The Greatest Works of Theodore Dreiser. Theodore Dreiser
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“I’ll get out of this,” he said to himself.
Then the sheer loneliness of his situation rushed upon him in full.
“Left me!” he muttered, and repeated, “left me!”
The place that had been so comfortable, where he had spent so many days of warmth, was now a memory. Something colder and chillier confronted him. He sank down in his chair, resting his chin in his hand — mere sensation, without thought, holding him.
Then something like a bereaved affection and self-pity swept over him.
“She needn’t have gone away,” he said. “I’d have got something.”
He sat a long while without rocking, and added quite clearly, out loud:
“I tried, didn’t I?”
At midnight he was still rocking, staring at the floor.
Chapter XLIII
The World Turns Flatterer — An Eye in the Dark
Installed in her comfortable room, Carrie wondered how Hurstwood had taken her departure. She arranged a few things hastily and then left for the theatre, half expecting to encounter him at the door. Not finding him, her dread lifted, and she felt more kindly toward him. She quite forgot him until about to come out, after the show, when the chance of his being there frightened her. As day after day passed and she heard nothing at all, the thought of being bothered by him passed. In a little while she was, except for occasional thoughts, wholly free of the gloom with which her life had been weighed in the flat.
It is curious to note how quickly a profession absorbs one. Carrie became wise in theatrical lore, hearing the gossip of little Lola. She learned what the theatrical papers were, which ones published items about actresses and the like. She began to read the newspaper notices, not only of the opera in which she had so small a part, but of others. Gradually the desire for notice took hold of her. She longed to be renowned like others, and read with avidity all the complimentary or critical comments made concerning others high in her profession. The showy world in which her interest lay completely absorbed her.
It was about this time that the newspapers and magazines were beginning to pay that illustrative attention to the beauties of the stage which has since become fervid. The newspapers, and particularly the Sunday newspapers, indulged in large decorative theatrical pages, in which the faces and forms of well-known theatrical celebrities appeared, enclosed with artistic scrolls. The magazines also or at least one or two of the newer ones — published occasional portraits of pretty stars, and now and again photos of scenes from various plays. Carrie watched these with growing interest. When would a scene from her opera appear? When would some paper think her photo worth while?
The Sunday before taking her new part she scanned the theatrical pages for some little notice. It would have accorded with her expectations if nothing had been said, but there in the squibs, tailing off several more substantial items, was a wee notice. Carrie read it with a tingling body:
“The part of Katisha, the country maid, in ‘The Wives of Abdul’ at the Broadway, heretofore played by Inez Carew, will be hereafter filled by Carrie Madenda, one of the cleverest members of the chorus.”
Carrie hugged herself with delight. Oh, wasn’t it just fine! At last! The first, the long-hoped for, the delightful notice! And they called her clever. She could hardly restrain herself from laughing loudly. Had Lola seen it?
“They’ve got a notice here of the part I’m going to play tomorrow night,” said Carrie to her friend.
“Oh, jolly! Have they?” cried Lola, running to her. “That’s all right,” she said, looking. “You’ll get more now, if you do well. I had my picture in the ‘World’ once.”
“Did you?” asked Carrie.
“Did I? Well, I should say,” returned the little girl. “They had a frame around it.”
Carrie laughed.
“They’ve never published my picture.”
“But they will,” said Lola. “You’ll see. You do better than most that get theirs in now.”
Carrie felt deeply grateful for this. She almost loved Lola for the sympathy and praise she extended. It was so helpful to her — so almost necessary.
Fulfilling her part capably brought another notice in the papers that she was doing her work acceptably. This pleased her immensely. She began to think the world was taking note of her.
The first week she got her thirty-five dollars, it seemed an enormous sum. Paying only three dollars for room rent seemed ridiculous. After giving Lola her twenty-five, she still had seven dollars left. With four left over from previous earnings, she had eleven. Five of this went to pay the regular installment on the clothes she had to buy. The next week she was even in greater feather. Now, only three dollars need be paid for room rent and five on her clothes. The rest she had for food and her own whims.
“You’d better save a little for summer,” cautioned Lola. “We’ll probably close in May.”
“I intend to,” said Carrie.
The regular entrance of thirty-five dollars a week to one who has endured scant allowances for several years is a demoralising thing. Carrie found her purse bursting with good green bills of comfortable denominations. Having no one dependent upon her, she began to buy pretty clothes and pleasing trinkets, to eat well, and to ornament her room. Friends were not long in gathering about. She met a few young men who belonged to Lola’s staff. The members of the opera company made her acquaintance without the formality of introduction. One of these discovered a fancy for her. On several occasions he strolled home with her.
“Let’s stop in and have a rarebit,” he suggested one midnight.
“Very well,” said Carrie.
In the rosy restaurant, filled with the merry lovers of late hours, she found herself criticising this man. He was too stilted, too self-opinionated. He did not talk of anything that lifted her above the common run of clothes and material success. When it was all over, he smiled most graciously.
“Got to go straight home, have you?” he said.
“Yes,” she answered, with an air of quiet understanding.
“She’s not so inexperienced as she looks,” he thought, and thereafter his respect and ardour were increased.
She could not help sharing in Lola’s love for a good time. There were days when they went carriage riding, nights when after the show they dined, afternoons when they strolled along Broadway, tastefully dressed. She was getting in the metropolitan whirl of pleasure.
At last her picture appeared in one of the weeklies. She had not known of it, and it took her breath. “Miss Carrie Madenda,” it