Chapter 36

AGRIMRETROGRESSION—THEPHANTOMOFCHANCE

TheVances,whohadbeenbackinthecityeversinceChristmas,hadnotforgottenCarrie;butthey,orratherMrs.Vance,hadnevercalledonher,fortheverysimplereasonthatCarriehadneversentheraddress.Truetohernature,shecorrespondedwithMrs.VanceaslongasshestilllivedinSeventy-eighthStreet,butwhenshewascompelledtomoveintoThirteenth,herfearthatthelatterwouldtakeitasanindicationofreducedcircumstancescausedhertostudysomewayofavoidingthenecessityofgivingheraddress.Notfindinganyconvenientmethod,shesorrowfullyresignedtheprivilegeofwritingtoherfriendentirely.Thelatterwonderedatthisstrangesilence,thoughtCarriemusthaveleftthecity,andintheendgaveherupaslost.SoshewasthoroughlysurprisedtoencounterherinFourteenthStreet,whereshehadgoneshopping.Carriewasthereforthesamepurpose.

“Why,Mrs.Wheeler,”saidMrs.Vance,lookingCarrieoverinaglance,“wherehaveyoubeen.Whyhaven’tyoubeentoseeme.I’vebeenwonderingallthistimewhathadbecomeofyou.Really,I—”

“I’msogladtoseeyou,”saidCarrie,pleasedandyetnonplussed.Ofalltimes,thiswastheworsttoencounterMrs.Vance.“Why,I’mlivingdowntownhere.I’vebeenintendingtocomeandseeyou.Whereareyoulivingnow.”

“InFifty-eighthStreet,”saidMrs.Vance,“justoffSeventhAvenue—218.Whydon’tyoucomeandseeme.”

“Iwill,”saidCarrie.“Really,I’vebeenwantingtocome.IknowIoughtto.It’sashame.Butyouknow—”

“What’syournumber.”saidMrs.Vance.

“ThirteenthStreet,”saidCarrie,reluctantly.“112West.”

“Oh,”saidMrs.Vance,“that’srightnearhere,isn’tit.”

“Yes,”saidCarrie.“Youmustcomedownandseemesometime.”

“Well,you’reafineone,”saidMrs.Vance,laughing,thewhilenotingthatCarrie’sappearancehadmodifiedsomewhat.“Theaddress,too,”sheaddedtoherself.“Theymustbehardup.”

StillshelikedCarriewellenoughtotakeherintow.

“Comewithmeinhereaminute,”sheexclaimed,turningintoastore.

WhenCarriereturnedhome,therewasHurstwood,readingasusual.Heseemedtotakehisconditionwiththeutmostnonchalance.Hisbeardwasatleastfourdaysold.

“Oh,”thoughtCarrie,“ifsheweretocomehereandseehim.”

Sheshookherheadinabsolutemisery.Itlookedasifhersituationwasbecomingunbearable.

Driventodesperation,sheaskedatdinner:

“Didyoueverhearanymorefromthatwholesalehouse.”

“No,”hesaid.“Theydon’twantaninexperiencedman.”

Carriedroppedthesubject,feelingunabletosaymore.

“ImetMrs.Vancethisafternoon,”shesaid,afteratime.

“Did,eh.”heanswered.

“They’rebackinNewYorknow,”Carriewenton.“Shedidlooksonice.”

“Well,shecanafforditaslongasheputsupforit,”returnedHurstwood.“He’sgotasoftjob.”

Hurstwoodwaslookingintothepaper.HecouldnotseethelookofinfinitewearinessanddiscontentCarriegavehim.

“Shesaidshethoughtshe’dcallheresomeday.”

“She’sbeenlonggettingroundtoit,hasn’tshe.”saidHurstwood,withakindofsarcasm.

Thewomandidn’tappealtohimfromherspendingside.

“Oh,Idon’tknow,”saidCarrie,angeredbytheman’sattitude.“PerhapsIdidn’twanthertocome.”

“She’stoogay,”saidHurstwood,significantly.“Noonecankeepupwithherpaceunlessthey’vegotalotofmoney.”

“Mr.Vancedoesn’tseemtofinditveryhard.”

“Hemaynotnow,”answeredHurstwood,doggedly,wellunderstandingtheinference;“buthislifeisn’tdoneyet.Youcan’ttellwhat’llhappen.Hemaygetdownlikeanybodyelse.”

