Chapter 34 Chapter 34: The Grinding of the Stone Mill: The First Chaff

Carrie, like Hurstwood, had been thinking about the situation once she got the facts right. It took her a few days to fully realize that her husband's business was coming to an end, which meant they had to pay for She thought of her early adventures in Chicago, of the Hanssons and their house, and she was disgusted. It was terrible! Anything connected with poverty was terrible. Yes. How she wished she could find a way out. Some recent experiences with the Vances have prevented her from viewing her situation with complacency. Several experiences brought by the Vances have made her Completely obsessed with the high society life of the city. Someone taught her how to dress and where to hang out, neither of which she had the means to do. Now her eyes and mind are full of these things. ...like some permanent realities. The more pressing her situation, the more fascinating this other vision is. Now poverty threatens to capture her whole, and drive this other world hard towards Push it up, and make it like heaven to which any poor man would stretch out his hand for begging.

Also left behind the ideals that Ames brought into her life. His people are gone, but his words are still there: wealth is not everything; there are many things in the world that she does not know; being an actor is good; the literature she reads The work is not very good. He is a strong man, and pure... How much better than Hurstwood and Drouet. How much better, she only half knows, but the difference pains her. Things not to be taken seriously. During the last three months at the Warren Street Hotel, Hurstwood took part of his time to follow the commercials and look around for opportunities. There was something sad about it, all because he thought he had to find something to do right away. , or he'd have to start living off the few hundred dollars he'd saved, and he'd have no money to invest, and he'd have to be hired as a clerk.

Every hotel he found in the ad that seemed to offer an opportunity was just not right for him, either too expensive or too bad. Plus, winter was coming, and the papers were telling people that times were coming, and the general feeling was that times were hard, Or at least he thought so. He was worrying himself, so that other people's worries became obvious. As he read the morning papers, there was no such thing as shops closing down, families starving, and passers-by supposedly dying of hunger in the street. Such news can escape his eyes. Once, the "Le Monde" published a sensational news saying: "80,000 people will lose their jobs in New York this winter." This news was like a knife, stabbing his heart .

"Eighty thousand people," thought he. "What a dreadful thing it is!" The idea was new to Hurstwood. People seemed to be doing well before. He had often seen something like it in the Daily News in Chicago, but it had never caught his attention. Now , these things were like dark clouds on a clear sky, threatening to envelop and veil his life in a cold grayness. He wanted to shake them off, forget them, and pull himself together. Sometimes, he said to himself language: "What's the use of worrying? I'm not finished. I've got six weeks. Even if the worst happens, I'll have enough money to live on for six months."

Strange to say, when he was worrying about his future, he occasionally turned his thoughts to his wife and family. For the first three years, he tried to avoid them. He hated her, he could live without her, let Let her go. He can live well. But now, when he is not well, he begins to think of her, wondering what she is doing, and how his children are doing. He can imagine, They lived well as before, in the comfortable house, and with his property. "My God, they've got it all, it's a shame!" he said to himself several times vaguely. "I haven't done anything wrong."

Now, when he looks back and analyzes the circumstances that led him to steal that money, he begins to justify himself moderately. What did he do, what did he do, to push him out like this, to pile up so many difficulties In his head? To him, it seems that only yesterday, he was comfortable and well-off. But now, he is deprived of it all. "She shouldn't enjoy what she's taking from me, that's for sure. I haven't done anything very bad, if only everybody knew that." It didn't occur to him that these facts should be made public. It was just a spiritual justification he was looking for in himself...it enabled him to bear his situation like a righteous man.

One afternoon, five weeks before the closing of the Warren Street Hotel, he left it to visit three or four places which he had seen advertised in the Herald. One was in King Street, which he looked at but did not enter. The place looked too shabby for him to bear. The other was on the Bowery, and he knew that there were many luxurious hotels on that street. This one was near the Grand Street, and it was really nicely furnished. He Discussed investment issues with the owner in a roundabout way, and talked for a total of 3 quarters of an hour. The owner emphasized that he was not in good health, so he wanted to find a partner.

"Well, well, how much will it cost to buy half the shares?" asked Hurstwood, who thought he could only pay seven hundred dollars at the most. "3000 yuan," said the man. Hurstwood's face lengthened. "Cash?" he said. "cash." He tried to pretend he was thinking about it, as if he could buy it, but there was sadness in his eyes. He said he would think about it, ended the conversation, and walked away. The shopkeeper he was talking with vaguely noticed that His situation is not good. "I don't think he wants to buy it," he said to himself. "He's not talking right."

