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Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
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Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
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"Yes, sir." The manager smiled most blandly. "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. "No," she said. "That’s the way most girls begin," he went on, "who go on the stage. It’s a good way to get experience." He was turning on her a glance of the companionable and persuasive manner. "I didn’t know that," said Carrie. "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 to go away. "Come in later. I may know of something." "Thank you," she answered, with some trepidation, and went out. "She was good-looking, wasn’t she?" said the manager’s companion, who had not caught all the details of the game he had played. "Yes, in a way," said the other, sore to think the game had been lost. "She’d never make an actress, though. Just another chorus girl-that’s all." 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 opening of any sort, and seemed to consider her search foolish. "Chicago is no place to get a start," he said. "You ought to be in New York." Still she persisted, and went to McVickar’s, where she could not find any one. "The Old Homestead" was running there, but the person to whom she was referred was not to be found. 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 three- quarters of an hour, but decided to ride on to the West Side branch of the Post-office, 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 that it was all over between them. At her room, the wording of this missive occupied her for some time, for she fell to the task at once. It was most difficult. "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. Good-bye." She took the letter the next morning, and at the corner dropped it reluctantly into the letter-box, still uncertain as to whether she should do so or not. Then she took the car and went down town. |
