Chapter 38 Chapter 38 Games in Wonderland: The Cold World Outside

When Carrie resumed her search for work the next day and went to the Casino, she found it difficult to find work in the opera chorus, as in any other business. There were so many pretty girls who could stand in the chorus. Like a worker who can wield a pickaxe to work. She also found that there is no other difference between different job seekers except for the beauty and figure measured by secular standards. The job seekers' own wishes or their own talents Knowing it is worthless. "Where can I find Mr. Gray?" she asked a sullen porter at the backstage entrance of the Casino.

"You can't see him now. He's busy." "And do you know when I can see him?" "Did you make an appointment with him?" "No." "In that case, you'll have to go to his office and look for him." "Oh, dear!" cried Carrie, "where's his office?" He gave her the house number. She knew it was useless to go there at this time, he would not be there. She had no choice but to use the time in between to look for it again. The adventures in several other places came to a swift and tragic end. Mr. Daly saw only guests by appointment. Carrie waited an hour in a gloomy office, defying all obstructions, before returning from the The calm, impassive Mr. Downey learned the rule from his lips.

"You must write and ask him to see you." And so she left. At the Empire Theatre, she saw a particularly listless and indifferent crowd. Everything was magnificently arranged, everything was carefully arranged, everything seemed so reserved and unattainable. At the Blue Heart she went into a small room at the foot of a quiet staircase, with a carpeted floor and wainscoted walls. Such a place gave one a sense of the sublime status of all persons of authority. Here the reserved The air is vividly embodied in a conductor, a porter, and an assistant, all elated by their exalted position.

"Ah, now be very humble...very very humble. Please tell us what you want. Speak quickly, look tense, show no pride. If we're not at all embarrassed, we'll Let's see what I can do for you." Such is the atmosphere at the Blue Heart Theater. It is, in fact, the atmosphere common to every manager's office in the city. These small proprietors are, in their own trade, the true sovereign rulers. Carrie walked away wearily, more embarrassed than her grief. That night Hurstwood heard the details of this fruitless search. "I haven't seen a soul," said Carrie; "I've just been walking, walking, and waiting here and there."

Hurstwood just looked at her. "I thought at first how dreadful it was. Carrie was weary and discouraged, but now she could rest. Sitting in his rocker, watching the world, whose misery doesn't come so quickly. To-morrow is another day." Well. Tomorrow came, and another day, and another day. Carrie met once with the manager of the Casino. "Come," said he, "next Monday, when I may have to change people." He was a tall, fat man, well dressed and well fed, and judged women as one judges horses. Carrie was pretty and charming. Even if she had no experience at all, she could have been put in. A master once As mentioned, the chorus dancers look a little worse.

There were still a few days until next Monday. The first of the month was not far away. Carrie began to feel sad, as she had never felt before. "Was it true that you were looking for something to do when you went out?" she asked Hurstwood one morning, and she thought of it in her own anxiety. "Of course I was looking," he said angrily, only slightly disturbed by the humiliating hint. "At the moment," she said, "I'd do anything. It's the first of the month again." She looked desperate. Hurstwood stopped reading the paper and changed his clothes.

He thought, He's going out and looking for something to do. He's going to see if a brewery will put him in a hotel or not. Yes, he'd love to be a waiter if he could find one. Now that he was almost out of money, he began to pay attention to his clothes, and felt that even his best clothes were beginning to look old. This really hurt him. Carrie came home after him. "I've been to the managers of several vaudeville theaters," she said resignedly. "You've got to have a show. They don't want people who don't have a show." "I saw a distillery man today," said Hurstwood, "and a man told me he'd try to find me a place in two or three weeks."

Seeing Carrie so distressed: he had to show something, so he said it. It's the excuse of a listless man to a man of energy. On Monday, Carrie went to the Casino again. "Did I ask you to come today?" said the manager, looking up and down at her as she stood before him. "You mean Monday," said Carrie, embarrassed. "Have you had any experience?" he asked again, almost severely. Carrie admitted to having no experience. Flipping through some newspapers, he looked her over again. He was secretly satisfied with this pretty, disturbed-looking young woman. "Come to the theater tomorrow morning."

Carrie's heart beat up her throat. "I'll come," she said with difficulty. She could see that he wanted her, and turned to go. Will he really let her work? Ah, dear Fate, will he? The harsh noise of the city from the open window had become pleasant to the ear. A stern voice answered her doubts and dispelled all her worries about it. "You must come here on time," said the manager roughly. "Otherwise you will be expelled." Carrie hurried away. She was not complaining now of Hurstwood's idleness. She had a job... she had a job! There was this sweet song in her ears.

