SISTER CARRIE

by Theodore Dreiser

Chapter I.

THE MAGNET ATTRACTING: A WAIF AMID FORCES

When Caroline Meeber boarded the afternoon train for Chicago, her total outfit consisted of a small trunk, a cheap imitation alligator-skin satchel, a small lunch in a paper box, and a yellow leather snap purse, containing her ticket, a scrap of paper with her sister's address in Van Buren Street, and four dollars in money. It was in August, 1889. She was eighteen years of age, bright, timid, and full of the illusions of ignorance and youth. Whatever touch of regret at parting characterised her thoughts, it was certainly not for advantages now being given up. A gush of tears at her mother's farewell kiss, a touch in her throat when the cars clacked by the flour mill where her father worked by the day, a pathetic sigh as the familiar green environs of the village passed in review, and the threads which bound her so lightly to girlhood and home were irretrievably broken.

To be sure there was always the next station, where one might descend and return. There was the great city, bound more closely by these very trains which came up daily. Columbia City was not so very far away, even once she was in Chicago. What, pray, is a few hours-a few hundred miles? She looked at the little slip bearing her sister's address and wondered. She gazed at the green landscape, now passing in swift review, until her swifter thoughts replaced its impression with vague conjectures of what Chicago might be.

When a girl leaves her home at eighteen, she does one of two things. Either she falls into saving hands and becomes better, or she rapidly assumes the cosmopolitan standard of virtue and becomes worse. Of an intermediate balance, under the circumstances, there is no possibility. The city has its cunning wiles, no less than the infinitely smaller and more human tempter. There are large forces which allure with all the soulfulness of expression possible in the most cultured human. The gleam of a thousand lights is often as effective as the persuasive light in a wooing and fascinating eye. Half the undoing of the unsophisticated and natural mind is accomplished by forces wholly superhuman. A blare of sound, a roar of life, a vast array of human hives, appeal to the astonished senses in equivocal terms. Without a counsellor at hand to whisper cautious interpretations, what falsehoods may not these things breathe into the unguarded ear! Unrecognised for what they are, their beauty, like music, too often relaxes, then weakens, then perverts the simpler human perceptions.

Caroline, or Sister Carrie, as she had been half affectionately termed by the family, was possessed of a mind rudimentary in its power of observation and analysis. Self-interest with her was high, but not strong. It was, nevertheless, her guiding characteristic. Warm with the fancies of youth, pretty with the insipid prettiness of the formative period, possessed of a figure promising eventual shapeliness and an eye alight with certain native intelligence, she was a fair example of the middle American class- two generations removed from the emigrant. Books were beyond her interest- knowledge a sealed book. In the intuitive graces she was still crude. She could scarcely toss her head gracefully. Her hands were almost ineffectual. The feet, though small, were set flatly. And yet she was interested in her charms, quick to understand the keener pleasures of life, ambitious to gain in material things. A half-equipped little knight she was, venturing to reconnoitre the mysterious city and dreaming wild dreams of some vague, far-off supremacy, which should make it prey and subject- the proper penitent, grovelling at a woman's slipper.

"That," said a voice in her ear, "is one of the prettiest little resorts in Wisconsin."

"Is it?" she answered nervously.

The train was just pulling out of Waukesha. For some time she had been conscious of a man behind. She felt him observing her mass of hair. He had been fidgetting, and with natural intuition she felt a certain interest growing in that quarter. Her maidenly reserve, and a certain sense of what was conventional under the circumstances, called her to forestall and deny this familiarity, but the daring and magnetism of the individual, born of past experiences and triumphs, prevailed. She answered.

He leaned forward to put his elbows upon the back of her seat and proceeded to make himself volubly agreeable.

"Yes, that is a great resort for Chicago people. The hotels are swell. You are not familiar with this part of the country, are you?"

"Oh, yes, I am," answered Carrie. "That is, I live at Columbia City. I have never been through here, though."

"And so this is your first visit to Chicago," he observed.

All the time she was conscious of certain features out of the side of her eye. Flush, colourful cheeks, a light moustache, a grey fedora hat. She now turned and looked upon him in full, the instincts of self-protection and coquetry mingling confusedly in her brain.

"I didn't say that," she said.

"Oh," he answered, in a very pleasing way and with an assumed air ofmistake, "I thought you did."

Here was a type of the travelling canvasser for a manufacturing house- a class which at that time was first being dubbed by the slang of the day "drummers." He came within the meaning of a still newer term, which had sprung into general use among Americans in 1880,and which concisely expressed the thought of one whose dress or manners are calculated to elicit the admiration of susceptible youngwomen- a "masher." His suit was of a striped and crossed pattern of brown wool, new at that time, but since become familiar as a business suit. The low crotch of the vest revealed a stiff shirt bosom of white and pink stripes. From his coat sleeves protruded a pair of linen cuffs of the same pattern, fastened with large, gold platebuttons, set with the common yellow agates known as "cat's-eyes." His fingers bore several rings- one, the ever-enduring heavy seal- and from his vest dangled a neat gold watch chain, from which was suspended the secret insignia of the Order of Elks. The whole suit was rather tight-fitting, and was finished off with heavy-soled tan shoes, highly polished, and the grey fedora hat. He was, for the order of intellect represented, attractive, and whatever he had to recommend him, you may be sure was not lost upon Carrie, in this, her first glance.