It was a gray and chilly afternoon. There was an uncomfortably cold wind. He was visiting a hotel on the far East Side, near Sixty-ninth Street. When he got there, it was five o'clock and it was getting dark. Yes. The owner is a German with a big belly. "Could you tell me about this advertisement you have placed?" asked Hurstwood, who was repelled by the appearance of the hotel. "Oh, it's over," said the German. "I'm not selling now." "Oh, is that true?" "No, there's no such thing now. It's over." "Very well," said Hurstwood, turning away.

The German didn't pay any attention to him, which made him very angry. "The idiot is crazy!" he said to himself. "Then why is he running that ad?" Thoroughly discouraged, he walked toward Thirteenth Street. There was only one light on in the kitchen. Carrie was working in it. He struck a match, lit the gas lamp, and, without calling her, sat at the table. The room sat down. She went to the door and looked in. "Did you come back?" she said, and went back again. "Yes," said he, absorbed in the evening paper which he had bought, without raising his eyes.

Carrie knew that something was wrong with him. When he was unhappy, he was not so handsome. The wrinkles around his eyes had deepened. His natural dark skin and melancholy made him look a little fierce. He was very annoying at this time. . Carrie set the table and served the food. "Dinner is ready," she said, walking past him to get something. He didn't answer, and continued to read the newspaper. After she came in, she sat in her seat, very sad. "Are you not eating now?" she asked. He folded up the newspaper, sat closer, but remained silent except to say, "Pass me so-and-so, please." "It's a cold day, isn't it?" began Carrie after a while. "Yes," he said. He just ate without appetite. "Are you still sure you must close the shop?" said Carrie, boldly referring to their usual subject of discussion. "Of course I do," he said, his stern tone softening only a little. This answer annoyed Carrie. She had sulked about it herself all day. "You don't have to talk like that," she said. "Oh!" he exclaimed, pushing his seat back from the table as if to say something more, but that was all. Then he picked up the paper. Carrie left her seat, and with difficulty she restrained herself. himself. He knew she was sad. "Don't go away," he said, as she started back to the kitchen. "Eat your meal." She walked over without answering. He read the newspaper for a while, then got up and put on his coat. "I'm going downtown, Carrie," he said, coming out. "I'm in a bad mood to-night." She didn't answer. "Don't be angry," he said, "everything will be all right tomorrow." He looked at her, but she ignored him and went about washing her dishes. "Good-bye!" he said at last, and went out. It was the first time that the situation at hand had strong consequences between them. As the day of closing approached, however, the melancholy became almost permanent. Hurstwood could not conceal his feeling on the matter. Carrie could not help worrying where she was drifting. As a result, there was less talk between them than usual, not because Hurstwood had any displeasure with Carrie, but because Carrie wanted to avoid him. He noticed it. It aroused his resentment against her, for she was cold to him. He took the possibility of a friendly conversation almost as a difficult task, but then found that Carrie's attitude made the task all the more difficult. Difficult and even more impossible, this really dissatisfied him. Finally, the last day came. Hurstwood had thought that there would be thunderbolts and storms on this day, and he had already made such mental preparations. However, when this day really came, he found that it was just an ordinary day. It was a very ordinary day, and he was relieved. The sun was shining and the temperature was pleasant. When he sat down at the breakfast table, he found that it was not so terrible after all. "Well," he said to Carrie, "today is my last day." Carrie smiled at his humor. Hurstwood was still reading the papers happily. He seemed to have dropped a burden. "I'm going to town for a while," he said after breakfast, "and then I'll look, and I'll be looking all day tomorrow. Now that the hotel is out of my hands, I think I can find something to do. " He went out laughing, and went to the hotel. Shaughnessy was in the shop. They settled everything and divided the property according to the shares. But when he stayed there for several hours and went out for three hours Back there, his excitement was gone. As much as he had been dissatisfied with the hotel, he was sad to see it no longer exist. He wished that wasn't the case. Shaughnessy was very calm and unmoved. "Well," he said at five o'clock, "we'd better count the change and divide it up." They did. The fixtures were sold and the money split. "Good-bye," said Hurstwood at the last moment, trying to be friendly for the last time. "Goodbye," said Shaughnessy, almost dismissing it. Thus the Warren Street business was done forever. Carrie made a good supper at home, but when Hurstwood drove back he looked serious and full of thoughts. "How is it?" asked Carrie. "I've finished my business," he answered, taking off his coat. She looked at him, wondering how he was doing financially. They ate and talked a little. "Have you enough money to invest in other hotels?" asked Carrie. "Not enough," he said. "I must find something else to do and save up money." "If only you could get a job," said Carrie, anxious and hopeful. "I think I will," he said thoughtfully. In the following days, every morning, he put on his coat on time and started to go out. When he went