Sister Carrie | Page 6

at
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 volumes we
mean. Little audible links, they are, chaining together great inaudible

feelings and purposes. Here were these two, bandying little phrases,
drawing purses, looking at cards, and both unconscious of how
inarticulate all their real feelings were. Neither was wise enough to be
sure of the working of the mind of the other. He could not tell how his
luring succeeded. She could not realise that she was drifting, until he
secured her address. Now she felt that she had yielded something--he,
that he had gained a victory. Already they felt that they were somehow
associated. Already he took control in directing the conversation. His
words were easy. Her manner was relaxed.
They were nearing Chicago. Signs were everywhere numerous. Trains
flashed by them. Across wide stretches of flat, open prairie they could
see lines of telegraph poles stalking across the fields toward the great
city. Far away were indications of suburban towns, some big
smokestacks towering high in the air.
Frequently there were two-story frame houses standing out in the open
fields, without fence or trees, lone outposts of the approaching army of
homes.
To the child, the genius with imagination, or the wholly untravelled, the
approach to a great city for the first time is a wonderful thing.
Particularly if it be evening--that mystic period between the glare and
gloom of the world when life is changing from one sphere or condition
to another. Ah, the promise of the night. What does it not hold for the
weary! What old illusion of hope is not here forever repeated! Says the
soul of the toiler to itself, "I shall soon be free. I shall be in the ways
and the hosts of the merry. The streets, the lamps, the lighted chamber
set for dining, are for me. The theatre, the halls, the parties, the ways of
rest and the paths of song--these are mine in the night." Though all
humanity be still enclosed in the shops, the thrill runs abroad. It is in
the air. The dullest feel something which they may not always express
or describe. It is the lifting of the burden of toil.
Sister Carrie gazed out of the window. Her companion, affected by her
wonder, so contagious are all things, felt anew some interest in the city
and pointed out its marvels.

"This is Northwest Chicago," said Drouet. "This is the Chicago River,"
and he pointed to a little muddy creek, crowded with the huge masted
wanderers from far-off waters nosing the black-posted banks. 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 of
terror. The fact that she was alone, away from home, rushing into a
great sea of life and endeavour, began to tell. She could not help but
feel a little choked for breath--a little sick as her heart beat so fast. She
half closed her eyes and tried to think it was nothing, that Columbia
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 and
clang of life. She began to gather up her poor little grip and closed her
hand firmly upon her purse. Drouet arose, kicked his legs to straighten
his trousers, and seized his clean yellow grip.
"I suppose your people will be here to meet you?" he said. "Let me
carry your grip."
"Oh, no," she said. "I'd rather you wouldn't. I'd rather you wouldn't be
with me when I meet my sister."
"All right," he said in all kindness. "I'll be near, though, in case she isn't
here, and take you out there safely."
"You're so kind," said Carrie, feeling the goodness of such attention in
her strange situation.
"Chicago!" called the brakeman, drawing the word out long. They were
under a great shadowy train shed, where the lamps were already
beginning to shine out, with passenger cars all about and the train
moving at a snail's pace. The people in the car were all up and
crowding 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. A lean-faced,
rather commonplace woman recognised Carrie on the platform and