|
Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
||||
 |
||||
|
Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
||||
|
|
||||
"Is that a paper?" said Carrie. "Yes," said the clerk, marvelling at such ignorance of a common fact. "You can get it at the news-stands," he added politely, seeing how pretty the inquirer was. 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, carrying the precious paper and regretting the waste of time. Hurstwood was already there, sitting in his place. "Where were you?" he asked. "I’ve been trying to find some dramatic agents." He felt a little diffident about asking concerning her success. The paper she began to scan attracted his attention. "What have you got there?" he asked. "The ‘Clipper.’ The man said I’d find their addresses in here." "Have you been all the way over to Broadway to find that out? I could have told you." "Why didn’t you?" she asked, without looking up. "You never asked me," he returned. 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. Self- commiseration brewed in her heart. Tears trembled along her eyelids but did not fall. Hurstwood noticed something. "Let me look." To recover herself she went into the front room while he searched. Presently she returned. He had a pencil, and was writing upon an envelope. "Here’re three," he said. Carrie took it and found that one was Mrs. Bermudez, another Marcus Jenks, a third Percy Weil. She paused only a moment, and then moved toward the door. "I might as well go right away," she said, without looking back. 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 must go. Carrie’s first call was upon Mrs. Bermudez, whose address was quite the nearest. It was an old-fashioned residence turned into offices. Mrs. Bermudez’s offices consisted of what formerly had been a back chamber and a hall bedroom, marked "Private." 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 mannish-looking women, very tightly dressed, and wearing white collars and cuffs. After them came a portly lady of about forty-five, light-haired, sharp-eyed, and evidently good-natured. At least she was smiling. "Now, don’t forget about that," said one of the mannish women. "I won’t," said the portly woman. "Let’s see," she added, "where are you the first week in February?" "Pittsburg," said the woman. "I’ll write you there." "All right," said the other, and the two passed out. Instantly the portly lady’s face became exceedingly sober and shrewd. She turned about and fixed on Carrie a very searching eye. "Well," she said, "young woman, what can I do for you?" "Are you Mrs. Bermudez?" "Yes." "Well," said Carrie, hesitating how to begin, "do you get places for persons upon the stage?" |