out like this, he always thought to himself that he could still negotiate some favorable business with 700 yuan in hand. He It occurred to him to find some breweries, which, as far as he knew, often owned hotels for rent, and he could go to them for help. Then he remembered that he would have to pay hundreds of dollars for the fixtures, so he There will be no money to pay the monthly expenses. Now he spends about 80 yuan a month for living expenses. "No," he said when he was clear-headed. "I can't do it. I'm going to find something else to do and save up money." The plan to find something else was complicated once he started thinking about what exactly he wanted to do. A manager? Where could he get such a job? There were no ads for managers in the papers. This kind of position is either promoted through years of service, or you have to pay half or one-third of the shares to buy it. He knows this best. He doesn't have enough money to buy a manager who is big enough to need such a manager The hotel bought a manager to do it. Still, he set out to find him. He was still well-dressed, and his appearance was still outstanding, but this created the trouble of creating an illusion. When one saw him, one would think that a man of his age was well-built and well-dressed. , must have been very rich. He looked like some comfortable proprietor from whom the average man might expect some gratuity. He was now in his forties, and handsome, and walking was not a problem. It's easy. He hasn't been used to this kind of exercise for many years. Although he takes the tram almost everywhere, he still feels weak in his legs, shoulders, and feet after a day. Just get on and off , as time goes on, it will have the same consequences. He is well aware that he is seen as richer than he is. He knows this painfully, and it prevents him from seeking opportunities. It's not that he wants to look worse, it's that he's ashamed to ask. A request that does not match his appearance. Therefore, he hesitates, not knowing how to do it. He thought of working in a hotel, but immediately remembered that he had no experience in the field, and, what was more important, that he had no acquaintances or friends in this line of work. In several cities, including New York, he did I know some hotel owners, but they all know his relationship with the Fermer Hotel. He can't apply for a job with them. From those mansions or big stores he knows, he thinks of some other industries, such as wholesale groceries, hardware equipment, insurance companies, etc. etc., but he has no experience with these. Thinking about how to get a job is a painful thing. Should he ask in person, wait outside the office door, and then announce that he is looking for a job with such a dignified and rich appearance? He thinks hard and painfully about this question .No, he can't do that. He really went running around, thinking all the way. Then, because it was cold, he walked into a hotel. He knew hotels well enough to know that any decent person could sit in a chair in the foyer. It was Broadway Central In the hotel, which was one of the most important hotels in New York at the time. It was very uncomfortable for him to come and sit there. It is impossible to imagine that he should get such a field! He had heard that in the hotel The loafers are called sitters. He called them that himself when he was proud. But now, despite the possibility of meeting some acquaintance, he comes here and stays at the hotel. In the hall, one is to avoid the cold, and the other is to avoid the pain of running around in the streets. "I can't do it," he said to himself. "It's no use going out every morning without thinking where I'm going. I'll think of some places, and then I'll look for them." He remembered that the position of bartender would sometimes be vacant, but he dismissed the idea. He, the former manager, to be a bartender?! Sitting in the lobby of the hotel became so tedious that he came home at four o'clock. He tried to look business-like when he came in, but he didn't. The rocking chair in the dining room was comfortable. .He took some bought newspapers, sat down happily in the rocking chair, and began to read the newspapers. As Carrie walked across the dining room to make supper, she said: "The rent collector came today." "Oh, yes?" said Hurstwood. He remembered that today was February 2, and the rent collector always came at this time, so he frowned slightly. He reached into his pocket for his wallet, and for the first time tasted what it was like not to get out. He looked at That big roll of green bills was like a sick man looking at a cure. Then he counted out twenty-eight dollars. "Here you are," he said to Carrie as she passed again. He buried his head in the newspaper again. Ah, there are other things to enjoy... No need to run away. No need to worry. These floods of telegrams are like the river of forgetfulness that can make people forget everything. He kind of forgot his troubles. There was a pretty young woman, if you believe the papers, suing her rich, fat confectioner husband in Brooklyn for a divorce. Another message detailed The story of a shipwrecked in ice and snow off Prince Sound, Staten Island. There is a long, prominent column chronicling the action in the theatrical world . . . plays, actors on stage, theaters Manager's notice. Fanny Davenport is playing Fifth Avenue. Daly is playing King Lear. He has read that the Vanderbilts and their friends have left for Florida early. Vacation. Funny shootout in the Kentucky mountains. And he just watched and looked and looked, rocking in his rocking chair by the fire in the warm room, waiting for dinner.