"This store closes at one on Saturdays," was a pleasing and satisfactory legend to see upon doors which she felt she ought to enter and inquire for work.It gave her an excuse, and after encountering quite a number of them, and noting that the clock registered 12.15, she decided that it would be no use to seek further to-day, so she got on a car and went to Lincoln Park.
There was always something to see there--the flowers, the animals, the lake--and she flattered herself that on Monday she would be up betimes and searching.Besides, many things might happen between now and Monday.
Sunday passed with equal doubts, worries, assurances, and heaven knows what vagaries of mind and spirit.Every half-hour in the day the thought would come to her most sharply, like the tail of a swishing whip, that action--immediate action--was imperative.
At other times she would look about her and assure herself that things were not so bad--that certainly she would come out safe and sound.At such times she would think of Drouet's advice about going on the stage, and saw some chance for herself in that quarter.She decided to take up that opportunity on the morrow.
Accordingly, she arose early Monday morning and dressed herself carefully.She did not know just how such applications were made, but she took it to be a matter which related more directly to the theatre buildings.All you had to do was to inquire of some one about the theatre for the manager and ask for a position.If there was anything, you might get it, or, at least, he could tell you how.
She had had no experience with this class of individuals whatsoever, and did not know the salacity and humour of the theatrical tribe.She only knew of the position which Mr.Hale occupied, but, of all things, she did not wish to encounter that personage, on account of her intimacy with his wife.
There was, however, at this time, one theatre, the Chicago Opera House, which was considerably in the public eye, and its manager, David A.Henderson, had a fair local reputation.Carrie had seen one or two elaborate performances there and had heard of several others.She knew nothing of Henderson nor of the methods of applying, but she instinctively felt that this would be a likely place, and accordingly strolled about in that neighbourhood.She came bravely enough to the showy entrance way, with the polished and begilded lobby, set with framed pictures out of the current attraction, leading up to the quiet box-office, but she could get no further.A noted comic opera comedian was holding forth that week, and the air of distinction and prosperity overawed her.
She could not imagine that there would be anything in such a lofty sphere for her.She almost trembled at the audacity which might have carried her on to a terrible rebuff.She could find heart only to look at the pictures which were showy and then walk out.It seemed to her as if she had made a splendid escape and that it would be foolhardy to think of applying in that quarter again.
This little experience settled her hunting for one day.She looked around elsewhere, but it was from the outside.She got the location of several playhouses fixed in her mind--notably the Grand Opera House and McVickar's, both of which were leading in attractions--and then came away.Her spirits were materially reduced, owing to the newly restored sense of magnitude of the great interests and the insignificance of her claims upon society, such as she understood them to be.
That night she was visited by Mrs.Hale, whose chatter and protracted stay made it impossible to dwell upon her predicament or the fortune of the day.Before retiring, however, she sat down to think, and gave herself up to the most gloomy forebodings.Drouet had not put in an appearance.She had had no word from any quarter, she had spent a dollar of her precious sum in procuring food and paying car fare.It was evident that she would not endure long.Besides, she had discovered no resource.
In this situation her thoughts went out to her sister in Van Buren Street, whom she had not seen since the night of her flight, and to her home at Columbia City, which seemed now a part of something that could not be again.She looked for no refuge in that direction.Nothing but sorrow was brought her by thoughts of Hurstwood, which would return.That he could have chosen to dupe her in so ready a manner seemed a cruel thing.
Tuesday came, and with it appropriate indecision and speculation.
She was in no mood, after her failure of the day before, to hasten forth upon her work-seeking errand, and yet she rebuked herself for what she considered her weakness the day before.
Accordingly she started out to revisit the Chicago Opera House, but possessed scarcely enough courage to approach.
She did manage to inquire at the box-office, however.
"Manager of the company or the house?" asked the smartly dressed individual who took care of the tickets.He was favourably impressed by Carrie's looks.
"I don't know," said Carrie, taken back by the question.
"You couldn't see the manager of the house to-day, anyhow,"
volunteered the young man."He's out of town."
He noted her puzzled look, and then added: "What is it you wish to see about?"
"I want to see about getting a position," she answered.
"You'd better see the manager of the company," he returned, "but he isn't here now."
"When will he be in?" asked Carrie, somewhat relieved by this information.
"Well, you might find him in between eleven and twelve.He's here after two o'clock."
Carrie thanked him and walked briskly out, while the young man gazed after her through one of the side windows of his gilded coop.
"Good-looking," he said to himself, and proceeded to visions of condescensions on her part which were exceedingly flattering to himself.