Chapter 36 Chapter 36 Brutal Decline: False Chance

After Christmas, the Vances returned to New York, and they did not forget Carrie. But they, or rather, Mrs. Vance, never visited her, for the simple reason that Carrie did not write to tell herself It is her nature to correspond with Mrs. Vance when she lived on Seventy-eighth Street. But when she was forced to move to Thirteenth Street, she was afraid that Mrs. Vance would think it meant They were in such a difficult position, that they contrived to keep her new address secret. Being unable to think of any suitable solution, she resigned herself to writing to her friend altogether. Mrs. Vance wondered how all the news could come about. No, I thought that Carrie must have left the city, and at last thought she was missing, and didn't think about her anymore. So when she went shopping on Fourteenth Street, and met Carrie shopping there, she was really upset. Surprised.

"Why, Mrs. Wheeler," said Mrs. Vance, casting a glance at Carrie from head to toe, "where have you been? Why didn't you come and see me? I've been wondering what's going on with you. Really. ,I......" "I'm so glad to see you," said Carrie, both pleased and embarrassed. There's nothing worse than meeting Mrs. Vance at such a time. "Well, I live around here. I Always wanted to see you. Where do you live now?" "Fifty-eighth Street," said Mrs. Vance, "just past Seventh Avenue...218. Why don't you come and see me?"

"I'll come," said Carrie. "Really, I've been meaning to. I know I ought to. What a pity. But, you know--" "What's your house number?" asked Mrs. Vance. "Thirteenth Street," said Carrie reluctantly, "West 112th." "Well," said Mrs. Vance, "it's around here, isn't it?" "Yes," said Carrie, "you must come and see me sometime." "Well, you're a good fellow," said Mrs. Vance, laughing, when she noticed some change in Carrie's appearance. "That address is telling, too," she added to herself, "they must have Strapped."

But she still liked Carrie very much, and always wanted to take care of her. "Come in with me," she cried, and turned into a shop. When Carrie came home, Hurstwood was there, as usual, reading the paper. He seemed completely indifferent to his situation, and he had not shaved for at least four days. "Well," thought Carrie, "what would she think if she came here and saw him like this?" She shook her head, feeling very distressed. It seemed that her position had become intolerable. Driven into a hurry, she asked at supper: "Have you any news from the wholesale dealer?"

"No," he said. "They don't want inexperienced men." Carrie stopped talking about the subject, feeling that it was impossible to continue. "I met Mrs. Vance this afternoon," she said after a while. "Oh, yes?" he answered. "They're back in New York now," continued Carrie, "and she's really pretty." "Oh, she can afford to dress, if her husband will pay for it," answered Hurstwood. "He has an easy job." Hurstwood was staring at the paper. He could not see the infinitely weary and dissatisfied look Carrie was looking at him.

"She said she wanted to come and see us sometime." "It took her a long time to think of that, didn't she?" said Hurstwood, with a sarcasm. He doesn't like this woman because she's too good at spending money. "Oh, I don't know that," said Carrie, irritated by the man's manner. "Perhaps I don't want her to come." "She enjoys too much," said Hurstwood, meaningfully. "No one can serve her unless one is rich." "Mr. Vance does not seem to find it very difficult." "He may be all right now," replied Hurstwood stubbornly, knowing full well what he meant. "But he's early. No one knows what will happen. He may be like the others." down like a human being."

There was something rascal in the man's manner. He seemed to squint at the lucky with bright eyes, hoping for their failure. His own situation seemed an irrelevant matter, out of consideration. This is a remnant of his former self-confidence and independent spirit. Sitting at home and watching other people's activities in the newspaper, sometimes he will feel self-righteous and unwilling to admit defeat. When he was tired of running around and looking for helplessness, he sometimes pricked up his ears, as if he heard himself saying: "I've still got things to do. I'm not finished yet. I'll find lots of things to do if I'm willing to look."

In such a mood, he would occasionally dress up, go for a trim, put on his gloves, and head out excitedly. Without any definite goal. It was more like a change in the barometer. He just felt like Go out and do something. At this time, his money will be spent. He knows a few casinos in the city. He has a few acquaintances in the hotels in the city and near the city hall. Go see them and make a few friendly words , which is also an adjustment. He used to play poker very well. There were many times when he played poker with his friends, and he won more than 100 yuan. At that time, the money was just for fun, not a big deal. Now, he wants to play poker again .