Lest this order of individual should permanently pass, let me put down some of the most striking characteristics of his most successful manner and method. Good clothes, of course, were the first essential, the things without which he was nothing. A strong physical nature, actuated by a keen desire for the feminine, was the next. A mind free of any consideration of the problems or forces of the world and actuated not by greed, but an insatiable love of variable pleasure. His method was always simple. Its principal element was daring, backed, of course, by an intense desire and admiration for the sex. Let him meet with a young woman once and he would approach her with an air of kindly familiarity, not unmixed with pleading, which would result in most cases in a tolerant acceptance. If she showed any tendency to coquetry he would be apt to straighten her tie, or if she "took up" with him at all, to call her by her first name. If he visited a department store it was to lounge familiarly over the counter and ask some leading questions. In more exclusive circles, on the train or in waiting stations, he went slower. If some seemingly vulnerable object appeared he was all attention- to pass the compliments of the day, to lead the way to the parlor car, carrying her grip, or, failing that, to take a seat next her with the hope of being able to court her to her destination. Pillows, books, afoot-stool, the shade lowered; all these figured in the things which he could do. If, when she reached her destination, he did not alight and attend her baggage for her, it was because, in his own estimation,he had signally failed.

A woman should some day write the complete philosophy of clothes. No matter how young, it is one of the things she wholly comprehends. There is an indescribably faint line in the matter of man's apparel which somehow divides for her those who are worth glancing at and those who are not. Once an individual has passed this faint line onthe way downward he will get no glance from her. There is another lineat which the dress of a man will cause her to study her own. This linethe individual at her elbow now marked for Carrie. She becameconscious of an inequality. Her own plain blue dress, with its blackcotton tape trimmings, now seemed to her shabby. She felt the wornstate of her shoes.

"Let's see," he went on, "I know quite a number of people in yourtown. Morgenroth the clothier and Gibson the dry goods man."

"Oh, do you?" she interrupted, aroused by memories of longings theirshow windows had cost her.

At last he had a clew to her interest, and followed it deftly. Ina few minutes he had come about into her seat. He talked of sales ofclothing, his travels, Chicago, and the amusements of that city.

"If you are going there, you will enjoy it immensely. Have yourelatives?"

"I am going to visit my sister," she explained.

"You want to see Lincoln Park," he said, "and Michigan Boulevard.They are putting up great buildings there. It's a second New York-great. So much to see- theatres, crowds, fine houses- oh, you'lllike that."

There was a little ache in her fancy of all he described. Herinsignificance in the presence of so much magnificence faintlyaffected her. She realised that hers was not to be a round ofpleasure, and yet there was something promising in all the materialprospect he set forth. There was something satisfactory in theattention of this individual with his good clothes. She could not helpsmiling as he told her of some popular actress of whom she remindedhim. She was not silly, and yet attention of this sort had its weight.

"You will be in Chicago some little time, won't you?" he observed atone turn of the now easy conversation.

"I don't know," said Carrie vaguely- a flash vision of thepossibility of her not securing employment rising in her mind.

"Several weeks, anyhow," he said, looking steadily into her eyes.

There was much more passing now than the mere words indicated. Herecognised the indescribable thing that made up for fascination andbeauty in her. She realised that she was of interest to him from theone standpoint which a woman both delights in and fears. Her mannerwas simple, though for the very reason that she had not yet learnedthe many little affectations with which women conceal their truefeelings. Some things she did appeared bold. A clever companion- hadshe ever had one- would have warned her never to look a man in theeyes so steadily.

"Why do you ask?" she said.

"Well, I'm going to be there several weeks. I'm going to study stockat our place and get new samples. I might show you 'round."

"I don't know whether you can or not. I mean I don't know whetherI can. I shall be living with my sister, and-"

"Well, if she minds, we'll fix that." He took out his pencil and alittle pocket note-book as if it were all settled. "What is youraddress there?"

She fumbled her purse which contained the address slip.

He reached down in his hip pocket and took out a fat purse. It wasfilled with slips of paper, some mileage books, a roll ofgreenbacks. It impressed her deeply. Such a purse had never beencarried by any one attentive to her. Indeed, an experienced traveller,a brisk man of the world, had never come within such close rangebefore. The purse, the shiny tan shoes, the smart new suit, and theair with which he did things, built up for her a dim world of fortune,of which he was the centre. It disposed her pleasantly toward all hemight do.

He took out a neat business card, on which was engraved Bartlett,Caryoe & Company, and down in the lefthand corner, Chas. H. Drouet.

"That's me," he said, putting the card in her hand and touchinghis name. "It's pronounced Drew-eh. Our family was French, on myfather's side."