Therewassomethingquiteknavishintheman’sattitude.Hiseyeseemedtobecockedwithatwinkleuponthefortunate,expectingtheirdefeat.Hisownstateseemedathingapart—notconsidered.

Thisthingwastheremainsofhisold-timecocksurenessandindependence.Sittinginhisflat,andreadingofthedoingsofotherpeople,sometimesthisindependent,undefeatedmoodcameuponhim.Forgettingthewearinessofthestreetsandthedegradationofsearch,hewouldsometimesprickuphisears.Itwasasifhesaid:

“Icandosomething.I’mnotdownyet.There’salotofthingscomingtomeifIwanttogoafterthem.”

Itwasinthismoodthathewouldoccasionallydressup,goforashave,and,puttingonhisgloves,sallyforthquiteactively.Notwithanydefiniteaim.Itwas

moreabarometriccondition.Hefeltjustrightforbeingoutsideanddoingsomething.

Onsuchoccasions,hismoneywentalso.Heknewofseveralpokerroomsdowntown.AfewacquaintanceshehadindowntownresortsandabouttheCityHall.Itwasachangetoseethemandexchangeafewfriendlycommonplaces.

Hehadoncebeenaccustomedtoholdaprettyfairhandatpoker.Manyafriendlygamehadnettedhimahundreddollarsormoreatthetimewhenthatsumwasmerelysaucetothedishofthegame-nottheallinall.Now,hethoughtofplaying.

“Imightwinacoupleofhundred.I’mnotoutofpractice.”

Itisbutfairtosaythatthisthoughthadoccurredtohimseveraltimesbeforeheacteduponit.ThepokerroomwhichhefirstinvadedwasoverasalooninWestStreet,nearoneoftheferries.Hehadbeentherebefore.Severalgamesweregoing.Thesehewatchedforatimeandnoticedthatthepotswerequitelargefortheanteinvolved.

“Dealmeahand,”hesaidatthebeginningofanewshuffle.Hepulledupachairandstudiedhiscards.Thoseplayingmadethatquietstudyofhimwhichissounapparent,andyetinvariablysosearching.

Poorfortunewaswithhimatfirst.Hereceivedamixedcollectionwithoutprogressionorpairs.Thepotwasopened.

“Ipass,”hesaid.

Onthestrengthofthis,hewascontenttolosehisante.Thedealsdidfairlybyhiminthelongrun,causinghimtocomeawaywithafewdollarstothegood.

Thenextafternoonhewasbackagain,seekingamusementandprofit.Thistimehefollowedupthreeofakindtohisdoom.Therewasabetterhandacrossthetable,heldbyapugnaciousIrishyouth,whowasapoliticalhanger-onoftheTammanydistrictin

whichtheywerelocated.Hurstwoodwassurprisedatthepersistenceofthisindividual,whosebetscamewithasangfroidwhich,ifabluff,wasexcellentart.Hurstwoodbegantodoubt,butkept,orthoughttokeep,atleast,thecooldemeanorwithwhich,inoldentimes,hedeceivedthosepsychicstudentsofthegamingtable,whoseemtoreadthoughtsandmoods,ratherthanexteriorevidences,howeversubtle.Hecouldnotdownthecowardlythoughtthatthismanhadsomethingbetterandwouldstaytotheend,drawinghislastdollarintothepot,shouldhechoosetogosofar.Still,hehopedtowinmuch—hishandwasexcellent.Whynotraiseitfivemore.

“Iraiseyouthree,”saidtheyouth.

“Makeitfive,”saidHurstwood,pushingouthischips.

“Comeagain,”saidtheyouth,pushingoutasmallpileofreds.

“Letmehavesomemorechips,”saidHurstwoodtothekeeperincharge,takingoutabill.

Acynicalgrinlitupthefaceofhisyouthfulopponent.Whenthechipswerelaidout,Hurstwoodmettheraise.

“Fiveagain,”saidtheyouth.

Hurstwood’sbrowwaswet.Hewasdeepinnow—verydeepforhim.Sixtydollarsofhisgoodmoneywasup.Hewasordinarilynocoward,butthethoughtoflosingsomuchweakenedhim.Finallyhegaveway.Hewouldnottrusttothisfinehandanylonger.

“Icall,”hesaid.

“Afullhouse!”saidtheyouth,spreadingouthiscards.

Hurstwood’shanddropped.

“IthoughtIhadyou,”hesaid,weakly.

Theyouthrakedinhischips,andHurstwoodcameaway,notwithoutfirststoppingtocounthisremainingcashonthestair.

