Sister Carrie | Page 8

it, while
Hanson concerned himself with the baby. Finally he jumped up and
handed the child to his wife.
"I've got to get up early in the morning, so I'll go to bed," and off he
went, disappearing into the dark little bedroom off the hall, for the
night.
"He works way down at the stock-yards," explained Minnie, "so he's
got to get up at half-past five."

"What time do you get up to get breakfast?" asked Carrie.
"At about twenty minutes of five."
Together they finished the labour of the day, Carrie washing the dishes
while Minnie undressed the baby and put it to bed. Minnie's manner
was one of trained industry, and Carrie could see that it was a steady
round of toil with her.
She began to see that her relations with Drouet would have to be
abandoned. He could not come here. She read from the manner of
Hanson, in the subdued air of Minnie, and, indeed, the whole
atmosphere of the flat, a settled opposition to anything save a
conservative round of toil. If Hanson sat every evening in the front
room and read his paper, if he went to bed at nine, and Minnie a little
later, what would they expect of her? She saw that she would first need
to get work and establish herself on a paying basis before she could
think of having company of any sort. Her little flirtation with Drouet
seemed now an extraordinary thing.
"No," she said to herself, "he can't come here."
She asked Minnie for ink and paper, which were upon the mantel in the
dining-room, and when the latter had gone to bed at ten, got out
Drouet's card and wrote him.
"I cannot have you call on me here. You will have to wait until you
hear from me again. My sister's place is so small."
She troubled herself over what else to put in the letter. She wanted to
make some reference to their relations upon the train, but was too timid.
She concluded by thanking him for his kindness in a crude way, then
puzzled over the formality of signing her name, and finally decided
upon the severe, winding up with a "Very truly," which she
subsequently changed to "Sincerely." She scaled and addressed the
letter, and going in the front room, the alcove of which contained her
bed, drew the one small rocking-chair up to the open window, and sat
looking out upon the night and streets in silent wonder. Finally,

wearied by her own reflections, she began to grow dull in her chair, and
feeling the need of sleep, arranged her clothing for the night and went
to bed.
When she awoke at eight the next morning, Hanson had gone. Her
sister was busy in the dining-room, which was also the sitting- room,
sewing. She worked, after dressing, to arrange a little breakfast for
herself, and then advised with Minnie as to which way to look. The
latter had changed considerably since Carrie had seen her. She was now
a thin, though rugged, woman of twenty- seven, with ideas of life
coloured by her husband's, and fast hardening into narrower
conceptions of pleasure and duty than had ever been hers in a
thoroughly circumscribed youth. She had invited Carrie, not because
she longed for her presence, but because the latter was dissatisfied at
home, and could probably get work and pay her board here. She was
pleased to see her in a way but reflected her husband's point of view in
the matter of work. Anything was good enough so long as it paid--say,
five dollars a week to begin with. A shop girl was the destiny
prefigured for the newcomer. She would get in one of the great shops
and do well enough until--well, until something happened. Neither of
them knew exactly what. They did not figure on promotion. They did
not exactly count on marriage. Things would go on, though, in a dim
kind of way until the better thing would eventuate, and Carrie would be
rewarded for coming and toiling in the city. It was under such
auspicious circumstances that she started out this morning to look for
work.
Before following her in her round of seeking, let us look at the sphere
in which her future was to lie. In 1889 Chicago had the peculiar
qualifications of growth which made such adventuresome pilgrimages
even on the part of young girls plausible. Its many and growing
commercial opportunities gave it widespread fame, which made of it a
giant magnet, drawing to itself, from all quarters, the hopeful and the
hopeless--those who had their fortune yet to make and those whose
fortunes and affairs had reached a disastrous climax elsewhere. It was a
city of over 500,000, with the ambition,