at some papers before him, as if they were of the greatest concern.
“Did you see that in the ‘Herald’ this morning about Nat Goodwin, Harris?”
“No,” said the person addressed. “What was it?” “Made quite a curtain address at Hooley’s last night. Better look it up.”
Harris reached over to a table and began to look for the “Herald.”
“What is it?” said the manager to Carrie, apparently noticing her for the first time. He thought he was going to be held up for free tickets.
Carrie summoned up all her courage, which was little at best. She realised that she was a novice, and felt as if a rebuff were certain. Of this she was so sure that she only wished now to pretend she had called for advice.
“Can you tell me how to go about getting on the stage?”
It was the best way after all to have gone about the matter. She was interesting, in a manner, to the occupant of the chair, and the simplicity of her request and attitude took his fancy. He smiled, as did the others in the room, who, however, made some slight effort to conceal their humour.
“I don’t know,” he answered, looking her brazenly over. “Have you ever had any experience upon the stage?”
“A little,” answered Carrie. “I have taken part in amateur performances.”
She thought she had to make some sort of showing in order to retain his interest.
“Never studied for the stage?” he said, putting on an air intended as much to impress his friends with his discretion as Carrie.
“No, sir.”
“Well, I don’t know,” he answered, tipping lazily back in his chair while she stood before him. “What makes you want to get on the stage?”
She felt abashed at the man’s daring, but could only smile in answer to his engaging smirk, and say:
“I need to make a living.”
“Oh,” he answered, rather taken by her trim appearance, and feeling as if he might scrape up an acquaintance with her. “That’s a good reason, isn’t it? Well, Chicago is not a good place for what you want to do. You ought to be in New York. There’s more chance there. You could hardly expect to get started out here.” Carrie smiled genially, grateful that he should condescend to advise her even so much. He noticed the smile, and put a slightly different construction on it. He thought he saw an easy chance for a little flirtation.
“Sit down,” he said, pulling a chair forward from the side of his desk and dropping his voice so that the two men in the room should not hear. Those two gave each other the suggestion of a wink.
“Well, I’ll be going, Barney,” said one, breaking away and so addressing the manager. “See you this afternoon.”
“All right,” said the manager.
The remaining individual took up a paper as if to read.
“Did you have any idea what sort of part you would like to get?” asked the manager softly.
“Oh, no,” said Carrie. “I would take anything to begin with.”
“I see,” he said. “Do you live here in the city?”
“Yes, sir.”
The manager smiled most blandly.
“Have you ever tried to get in as a chorus girl?” he asked, assuming a more confidential air.
Carrie began to feel that there was something exuberant and unnatural in his manner.
“No,” she said.
“That’s the way most girls begin,” he went on, “who go on the stage. It’s a good way to get experience.”
He was turning on her a glance of the companionable and persuasive manner.
“I didn’t know that,” said Carrie.
“It’s a difficult thing,” he went on, “but there’s always a chance, you know.” Then, as if he suddenly remembered, he pulled out his watch and consulted it. “I’ve an appointment at two,” he said, “and I’ve got to go to lunch now. Would you care to come and dine with me? We can talk it over there.”
“Oh, no,” said Carrie, the whole motive of the man flashing on her at once. “I have an engagement myself.”
“That’s too bad,” he said, realising that he had been a little beforehand in his offer and that Carrie was about to go away. “Come in later. I may know of something.”
“Thank you,” she answered, with some trepidation and went out.
“She was good-looking, wasn’t she?” said the manager’s companion, who had not caught all the details of the game he had played.
“Yes, in a way,” said the other, sore to think the game had been lost. “She’d never make an actress, though. Just another chorus girl — that’s all.”
This little experience nearly destroyed her ambition to call upon the manager at the Chicago Opera House, but she decided to do so after a time. He was of a more sedate turn of mind. He said at once that there was no opening of any sort, and seemed to consider her search foolish.
“Chicago is no place to get a start,” he said. “You ought to be in New York.”
Still she persisted, and went to McVickar’s, where she could not find any one. “The Old Homestead” was running there, but the person to whom she was referred was not to be found.
These little expeditions took up her time until quite four o’clock, when she was weary enough to go home. She felt as if she ought to continue and inquire elsewhere, but the results so far were too dispiriting. She took the car and arrived at Ogden Place in three-quarters of an hour, but decided to ride on to the West Side branch of the Post-office, where she was accustomed to receive Hurstwood’s letters. There was one there now, written Saturday, which she tore open and read with mingled feelings. There was so much warmth in it and such tense complaint at her having failed to meet him, and her subsequent silence, that she rather pitied the man. That he loved her was evident enough. That he had wished and dared to do so, married as he was, was the evil. She felt as if the thing deserved an answer, and consequently decided that she would write and let him know that she knew of his married state and was justly incensed at his deception. She would tell him that it was all over between them.
At her room, the wording of this missive occupied her for some time, for she fell to the task at once. It was most difficult.
“You do not need to have me explain why I did not meet you,” she wrote in part. “How could you deceive me so? You cannot expect me to have anything more to do with you. I wouldn’t under any circumstances. Oh, how could you act so?” she added in a burst of feeling. “You have caused me more misery than you can think. I hope you will get over your infatuation for me. We must not meet any more. Good-bye.”
She took the letter the next morning, and at the corner dropped