"I might win it for two hundred dollars. I haven't lost my mind yet." To be fair, he didn't act on it until he had thought about it several times. The casino he first visited was above a hotel on West Street, near a ferry. He had been there before. Several tables were being played at the same time. From the point of view of the ante, the number of wins and losses in the game is considerable. "Deal me a deck," he said at the beginning of a new round, pulling up a chair and studying the cards in his hand. The players watched him silently, though not visibly, But very carefully.

At the beginning, his luck was not good. He got a pair of miscellaneous cards, neither a straight nor a pair. It started. "I'm not following," he said. With the deck he had, he'd rather lose the ante he'd bet on. He got lucky in the end, and eventually he won a few dollars and walked away. He came back the next afternoon, looking to have some fun and win some money. This time, he got a deck of threes and kept playing, only to lose badly. He was played against a combative The young Irishman. A political eater in the local Tammany-controlled constituency, who had a better deck of cards. Hurstwood was taken aback by the chap's grip on his opponent. He bet repeatedly and without compromising, which was admirable if he was trying to induce a showdown. Hurstwood began to doubt, but maintained an air of at least trying to keep his composure. This is how he tricks the scheming gamblers who seem to be reading the other person's thoughts and moods rather than observing the other's outward signs, however subtle they may be. He cannot overcome the inner Timid, thinking that this person has a better deck of cards and will stick to it to the end. If he wants to, he will put the last dollar in the bet. However, he still hopes to win more money... ..he has a great hand. Why not put another $5 in?

