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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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It does not take money long to make plain its impotence, providing the desires are in the realm of affection. With her one hundred and fifty in hand, Carrie could think of nothing particularly to do. In itself, as a tangible, apparent thing which she could touch and look upon, it was a diverting thing for a few days, but this soon passed. Her hotel bill did not require its use. Her clothes had for some time been wholly satisfactory. Another day or two and she would receive another hundred and fifty. It began to appear as if this were not so startlingly necessary to maintain her present state. If she wanted to do anything better or move higher she must have more-a great deal more. Now a critic called to get up one of those tinsel interviews which shine with clever observations, show up the wit of critics, display the folly of celebrities, and divert the public. He liked Carrie, and said so, publicly-adding, however, that she was merely pretty, good-natured, and lucky. This cut like a knife. The "Herald," getting up an entertainment for the benefit of its free ice fund, did her the honour to beg her to appear along with celebrities for nothing. She was visited by a young author, who had a play which he thought she could produce. Alas, she could not judge. It hurt her to think it. Then she found she must put her money in the bank for safety, and so moving, finally reached the place where it struck her that the door to life’s perfect enjoyment was not open. Gradually she began to think it was because it was summer. Nothing was going on much save such entertainments as the one in which she was star. Fifth Avenue was boarded up where the rich had deserted their mansions. Madison Avenue was little better. Broadway was full of loafing thespians in search of next season engagements. The whole city was quiet and her nights were taken up with her work. Hence the feeling that there was little to do. "I don’t know," she said to Lola one day, sitting at one of the windows which looked down into Broadway, "I get lonely; don’t you?" "No," said Lola, "not very often. You won’t go anywhere. That’s what’s the matter with you." "Where can I go?" "Why, there’re lots of places," returned Lola, who was thinking of her own lightsome tourneys with the gay youths. "You won’t go with anybody." "I don’t want to go with these people who write to me. I know what kind they are." "You oughtn’t to be lonely," said Lola, thinking of Carrie’s success. "There’re lots would give their ears to be in your shoes." Carrie looked out again at the passing crowd. "I don’t know," she said. Unconsciously her idle hands were beginning to weary. |
