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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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Chapter XXXIX OF LIGHTS AND OF SHADOWS: THE PARTING OF WORLDS What Hurstwood got as the result of the determination was more self-assurance that each particular day was not the day. At the same time, Carrie passed through thirty days of mental distress. Her need of clothes-to 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 was not in the way. Hurstwood reasoned, when he neared the last ten dollars, that he had better keep a little pocket change and not become wholly dependent for car-fare, shaves, and the like; so when this sum was still in his hand he announced himself as penniless. "I’m clear out," he said to Carrie one afternoon. "I paid for some coal this morning, and that took all but ten or fifteen cents." "I’ve got some money there in my purse." 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 would it do if we had liver and bacon?" "Suits me," said Hurstwood. "Better get a half or three-quarters of a pound of that." "Half’ll be enough," volunteered Hurstwood. She opened her purse and laid down a half dollar. He pretended not to notice it. Hurstwood bought the flour-which all grocers sold in 3 1/2 pound packagesfor thirteen cents and paid fifteen cents for a half-pound of liver and bacon. He left the packages, together with the balance of thirty-two 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 good-naturedly as she passed, showing pretty, even teeth, and Carrie smiled back. "She can afford to dress well," thought Carrie, "and so could I, if I could only keep my money. I haven’t a decent tie of any kind to wear." She put out her foot and looked at her shoe reflectively. "I’ll get a pair of shoes Saturday, anyhow; I don’t care what happens." 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 chorus in the matter of conversation, but, nevertheless, some was indulged in. "It’s warm to-night, isn’t it?" said this girl, arrayed in pink fleshings and an imitation golden helmet. She also carried a shining shield. "Yes; it is," said Carrie, pleased that some one should talk to her. "I’m almost roasting," said the girl. Carrie looked into her pretty face, with its large blue eyes, and saw little beads of moisture. |