"I'll add you three dollars," said the young man. "I'll add five," said Hurstwood, rolling out his chips. "Doubling as usual," said the youth, rolling out a small red chip. "Give me some more chips," said Hurstwood to the responsible clerk, drawing out a bill. A mocking sneer broke over the face of his young opponent, and when the chips were laid before him, Hurstwood increased the bet. "Another five dollars," said the young man. Hurstwood's brow began to sweat. By this time he was sunk in... very deep for him. His precious little money had already put a full sixty dollars on it. .He was not usually timid, but the thought of losing so much money made him cowardly. Finally, he gave up. He no longer believed in the good cards in his hand. "Let's show it," he said. "Three pairs," said the young man, laying out his cards. Hurstwood's cards fell. "I thought I had you beat," he said feebly. The young man took his chip, and Hurstwood left, not forgetting to stop on the stairs to count the remaining cash. "Three forty dollars," he said. The money lost this time, plus the usual expenses, has already been spent a lot. When he got back to the apartment, he made up his mind not to play poker anymore. Carrie, remembering Mrs. Vance's promise of a visit, made another mild protest, concerning Hurstwood's appearance. On this very day, when he got home, he changed into sitting around at home again. worn old clothes. "Why do you always wear these old clothes?" asked Carrie. "What's the use of wearing those fine clothes at home?" he retorted. "Oh, I thought you'd feel better that way." Then she added. "Someone might come to see us." "Who?" he said. "Oh, Mrs. Vance," said Carrie. "She needn't come and see me," he said sullenly. He had such a lack of self-respect and enthusiasm that Carrie almost hated him. "Well," she thought, "he just sat there and said, 'She needn't come and see me.' I think he's ashamed to see people." Things were even worse when Mrs. Vance did come to visit. She came on a shopping trip. She walked down the rough passage and knocked on Carrie's door. Carrie Carrie went out, and she was very sad afterwards. Hurstwood opened the door, thinking it was Carrie. This time, he was really taken aback. What he heard in his heart was the lost youth. and the voice of self-respect. "Gee," he said, really stammering, "how are you?" "Hello," said Mrs. Vance, hardly believing her eyes. She saw at once that he was very confused. He wondered whether to ask her in. "Is your wife at home?" she asked. "Not here," said he, "Carrie is out, but will you please come in? She will be back soon." "No, no," said Mrs. Vance, realizing that everything had changed. "I'm really busy. I just wanted to come up and have a look, and I couldn't delay. Please tell your wife that she must come and see me. " "Very well," said Hurstwood, standing back, and was so relieved to hear her say she was going away. He was so ashamed. Afterwards he sat listlessly in his chair, folded his arms, and thought. Carrie, coming back from another direction, seemed to see Mrs. Vance going out. She stared, but was still uncertain. "Has anyone been here just now?" she asked Hurstwood. "Yes," he said guiltily, "Mrs. Vance has been here." "Did she see you?" she asked, with utter despair. The words whipped Hurstwood, and he was unhappy. "If she had eyes, she would see. I opened the door." "Ah," said Carrie, clenching one fist in a state of nervousness. "What did she say?" "Nothing," he answered. "She said she could not delay." "And that's what you look like?" said Carrie, against her long restraint. "What's the matter with the look?" he said, irritated. "I didn't know she was coming, did I?" "But you know she might come," said Carrie. "I told you she said she was coming. I've asked you to put on something else no less than a dozen times. Oh, I see it's a terrible thing." gone." "Well, stop it," he answered, "what does it matter? You can't have any more association with her anyway. They're too rich." "Who says I'm going with her?" said Carrie viciously. "But you acted as if you were going with her, and made a scene about my appearance. People would think I was guilty..." Carrie interrupted him. "Indeed," she said, "even if I wanted to, I couldn't, and whose fault is it? You've been sitting here talking about who I could be. Why don't you Why don't you go find a job?" It was a bolt from the blue. "What does it matter to you?" he said, rising aggressively. "I paid the rent, didn't I? I offered..." "Yes, you paid the rent," said Carrie, "and it seems as if, as you put it, there's nothing in the world but an apartment to sit in. For three months, you You can do nothing but sit around and get in the way. I want to ask you, why did you marry me?" "I didn't marry you," he growled. "Well, I ask you, what did you do in Montreal?" she said. "Well, I didn't marry you," he answered. "You can forget about it. Make it sound like you don't know." Carrie stared at him for a moment. She had always thought their marriage was perfectly legal and binding. "Then why did you lie to me?" she asked angrily, "why did you force me to elope with you?" She was almost weeping. "Forced?" he said, pursing his lips. "I didn't force you!" "Ah!" said Carrie, turning away, and finally broke out after so much repression. "Ah, ah!" she ran into the front room. Hurstwood was at this moment irritated and agitated. It was a great shock to him both mentally and morally. He looked around, wiped the sweat from his brow, and then went to find some clothes and put them on. There was no sound from Leigh, and she stopped sobbing when she heard him getting dressed. At first, she felt a little panic at the thought of being abandoned penniless... instead of losing him , though he might be gone forever. She heard him open the wardrobe lid and take out his hat. Then the dining-room door closed, and she knew he was gone. After a moment's silence, she rose, her tears gone, and looked out of the window. Hurstwood was strolling down the street, walking from the apartment toward Sixth Avenue. Hurstwood walked up Thirteenth Street, crossed Fourteenth Street, and came to Union Square. "Looking for a job!" he said to himself, "looking for a job! She told me to go out and look for a job!" He wanted to escape the condemnation in his heart, and he knew in his heart that she was