“Threehundredandfortydollars,”hesaid.

Withthislossandordinaryexpenses,somuchhadalreadygone.

Backintheflat,hedecidedhewouldplaynomore.

RememberingMrs.Vance’spromisetocall,Carriemadeoneothermildprotest.ItwasconcerningHurstwood’sappearance.Thisveryday,cominghome,hechangedhisclothestotheoldtogshesataroundin.

“Whatmakesyoualwaysputonthoseoldclothes.”askedCarrie.

“What’stheusewearingmygoodonesaroundhere.”heasked.

“Well,Ishouldthinkyou’dfeelbetter.”Thensheadded:“Someonemightcall.”

“Who.”hesaid.

“Well,Mrs.Vance,”saidCarrie.

“Sheneedn’tseeme,”heanswered,sullenly.

ThislackofprideandinterestmadeCarriealmosthatehim.

“Oh,”shethought,“therehesits.‘Sheneedn’tseeme.’Ishouldthinkhewouldbeashamedofhimself.”

TherealbitternessofthisthingwasaddedwhenMrs.Vancedidcall.Itwasononeofhershoppingrounds.Makingherwayupthecommonplacehall,sheknockedatCarrie’sdoor.Tohersubsequentandagonizingdistress,Carriewasout.Hurstwoodopenedthedoor,half-thinkingthattheknockwasCarrie’s.Foronce,hewastakenhonestlyaback.Thelostvoiceofyouthandpridespokeinhim.

“Why,”hesaid,actuallystammering,“howdoyoudo.”

“Howdoyoudo.”saidMrs.Vance,whocouldscarcelybelievehereyes.Hisgreatconfusionsheinstantlyperceived.Hedidnotknowwhethertoinviteherinornot.

“Isyourwifeathome.”sheinquired.

“No,”hesaid,“Carrie’sout;butwon’tyoustepin.She’llbebackshortly.”

“No-o,”saidMrs.Vance,realizingthechangeofit

all.“I’mreallyverymuchinahurry.IthoughtI’djustrunupandlookin,butIcouldn’tstay.Justtellyourwifeshemustcomeandseeme.”

“Iwill,”saidHurstwood,standingback,andfeelingintensereliefathergoing.Hewassoashamedthathefoldedhishandsweakly,ashesatinthechairafterwards,andthought.

Carrie,cominginfromanotherdirection,thoughtshesawMrs.Vancegoingaway.Shestrainedhereyes,butcouldnotmakesure.

“Wasanybodyherejustnow.”sheaskedofHurstwood.

“Yes,”hesaidguiltily;“Mrs.Vance.”

“Didsheseeyou.”sheasked,expressingherfulldespair.ThiscutHurstwoodlikeawhip,andmadehimsullen.

“Ifshehadeyes,shedid.Iopenedthedoor.”

“Oh,”saidCarrie,closingonehandtightlyoutofsheernervousness.“Whatdidshehavetosay.”

“Nothing,”heanswered.“Shecouldn’tstay.”

“Andyoulookinglikethat!”saidCarrie,throwingasidealongreserve.

“Whatofit.”hesaid,angering.“Ididn’tknowshewascoming,didI.”

“Youknewshemight,”saidCarrie.“Itoldyoushesaidshewascoming.I’veaskedyouadozentimestowearyourotherclothes.Oh,Ithinkthisisjustterrible.”

“Oh,letup,”heanswered.“Whatdifferencedoesitmake.Youcouldn’tassociatewithher,anyway.They’vegottoomuchmoney.

“WhosaidIwantedto.”saidCarrie,fiercely.

“Well,youactlikeit,rowingaroundovermylooks.You’dthinkI’dcommitted—”

Carrieinterrupted:

“It’strue,”shesaid.“Icouldn’tifIwantedto,butwhosefaultisit.You’reveryfreetositandtalkaboutwhoIcouldassociatewith.Whydon’tyougetoutand

lookforwork.”

Thiswasathunderboltincamp.

“What’sittoyou.”hesaid,rising,almostfiercely.“Ipaytherent,don’tI.Ifurnishthe—”

“Yes,youpaytherent,”saidCarrie.“Youtalkasiftherewasnothingelseintheworldbutaflattositaroundin.Youhaven’tdoneathingforthreemonthsexceptsitaroundandinterferehere.I’dliketoknowwhatyoumarriedmefor.”