As soon as she was happy, she was almost in a hurry to tell Hurstwood. But, as she walked home, she considered the matter in more ways, and began to think that she had a job in a few weeks, and he It's abnormal to hang around for a few months. "Why can't he find something to do?" she said bluntly to herself. "If I can find it, he should too. It's not hard for me to find a job." She forgot her own youthful beauty. In her excitement she was unaware of the barriers of age. Successful people always say this. However, she still couldn't hide her secret. She wanted to appear calm and indifferent, but it was obvious at a glance that she was pretending.

"How is it?" he said, seeing her relaxed face. "I got a job." "Found it?" he said, relieved. "yes." "What kind of job is it?" He asked enthusiastically, feeling as if he could find something good to do now. "Being a chorus dancer," she replied. "Is that the play you told me was going to be at the Casino?" "Yes," she replied, "I will start rehearsing tomorrow." Delighted, Carrie offered some explanations of her own accord. Finally, Hurstwood said: "Do you know how much you can get paid?" "I don't know, and I didn't mean to ask," said Carrie. "I guess they pay twelve or fourteen dollars a week." "It's about that number, I think," said Hurstwood. They had a good meal at home that night, only because they were less tense and dreadful. Hurstwood went out for a shaved face, and came back with a large sirloin. "To-morrow, then," he thought, "I'll look for it myself." With renewed hope, he lifted his head from the floor. The next day, Carrie went to report on time and was arranged in the ensemble. What she saw was an empty, gloomy theater with the aftertaste and pomp of last night's performance. She is awed and delighted at such a wonderful place. God bless everything here is true. She will do her best to make it well deserved. There is no ordinary here, no idleness, no poverty, and no There is no lowliness. Those who come here to see the theater are richly dressed and driven by carriages. This is always a center of pleasure and joy. And now she belongs here. Oh, if she can stay, her day will be. How happy it will be! "What's your name?" said the manager, who was directing the rehearsal. "Madenda," she answered, recalling at once the name Drouet had chosen for her at Chicago. "Carrie Madenda." "Well, now, Miss Madonda," said he, in a tone which Carrie found very pleasant, "you go over there." Then he shouted to a young veteran: "Miss Clark, you are paired with Miss Madonda." The young girl took a step forward so that Carrie knew where to stand, and the rehearsal began. Carrie soon discovered that, although the rehearsals here were somewhat similar to those at Affley Hall, the manager's attitude was much harsher. She had been surprised by Mr. Millis's stubbornness and arrogance. , and the man conducting here is not only equally stubborn, but has an almost brutal attitude. As the rehearsal progresses, he seems to be extremely angry at some little things, and his voice grows correspondingly. Very It was evident that he had great contempt for any pretense of dignity and innocence in these young women. "Clark," he would cry, referring to Miss Clark, of course. "Why don't you follow now?" "Four in a row, turn right! Turn right, I say right! God, wake up! Turn right!" He would raise the last few words into a snarl as he said them. "Maitland! Maitland!" he cried once. A nervous, well-dressed little girl stepped forward. Carrie worried for her, for she was so full of pity and fear herself. "Yes, sir," said Miss Maitland. "Is there something wrong with your ears?" "No, sir." "Do you know what 'team turn left,' means?" "Yes, sir." "So, what are you doing stumbling to the right? Trying to break formation?" "I just......" "Whatever you are. Keep your ears open." Carrie pitied her and was afraid of her turn. However, another one tasted the taste of being scolded. "Pause," yelled the manager, throwing up his hands in despair. His movements were ferocious. "Alvers," he cried, "what's in your mouth?" "Nothing," said Miss Ilvers, while some laughed and others stood aside nervously. "So, are you talking?" "No, sir." "Then keep your mouth still. Now, let's all come together again." At last it was Carrie's turn too. She was too eager to do what was asked, and got herself into trouble. She heard someone calling. "Mason," said the voice, "Miss Mason." She looked around to see who it might be. A girl behind her gave her a slight nudge, but she didn't understand what it meant. "You, you!" said the manager, "can't you hear me?" "Well," said Carrie, her legs going limp and her face flushed with fright. "Isn't your name Mason?" asked the manager. "No, sir," said Carrie, "it's Madonda." "Well, what's the matter with your feet? Can't you dance?" "Yes, sir," said Carrie, who had long learned the art of dancing. "Then why don't you dance? Don't shuffle around like a dead man. I want a man full of life." Carrie's cheeks were flushed. Her lips quivered. "Yes, sir," she said. Three long hours passed in this continual urging, with his ill temper and vigor. Carrie was very tired when she left, but was too excited to realize it. She wanted to go home. , and practice her prescribed moves as required. Whenever possible, she avoids doing any wrong moves. Hurstwood wasn't there when she got home. She supposed he was out looking for work, which was rare. She ate a mouthful, and went on to practice, supported by the dream of getting out of financial trouble.... ..a proud voice rang in her ears. Hurstwood came back not as cheerful as she had been when she went out, and then she had to break off her practice to make supper. Hence the initial exasperation. She had to work and cook. Was she going to act and keep the house? ? "When I get to work," she thought, "I won't do these things. He can eat out." After that, her troubles