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The poor girl thrilled as she walked away from Drouet. She felt ashamed in part because she had been weak enough to take it, but her need was so dire, she was still glad. Now she would have a nice jacket! Now she would buy a nice pair button shoes. She would get stockings too, and skirts, and, and – until already, as in the matter of her prospective salary, she had got beyond, in her desires, twice the purchasing power of her bills.
She conceived a true estimate of Drouet. To her, and indeed to all the world, he was a nice, good-hearted man. There was nothing evil in the fellow. He gave her the want. He would not have given the same amount to a poor young man, but we must not forget that a poor young man could not, in the nature of things, have appealed to him like a poor young girl.
When Carrie had gone, he felicitated himself upon her good opinion. By George, it was a shame young girls had to be knocked around like that. Cold weather coming on and no clothes. Tough. He would go around to Fitzgerald and Moy’s and get a cigar. It made him feel light of foot as he thought about her.
Carrie reached home in high good spirits, which she could scarcely conceal. The possession of the money involved a number of points which perplexed her seriously. How should she buy any clothes when Minnie knew that she had no money? She had no sooner entered the flat than this point was settled for her. It could not be done. She could think of no way of explaining.
“How did you come out?” asked Minnie, referring to the day. Carrie had none of the small deception which could feel one thing and say something directly opposed. She would prevaricate, but it would be in the line of her feelings, at least. So instead of complaining when she felt so good, she said:
“I have the promise of something.”
“Where?”
“At the Boston Store.”
“Is it sure promised?” questioned Minnie.
“Well, I’m to find out to-morrow,” returned Carrie disliked to draw out a lie any longer than was necessary.
Minnie felt the atmosphere of good feeling which Carrie brought with her. She felt now was the time to express to Carrie the state of Hanson’s feeling about her entire Chicago venture.
“If you shouldn’t get it –” she paused, troubled for an easy way.
“If I don’t get something pretty soon, I think I’ll go home.”
Minnie saw her chance.
“Sven thinks it might be best for the winter, anyhow.”
The situation flashed on Carrie at once. They were unwilling to keep her any longer, out of work. She did not blame Minnie, she did not blame Hanson very much. Now, as she sat there digesting the remark, she was glad she had Drouet’s money.
“Yes,” she said after a few moments, “I thought of doing that.”
She did not explain that the thought, however, had aroused all the antagonism of her nature. Columbia City, what was there for her? She knew its dull little round by heart. Here was the great, mysterious city which was still a magnet for her. What she had seen only suggested its possibilities. Now to turn back on it and live the little old life out there – she almost exclaimed against the thought.
Curiously, she could not hold the money in her hand without feeling some relief. Even after all her depressing conclusions, she could sweep away all thought about the matter and then the twenty dollars seemed a wonderful and delightful thing. Ah, money, money, money! What a thing it was to have. How plenty of it would clear away all these troubles.
In the morning she got up and started out a little early. Her decision to hunt for work was moderately strong, but the money in her pocket, after all her troubling over it, made the work question the least shade less terrible.
Without much thinking, she reached Dearborn Street. Here was the great Fair store with its multitude of delivery wagons about, its long window display, its crowd of shoppers. It readily changed her thoughts, she who was so weary of them. It was here that she had intended to come and get her new things. Now for relief from distress; she thought she would go in and see. She would look at the jackets.
When she entered the store, she already had her heart fixed upon the peculiar little tan jacket with large mother-of-pearl buttons which was all the rage that fall[27]. Still she delighted to convince herself that there was nothing she would like better. She went about among the glass cases and racks where these things were displayed, and satisfied herself that the one she thought of was the proper one. All the time she wavered in mind[28], now persuading herself that she could buy it right away if she chose, now recalling to herself the actual condition. At last the noon hour was dangerously near, and she had done nothing. She must go now and return the money.
Drouet was on the corner when she came up.
“Hello,” he said, “where is the jacket and” – looking down – “the shoes?”
Carrie had thought lead up to her decision in some intelligent way, but this swept the whole fore-schemed situation by the board[29].
“I came to tell you that – that I can’t take the money.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” he returned. “Well, you come on with me. Let’s go over here to Partridge’s.”
Carrie walked with him. Behold, the whole fabric of doubt and impossibility had slipped from her mind. She could not get at the points that were so serious, the things she was going to make plain to him.
“Have you had lunch yet? Of course you haven’t. Let’s go in here,” and Drouet turned into one of the very nicely furnished restaurants off State Street, in Monroe.
“I mustn’t take the money,” said Carrie, after they were settled in a cozy corner, and Drouet had ordered the lunch. “I can’t wear those things out there. They wouldn’t know where I got them.”
“What do you want to do,” he smiled, “go without them?”
“I think I’ll go home,” she said, wearily.
“Oh, come,” he said, “you’ve been thinking it over too long. I’ll tell you what you do. You rent a furnished room and leave them in that for a week?”
Carrie shook her head. Like all women, she was there to object and be convinced. It was for him to brush the doubts away and clear the path if he could.
“Why are you going home?” he asked.
“Oh, I can’t get anything here.”
“They won’t keep you?” he remarked, intuitively.
“They can’t” said Carrie.
“I’ll tell you what you do,” he said. “You come with me. I’ll take care of you.”
Carrie heard this passively. The peculiar state which she was in made it sound like the welcome breath of an open door. Drouet seemed of her own spirit and pleasing.[30] He was clean, handsome, well-dressed, and sympathetic. His voice was the voice of a friend.
“What can you do back at Columbia City?” he went on, rousing by the words in Carrie’s mind a picture of the dull world she had left. “There isn’t anything down there. Chicago’s the place. You can get a nice room here and some clothes and then you can do something.”
Carrie looked out through the window into the busy street. There it was, the admirable, great city, so fine when you are not poor. An elegant coach, with a prancing pair of bays, passed by, carrying in its upholstered depths a young lady.
“What will you have if you go back?” asked Drouet. There was no subtle undercurrent to the question. He imagined that she would have nothing at all of the things he thought worth while.
Carrie sat still, looking out. She was wondering what she could do. They would be expecting her to go home this