hesankdowninhischair,restinghischininhishand—meresensation,withoutthought,holdinghim.

Thensomethinglikeabereavedaffectionandself-pitysweptoverhim.

“Sheneedn’thavegoneaway,”hesaid.“I’dhavegotsomething.”

Hesatalongwhilewithoutrocking,andaddedquiteclearly,outloud:

“Itried,didn’tI.”

Atmidnighthewasstillrocking,staringatthefloor.