increased day by day. She found out that being an ensemble dancer was not a very good thing, and she also learned that her salary was 12 dollars a week. A few days later, she saw those arrogant figures for the first time... ...the actors and actresses who played the leading roles. She found them privileged, respected. And she was insignificant...absolutely insignificant. There was Hurstwood in the house, and it was a daily annoyance to her. He seemed to have nothing to do, but he dared to ask her how her work was. He had to ask her this every day, as if he had to live off her labor. She was angry because she had a concrete source of support of her own, and he seemed to be dependent on her meager twelve dollars. "How are you doing?" he would ask pleasantly. "Oh, very well," she would reply. "Do you find it easy?" "It will be fine once you get used to it." Then, he would bury his head in the newspaper. "I bought some lard," he would add, as if remembering. "I thought maybe you'd make some biscuits." She was a little surprised at the calmness with which this man offered advice, especially in view of recent changes in circumstances. Her growing independence gave her the courage to stand on the sidelines, and she felt that she was tempted to say something nasty. But , she still could not speak to him as she could to Drouet. There was something about the man's demeanor that always awed her. He seemed to have some latent power. One day after her first week of rehearsals, what she expected happened. "We'll have to live economically," he said, putting down some meat he had bought. "You won't get paid for a week or so." "Not available," said Carrie, who was turning the pan on the stove. "I have only thirteen dollars besides the rent," he added. "It's over," she said to herself. "My money will be used now." She remembered at once that she had wished to buy herself some things. She needed clothes. Her hat was not pretty either. "What's twelve dollars going to do to keep this house going?" she thought. "I can't keep it. Why doesn't he find something to do?" The night of the big first real performance came. She didn't propose that Hurstwood should come. He didn't think of going. It would be a waste of money. Her part was too small. There were advertisements in the papers, and posters on the notice-boards. The leading actress and many others were named. Carrie was not among them. As in Chicago, she had a stage fright at the moment when the chorus debuted, but then she regained her composure. Her apparently insignificant part hurt her heart, but it also reassured her fears. She felt She was so inconspicuous that it didn't matter. Fortunately, she didn't have to wear tight clothes. A group of twelve were assigned to wear beautiful short gold dresses, which came to about an inch above the knee. Carrie happened to be in this Group. Standing on the stage, walking with the team, occasionally raising her voice to join the chorus, she had the opportunity to pay attention to the audience, to witness how a very popular play began. There was a lot of applause, but she also noticed some so-called How badly talented actresses act. "I could do better than that," Carrie said boldly to herself several times. To be fair, she was right. After the play was over, she dressed quickly, and let her go because the manager scolded several people. She thought that she must have performed satisfactorily. She wanted to go out quickly, because she had few acquaintances, and those famous actors Gossiping. Outside waited were carriages and some young men in attractive dresses, which are indispensable on such occasions. Carrie found her being watched carefully. She could have a company with a flick of her eyelashes, but she did not. However, a young man who is proficient in this way still took the initiative to come up. "You came home alone, didn't you?" he said. Carrie just hastened her pace and got on the Sixth Avenue streetcar. Her mind was so full of wonder at the event that she had no time to think of anything else. "Have you heard from the brewery?" she asked over the weekend, hoping it would spur him to action. "No," he answered, "they're not quite ready. But I think something will come of it." She said nothing after that. She was not willing to give her money, but felt compelled to take it. Hurstwood, already feeling the danger, shrewdly decided to turn to Carrie. He had already known how good and how big she was. He was a little ashamed at the thought of doing it, but he felt right again at the thought that he could actually find something to do. The day the rent was paid offered him his chance. "Well," said he, counting out the money, "this is nearly the last of my money. I must find something to do quickly." Carrie looked sideways at him, half guessing that he was about to ask for something. "If it lasts just a little longer, I think I'll find something to do. Drake's definitely going to open a hotel here in September." "Really?" said Carrie, thinking that it was only a short month before that. "Will you do me a favor before that?" he begged, "and then I think everything will be all right." "Yes," said Carrie, grieved at the way fate had played her. "If we save a little, we can get by. I'll pay you back." "Oh, I'll help you," said Carrie, feeling herself too hard-hearted to compel him so humbly to entreat, yet vaguely resented by her desire to benefit from her own earnings. "George, why don't you just find something to do for a while?" she said. "What does it matter? Maybe you'll find something better after a while." "I'd do anything," he said, hunching his head in relief, waiting to be scolded. "I'd dig mud in the streets. No one here knows me anyway." "Oh, you needn't do that," said Carrie, sorry for saying it so poorly. "But there must be other things." "I'll find something to do!" he said, as if determined. Then he went to read the newspaper again.