right. "Anyhow, Mrs. Vance's visit is a damned thing," thought he, "just standing there, looking me up and down, and I know what she's thinking." He recalled the few times he met her on Seventy-eighth Street. She was always well-dressed, and in front of her, he tried to put on an air equal to her. But now, she bumped into him This appearance is really unimaginable. He frowned sadly. "Damn it!" he said a dozen times in an hour. It was a quarter past four when he left the house. Carrie was still crying. There would be no supper to-day. "Damn it," he said, bragging to hide his shame. "I'm not that bad. I'm not done yet." He looked around the square, saw the big hotels, and decided to go to one of them for dinner. He wanted to buy a newspaper and go there to enjoy himself. He went into the luxurious lounge of the Morton Hotel, one of the best hotels in New York at the time, found a cushioned chair, and sat down to read a newspaper. Such a luxury was not the result of his dwindling money. Allowed, but it doesn't bother him much. Like the morphine ghost, he's addicted to the pursuit of comfort. He'll do anything to relieve his mental anguish and satisfy his need for comfort. He had to. He didn't think about tomorrow... He couldn't bear the thought of tomorrow, just as he couldn't bear to think about other disasters. Like the inevitable coming of death, he To forget completely that the day of being penniless is coming, and to do so almost. The well-dressed guests walking up and down on the thick carpets brought him back to the old days. A young lady, a guest of the hotel, was playing the piano in an alcove, to his delight. .He sat there and read the newspaper. His meal cost him 1 yuan and 50 cents. At 8 o'clock, he finished his meal. Then, watching the guests leave one after another, and the number of people looking for fun outside gradually increased, he didn't know where he should go. Couldn't go home, Carrie probably wasn't in bed. No, he wasn't going back there tonight. He was going to be out there, wandering around like a carefree...of course not. Broke . Kind of guy. He stood there and thought about those nights in Chicago. How he spent those nights. How much he gambled. It made him think of poker. "I didn't play right that day," he thought, referring to the sixty bucks he lost. "I shouldn't be soft. I could have continuation betted the guy. At this point." So, according to the way he played last time, he studied the various possibilities of the game, and began to calculate how to be more ruthless when scaring the opponent. In that case, he might win several times. "I'm an old hand at poker, and I can play some tricks. I'm going to try my luck again to-night." Visions of a pile of bets floated before his eyes. If he could really win the $200, why wouldn't he not play? Many gamblers he knew made a living doing it, and lived happily ever after. Not bad. "They'll always have about as much money as I have now," he thought. So he headed for a nearby casino, feeling as good as ever. During the time he forgot himself, at first shaken by the quarrel, then in the hotel drinking cocktails, smoking cigars, and eating Supper, which made him forget himself even more. He was almost like the old Hurstwood he always wanted to recover. But this was not the old Hurstwood, only a man who was conflicted and seduced by visions. This casino was similar to that one, except that it was set in the back room of a better hotel. Hurstwood watched for a while, then joined in when he saw an interesting hand. Like last time, the game began. It went well for a while, and he won a few times, got excited, lost a few more times, became more interested, and decided to play it. At last, this charming game hooked him firmly. He liked it. Risky, with a small deck of cards in hand, dared to frighten the opponent, and wanted to win a handsome bet. To his deep satisfaction, he really won. At this height of emotion, he began to think he was lucky. No one played as well as he did. Then he got a very ordinary hand, and he wanted to open a big bet with it. Some people there were like Seeing his mind, they observed very carefully. "I've got three of a kind," said one of the gamblers to himself. "I'm going to fight that fellow to the very end." The result is a raise. "I'll add you 10 yuan." "OK." "Another ten dollars." "OK." "Another ten dollars." "very good." All this added up, and Hurstwood had put in seventy-five dollars. At this moment the man became serious. He thought maybe this man (Hurstwood) had a real pack of cards. "Let's show it," he said. Hurstwood showed his cards. He was screwed. He lost seventy-five dollars, and the bitter fact made him desperate. "Let's play again," he said coldly. "All right," said the man. Some of the gamblers dropped out, but some idlers on the sidelines stepped up again, and the time was ticking away, and it was twelve o'clock. Hurstwood held on, winning little and losing little. Then he grew weary. On the last card, he lost another twenty dollars. He was very sad. At a quarter past one in the morning the next day, he walked out of the casino. It was cold and the empty streets seemed to mock his situation. He walked slowly westward, not thinking much of his quarrel with Carrie. He went up the stairs and into his room as if nothing had happened. All he thought of was his lost money. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he counted the money. Now there were only 190 dollars and some change. After collecting the money, he began to undress. "I don't know what's the matter with me?" he said. In the morning, when Carrie was hardly saying a word, it seemed to him that he must go out again. He had treated her badly, but he would not offer to make amends. Now he felt hopeless. So after a day or two of going out like this, he lived like A gentleman...or he thought he was a gentleman...and spent money. He was soon feeling distressed by these escapades, not to mention his wallet, that The money in it also decreased by another 30 yuan. Then, he regained his composure. Painful feeling. "The rent collector is coming to-day," said Carrie, so coldly, meeting him three mornings later. "yes?" "Yes, today is the 2nd," answered Carrie. Hurstwood frowned. Then, resignedly, he produced his wallet. "It looks like a lot of money to pay the rent," he said. He's almost down to his last 100 dollars.