Chapter 37 Chapter Thirty-Seven Waking Up From a Dream: Finding Another Way Out

No need to explain how it took a while to see the last 50 dollars left. He managed the money and the 700 dollars only kept them going until June. Almost when the last 100 dollars were left , he began to mention the impending disaster. "I don't understand," he said one day, pleading a small expense on meat, "it seems that we do have to spend a lot of money to live." "In my opinion," said Carrie, "we don't spend very much." "I'm running out of money," he said, "and I hardly know where it's going." "Is the seven hundred dollars all gone?" asked Carrie.

"There's only one hundred dollars left." He seemed in a bad mood, and it startled her. She felt adrift, too. She had always felt that way. "Why, George," she cried, "why don't you find something to do? You can find something to do." "I've looked," said he; "you can't force someone to give you a job." She looked at him feebly and said, "Well, what do you want to do? A hundred dollars won't last long." "I don't know," said he, "and I have nothing to do but look for it." The words frightened Carrie. She brooded over the question. She used to think of the stage as a gateway to the golden world she so craved. His last hope. If he doesn't find a job soon, he'll have to find another way. Maybe she'll have to go out and fight alone again.

She began to think about how to go about finding something to do. Her experience in Chicago proved that her previous approach was wrong. There must be someone who will listen to your request and try yours. Someone will give you a chance. A day or two later, when they were talking at the breakfast table, she mentioned the play, saying that she had seen the news that Sarah Bernhardt was coming to America. Hurstwood had also seen the news. "How did one become an actor, George?" she asked innocently at last. "I don't know," said he, "it must be through a theater agent."

Carrie was sipping her coffee without looking up. "Are they people who look for jobs on behalf of people?" "Yes, I think so," he replied. Suddenly, her questioning expression caught his attention. "You're still thinking about being an actor, aren't you?" he asked. "No," she replied, "I just don't understand." He didn't quite know why, but he had some disapproval of the idea. After three years of observation, he no longer believed that Carrie would have much success in the business. She seemed too simple. Too meek. The view of dramatic art is that there is something grander about art. If she wants to be an actress, she will fall into the hands of some sleazy manager and become one of them. He knows exactly what he means Help. Carrie is pretty, and she'll do well, but where should he be?

"If I were you, I wouldn't call this attention. It's a lot harder than you think." Carrie felt that there was something in this remark that belittled her talents. "But you said I did well in Chicago," she retorted. "You've done well," he answered, seeing that he had aroused disgust. "But Chicago is far from New York." Carrie made no answer to that. It hurt her so much. "The thing about acting," he went on, "it's all right if you get famous, but not so much for other people. It takes a long time to get famous."

"Oh, I don't know that," said Carrie, a little excitedly. For a moment he felt that he had foreseen the end of the matter. Now, he was near the end of his life, and she was going to cast him by some dishonorable means of becoming an actress. The strange thing was that he never looked for the good Miss her intellect. It's because he doesn't understand emotional greatness in essence. He never knew it was possible to be great emotionally, not intellectually. Affley Hall is a very distant past , he neither recalls nor remembers clearly. He has lived with this woman too long.

"Oh, I know," he answered; "if I were you I wouldn't think of it. It's not a very good occupation for a woman." "It's better than starving," said Carrie. "If you don't want me to act, why don't you look for work yourself?" There was no ready answer to that. He was used to it. "Well, stop talking," he replied. The result of this conversation was that she secretly made up her mind to try. It was none of his business. She would not be dragged into poverty, or worse, to cater to him. She could act. She could find work. Do it, and then gradually become famous. What else can he say by then? She imagines that she has appeared on the stage in some wonderful Broadway show, and walks into her dressing room every night to put on makeup. Then, she will be in Walking out of the theater at 11 o'clock, I saw rows of carriages waiting for people around. It doesn't matter whether she is famous or not. As long as she can do this job, earn a decent salary, wear the clothes she likes to wear, have money to spend, and want to go How delightful it would be to go wherever! She had these scenes in her head all day long. Hurstwood's depressing situation made them all the more beautiful and charming.

Strange to say, the idea soon occupied Hurstwood's mind too. His fading money reminded him that something needed to be done. Why couldn't Carrie help him a little until he found something to do? One day, when he came home, he had some such thoughts in his mind. "I met John Bay Drake today," he said, "and he's going to open a hotel here this fall. He said he'd have a job for me by then." "Who is he?" asked Carrie. "He owns the Pacific Hotel in Chicago." "Oh," said Carrie. "My position can get a salary of about 1400 yuan a year."

"That's wonderful, isn't it?" she said sympathetically. "As long as I can get through the summer," he added, "I think everything will be all right. I've had a few more letters from my friends." Carrie believed the beautiful story literally. She sincerely hoped he would make it through the summer. He looked so hopeless. "How much money do you have left?" "Only fifty dollars." "Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, "what shall we do? There are only twenty days until the next rent payment." Hurstwood put his head in his hands and looked blankly at the floor.

"Perhaps you can find something in the theater business," he suggested kindly. "Perhaps I can find it," said Carrie, glad that she had been sympathized with her idea. "I'll do anything I can find," he said, seeing her cheer up. "I can find something to do." One morning, after he had gone, she tidied up the house, put on all her clothes, and set out for Broadway. She did not know that street very well. It seemed to her a wonderful collection of all the great and Extraordinary business. The theaters are all there... such an agency must be around there.