“Ididn’tmarryyou,”hesaid,inasnarlingtone.

“I’dliketoknowwhatyoudid,then,inMontreal.”sheanswered.

“Well,Ididn’tmarryyou,”heanswered.“Youcangetthatoutofyourhead.Youtalkasthoughyoudidn’tknow.”

Carrielookedathimamoment,hereyesdistending.Shehadbelieveditwasalllegalandbindingenough.

“Whatdidyoulietomefor,then.”sheasked,fiercely.“Whatdidyouforcemetorunawaywithyoufor.”

Hervoicebecamealmostasob.

“Force!”hesaid,withcurledlip.“AlotofforcingIdid.”

“Oh!”saidCarrie,breakingunderthestrain,andturning.“Oh,oh!”andshehurriedintothefrontroom.

Hurstwoodwasnowhotandwakedup.Itwasagreatshakingupforhim,bothmentalandmoral.Hewipedhisbrowashelookedaround,andthenwentforhisclothesanddressed.NotasoundcamefromCarrie;sheceasedsobbingwhensheheardhimdressing.Shethought,atfirst,withthefaintestalarm,ofbeingleftwithoutmoney—notoflosinghim,thoughhemightbegoingawaypermanently.Sheheardhimopenthetopofthewardrobeandtakeouthishat.Thenthedining-roomdoorclosed,andsheknewhehadgone.

Afterafewmomentsofsilence,shestoodup,dry-eyed,andlookedoutthewindow.Hurstwoodwasjuststrollingupthestreet,fromtheflat,towardSixthAvenue.

ThelattermadeprogressalongThirteenthandacrossFourteenthStreettoUnionSquare.

“Lookforwork!”hesaidtohimself.“Lookforwork!Shetellsmetogetoutandlookforwork.”

Hetriedtoshieldhimselffromhisownmentalaccusation,whichtoldhimthatshewasright.

“WhatacursedthingthatMrs.Vance’scallwas,anyhow,”hethought.“Stoodrightthere,andlookedmeover.Iknowwhatshewasthinking.”

HerememberedthefewtimeshehadseenherinSeventy-eightStreet.Shewasalwaysaswell-looker,andhehadtriedtoputontheairofbeingworthyofsuchasshe,infrontofher.Now,tothinkshehadcaughthimlookingthisway.Hewrinkledhisforeheadinhisdistress.

“Thedevil!”hesaidadozentimesinanhour.

Itwasaquarterafterfourwhenheleftthehouse.Carriewasintears.Therewouldbenodinnerthatnight.

“Whatthedeuce,”hesaid,swaggeringmentallytohidehisownshamefromhimself.“I’mnotsobad.I’mnotdownyet.”

Helookedaroundthesquare,andseeingtheseverallargehotels,decidedtogotoonefordinner.Hewouldgethispapersandmakehimselfcomfortablethere.

HeascendedintothefineparloroftheMortonHouse,thenoneofthebestNewYorkhotels,and,findingacushionedseat,read.Itdidnottroublehimmuchthathisdecreasingsumofmoneydidnotallowofsuchextravagance.Likethemorphinefiend,hewasbecomingaddictedtohisease.Anythingtorelievehismentaldistress,tosatisfyhiscravingforcomfort.Hemustdoit.Nothoughtsforthemorrow—hecouldnotstandtothinkofitanymorethanhecouldofanyothercalamity.Likethecertaintyofdeath,hetriedtoshutthecertaintyofsoonbeingwithoutadollarcompletelyoutofhismind,andhecameveryneardoingit.

Well-dressedguestsmovingtoandfrooverthethickcarpetscarriedhimbacktotheolddays.Ayounglady,aguestofthehouse,playingapianoinanalcovepleasedhim.Hesattherereading.

Hisdinnercosthim$1.50.Byeighto’clockhewasthrough,andthen,seeingguestsleavingandthecrowdofpleasure-seekersthickeningoutsidewonderedwhereheshouldgo.Nothome.Carriewouldbeup.No,hewouldnotgobacktherethisevening.Hewouldstayoutandknockaroundasamanwhowasindependent-notbroke—wellmight.Heboughtacigar,andwentoutsideonthecornerwhereotherindividualswerelounging—brokers,racingpeople,thespians—hisownfleshandblood.Ashestoodthere,hethoughtoftheoldeveningsinChicago,andhowheusedtodisposeofthem.Many’sthegamehehadhad.Thistookhimtopoker.