She looked at it while he put up his purse. Then he got out a letterfrom a bunch in his coat pocket. "This is the house I travel for,"he went on, pointing to a picture on it, "corner of State and Lake."There was pride in his voice. He felt that it was something to beconnected with such a place, and he made her feel that way.

"What is your address?" he began again, fixing his pencil to write.

"Carrie Meeber," she said slowly. "Three hundred and fifty-four WestVan Buren Street, care S. C. Hanson."

He wrote it carefully down and got out the purse again. "You'll beat home if I come around Monday night?" he said.

"I think so," she answered.

How true it is that words are but the vague shadows of the volumeswe mean. Little audible links, they are, chaining together greatinaudible feelings and purposes. Here were these two, bandyinglittle phrases, drawing purses, looking at cards, and both unconsciousof how inarticulate all their real feelings were. Neither was wiseenough to be sure of the working of the mind of the other. He couldnot tell how his luring succeeded. She could not realise that shewas drifting, until he secured her address. Now she felt that shehad yielded something- he, that he had gained a victory. Alreadythey felt that they were somehow associated. Already he took controlin directing the conversation. His words were easy. Her manner wasrelaxed.

They were nearing Chicago. Signs were everywhere numerous. Trainsflashed by them. Across wide stretches of flat, open prairie theycould see lines of telegraph poles stalking across the fields towardthe great city. Far away were indications of suburban towns, somebig smoke-stacks towering high in the air.

Frequently there were two-story frame houses standing out in theopen fields, without fence or trees, lone outposts of theapproaching army of homes.

To the child, the genius with imagination, or the whollyuntravelled, the approach to a great city for the first time is awonderful thing. Particularly if it be evening- that mystic periodbetween the glare and gloom of the world when life is changing fromone sphere or condition to another. Ah, the promise of the night. Whatdoes it not hold for the weary! What old illusion of hope is nothere forever repeated! Says the soul of the toiler to itself, "I shallsoon be free. I shall be in the ways and the hosts of the merry. Thestreets, the lamps, the lighted chamber set for dining, are for me.The theatre, the halls, the parties, the ways of rest and the paths ofsong- these are mine in the night." Though all humanity be stillenclosed in the shops, the thrill runs abroad. It is in the air. Thedullest feel something which they may not always express ordescribe. It is the lifting of the burden of toil.

Sister Carrie gazed out of the window. Her companion, affected byher wonder, so contagious are all things, felt anew some interest inthe city and pointed out its marvels.

"This is Northwest Chicago," said Drouet. "This is the ChicagoRiver," and he pointed to a little muddy creek, crowded with thehuge masted wanderers from far-off waters nosing the black-postedbanks. With a puff, a clang, and a clatter of rails it was gone."Chicago is getting to be a great town," he went on. "It's a wonder.You'll find lots to see here."

She did not hear this very well. Her heart was troubled by a kind ofterror. The fact that she was alone, away from home, rushing into agreat sea of life and endeavour, began to tell. She could not help butfeel a little choked for breath- a little sick as her heart beat sofast. She half closed her eyes and tried to think it was nothing, thatColumbia City was only a little way off.

"Chicago! Chicago!" called the brakeman, slamming open the door.They were rushing into a more crowded yard, alive with the clatter andclang of life. She began to gather up her poor little grip andclosed her hand firmly upon her purse. Drouet arose, kicked his legsto straighten his trousers, and seized his clean yellow grip.

"I suppose your people will be here to meet you?" he said. "Let mecarry your grip."

"Oh, no," she said. "I'd rather you wouldn't. I'd rather youwouldn't be with me when I meet my sister."

"All right," he said in all kindness. "I'll be near, though, in caseshe isn't here, and take you out there safely."

"You're so kind," said Carrie, feeling the goodness of suchattention in her strange situation.

"Chicago!" called the brakeman, drawing the word out long. They wereunder a great shadowy train shed, where the lamps were alreadybeginning to shine out, with passenger cars all about and the trainmoving at a snail's pace. The people in the car were all up andcrowding about the door.

"Well, here we are," said Drouet, leading the way to the door."Good-bye, till I see you Monday."

"Good-bye," she answered, taking his proffered hand.

"Remember, I'll be looking till you find your sister."

She smiled into his eyes.

They filed out, and he affected to take no notice of her. Alean-faced, rather commonplace woman recognised Carrie on the platformand hurried forward.

"Why, Sister Carrie!" she began, and there was a perfunctory embraceof welcome.

Carrie realised the change of affectional atmosphere at once. Amidall the maze, uproar, and novelty she felt cold reality taking herby the hand. No world of light and merriment. No round of amusement.Her sister carried with her most of the grimness of shift and toil.

"Why, how are all the folks at home?" she began; "how is father, and mother?"

Carrie answered, but was looking away. Down the aisle, toward the gate leading into the waiting-room and the street, stood Drouet. He was looking back. When he saw that she saw him and was safe with her sister he turned to go, sending back the shadow of a smile. OnlyCarrie saw it. She felt something lost to her when he moved away. When he disappeared she felt his absence thoroughly. With her sister shewas much alone, a lone figure in a tossing, thoughtless sea.