She decided to drop by the Madison Square Theater first, and ask how she could find a theater agent. That seemed sensible. So when she got to the theater, she asked the box office about it. "What?" he said, poking his head over. "The theater agents? I don't know. But you can find them in the Clippings. They advertise in there." "Is that a kind of newspaper?" asked Carrie. "Yes," said the man, wondering that she should not know such an ordinary thing. "You can buy it at the newsstand." He added politely, seeing that the inquiring person was so handsome. . So Carrie went and bought the Clippings, and stood by the stand, trying to scan the papers for the agents. It was not an easy thing to do. Thirteenth Street was several cross-blocks from here, but she I went back anyway, taking this precious newspaper with me, regretting wasting my time. Hurstwood had returned home, and sat down in his old seat. "Where have you been?" he asked. "I'm trying to find some theater agents." He felt a little too timid to ask her if she had succeeded. The paper she had begun to leaf through caught his attention. "What are you looking at there?" he asked. "The Clippings. The guy said I could find their address on it." "You went all the way to Broadway for that? I could have told you." "Then why didn't you tell me?" she asked, without looking up. "You never asked me," he replied. She searched aimlessly among those densely packed columns. This man's indifference disturbed her mind. Everything he did only made the situation she faced more difficult. She began to sigh in her heart. There were tears on her eyelids, but they did not fall. Hurstwood felt it too. "Let me take a look." To regain her composure, she went to the front room while he was looking at the paper. She was presently back. He was writing something in an envelope with a pencil. "Here are three," he said. Carrie took the envelopes and saw that one was Mrs. Bermudez, the other Marcus Jenks, and the third Percy Weir. She paused only a moment, then walked towards the door. "I'd better go at once," she said, without looking back. Hurstwood watched her go with a vague feeling of shame, which is the sign of the rapid decay of manliness. He sat for a while, and then felt it unbearable. He rose, and put on his hat. "I reckon I'll have to get out," he said to himself, and went out, wandering aimlessly. For some reason, he just felt that he had to go out. Carrie's first visit was to Mrs. Bermudez, who had the nearest address. It was an old house converted into an office. Bermudez's office consisted of a former back room and a bedroom with a direct passage. , marked "Let no idler enter." When Carrie went in, she found a few people sitting there, all men, neither talking nor doing anything. While she was waiting for someone to notice her, the door of the bedroom leading directly to the passage opened, and out came two very masculine women in very tight-fitting dresses with white collars and cuffs. Behind them was a stout lady , about forty-five, fair-haired, sharp-eyed, and kind-hearted. At least, she was smiling. "Well, don't forget that," said one of the two masculine women. "No," said the Fat Lady. "Let me see," she added, "where will you be the first week of February?" "In Pittsburgh," said the woman. "I'll write to you there." "All right," said the other, and the two of them went out. Immediately, the fat lady's face became extremely serious and shrewd. She turned and regarded Carrie with piercing eyes. "Well," she said, "young man, can I be of service to you?" "Are you Mrs. Bermudez?" "yes." "Well," said Carrie, not knowing where to start, "can you introduce someone to the stage?" "yes." "Can you help me find a role?" "Do you have experience?" "A little bit," said Carrie. "Which theater company did you work in?" "Oh, not a single one," said Carrie. "It was just a cameo, in--" "Oh, I see," said the woman, interrupting her. "No, I don't know of any chance just now." Carrie's face changed. "You'll need some experience of acting in New York," concluded the amiable Mrs. Bermudez, "but we can take your name." Carrie stood watching the lady go back to her office. "What's your address, please?" asked a young woman behind the counter, picking up the interrupted conversation. "Mrs. George Wheeler," said Carrie, going up to where she was writing. The woman wrote down her full address, and then said please. In Jenks' office, she had a very similar experience, except that he said at the end, "If you could play in a theater somewhere, or have a playlist with your name on it, I might Be productive." In the third place, the man asked: "What kind of work do you want?" "What do you mean by that?" said Carrie. "Oh, do you want to be a comedy, or a vaudeville show, or a chorus dancer?" "Oh, I'd like a part in a play," said Carrie. "In that case," said the man, "you'll have to spend some money to do it." "How much?" said Carrie, absurd as it might seem, she had not thought of it before. "Oh, that's up to you," he replied shrewdly. Carrie looked at him curiously. She hardly knew how to proceed. "If I pay, can you give me a character?" "If you can't give it, I'll give you the money back." "Oh," she said. The agent saw that he was dealing with an inexperienced man, and went on. "Anyway, you'll have to pay fifty dollars up front, and no agent will bother with you for less than that." Carrie saw it. "Thank you," she said, "I'll think about it." As she started to leave, something came to her mind. "How long will it take me to get a role?" she asked. "Oh, that's hard to say," said the man, "maybe a week, maybe a month. We'll give you as soon as we have something suitable." "I see," said Carrie, and, with a pleasant smile, came out. The agent pondered for a while, then said to himself: "It's ridiculous how much these women want to be actors." This fifty-dollar demand made Carrie think a lot. "Maybe they'll take my money and give me nothing," she thought, and she had some jewelry...a diamond ring and brooch , and some other jewelry. If she went to the pawn shop and pawned these things, she could raise fifty dollars. Hurstwood had gone home before her. He had not imagined that it would take her so long to find it. "Hello," he said, not daring to ask for any news. "I haven't found anything to-day," said Carrie, taking off her gloves. "They don't want you to do anything until you pay." "How much?" asked Hurstwood. "Fifty dollars." "They didn't ask for anything, did they?" "Oh, they're like everybody else. Even if you did pay, there's no telling if they'd give you something to do." "Well, I wouldn't give fifty dollars for it," said Hurstwood, as if he were making up his mind with the money in his hand. "I don't know," said Carrie, "I'd like to try some managers." Hearing this, Hurstwood felt no horror at the thought. He rocked his fingers gently back and forth. It seemed quite natural in such a desperate situation. Later, he would get better.