“Ididn’tdothatthingrighttheotherday,”hethought,referringtohislossofsixtydollars.“Ishouldn’thaveweakened.Icouldhavebluffedthatfellowdown.Iwasn’tinform,that’swhatailedme.”

Thenhestudiedthepossibilitiesofthegameasithadbeenplayed,andbegantofigurehowhemighthavewon,inseveralinstances,bybluffingalittleharder.

“I’moldenoughtoplaypokeranddosomethingwithit.I’lltrymyhandto-night.”

Visionsofabigstakefloatedbeforehim.Supposinghedidwinacoupleofhundred,wouldn’thebeinit.Lotsofsportsheknewmadetheirlivingatthisgame,andagoodliving,too.

“TheyalwayshadasmuchasIhad,”hethought.

Sooffhewenttoapokerroomintheneighborhood,feelingmuchashehadintheolddays.Inthisperiodofself-forgetfulness,arousedfirstbytheshockofargumentandperfectedbyadinnerinthehotel,withcocktailsandcigars,hewasasnearlyliketheoldHurstwoodashewouldeverbeagain.ItwasnottheoldHurstwood—onlyamanarguingwithadividedconscienceandluredbyaphantom.

Thispokerroomwasmuchliketheotherone,onlyitwasabackroominabetterdrinkingresort.Hurstwoodwatchedawhile,andthen,seeinganinterestinggame,joinedin.Asbefore,itwenteasyforawhile,hewinningafewtimesandcheeringup,losingafewpotsandgrowingmoreinterestedanddeterminedonthataccount.Atlastthefascinatinggametookastrongholdonhim.Heenjoyeditsrisksandventured,onatriflinghand,tobluffthecompanyandsecureafairstake.Tohisself-satisfactionintenseandstrong,hedidit.

Intheheightofthisfeelinghebegantothinkhisluckwaswithhim.Nooneelsehaddonesowell.Nowcameanothermoderatehand,andagainhetriedtoopenthejack-potonit.Therewereotherstherewhowerealmostreadinghisheart,soclosewastheirobservation.

“Ihavethreeofakind,”saidoneoftheplayerstohimself.“I’lljuststaywiththatfellowtothefinish.”

Theresultwasthatbiddingbegan.

“Iraiseyouten.”

“Good.”

“Tenmore.”

“Good.”

“Tenagain.”

“Rightyouare.”

ItgottowhereHurstwoodhadseventy-fivedollarsup.Theothermanreallybecameserious.Perhapsthisindividual(Hurstwood)reallydidhaveastiffhand.

“Icall,”hesaid.

Hurstwoodshowedhishand.Hewasdone.Thebitterfactthathehadlostseventy-fivedollarsmadehimdesperate.

“Let’shaveanotherpot,”hesaid,grimly.

“Allright,”saidtheman.

Someoftheotherplayersquit,butobservantloungerstooktheirplaces.Timepassed,anditcametotwelveo’clock.Hurstwoodheldon,neitherwinningnorlosingmuch.Thenhegrewweary,andonalasthandlosttwentymore.Hewassickatheart.

Ataquarterafteroneinthemorninghecameoutoftheplace.Thechill,barestreetsseemedamockeryofhisstate.Hewalkedslowlywest,littlethinkingofhisrowwithCarrie.Heascendedthestairsandwentintohisroomasiftherehadbeennotrouble.Itwashislossthatoccupiedhismind.Sittingdownonthebedsidehecountedhismoney.Therewasnowbutahundredandninetydollarsandsomechange.Heputitupandbegantoundress.

“Iwonderwhat’sgettingintome,anyhow.”hesaid.

InthemorningCarriescarcelyspokeandhefeltasifhemustgooutagain.Hehadtreatedherbadly,buthecouldnotaffordtomakeup.Nowdesperationseizedhim,andforadayortwo,goingoutthus,helivedlikeagentleman—orwhatheconceivedtobeagentleman—whichtookmoney.Forhisescapadeshewassoonpoorerinmindandbody,tosaynothingofhispurse,whichhadlostthirtybytheprocess.Thenhecamedowntocold,bittersenseagain.

“Therentmancomesto-day,”saidCarrie,greetinghimthusindifferentlythreemorningslater.

“Hedoes.”

“Yes;thisisthesecond,”answeredCarrie.

Hurstwoodfrowned.Thenindespairhegotouthispurse.

“Itseemsanawfullottopayforrent,”hesaid.

Hewasnearinghislasthundreddollars.