Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers
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 lifeís 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 donít know," she said to Lola one day, sitting at one of the
windows which looked down into Broadway, "I get lonely; donít
"No," said Lola, "not very often. You wonít go anywhere. Thatís
whatís the matter with you."
"Where can I go?"
"Why, thereíre lots of places," returned Lola, who was thinking of
her own lightsome tourneys with the gay youths. "You wonít go
"I donít want to go with these people who write to me. I know
what kind they are."
"You oughtnít to be lonely," said Lola, thinking of Carrieís
success. "Thereíre lots would give their ears to be in your shoes."
Carrie looked out again at the passing crowd.
"I donít know," she said.
Unconsciously her idle hands were beginning to weary.