Chapter XXXIII

Without the Walled City: The Slope of the Years

The immediate result of this was nothing. Results from such things are usually long in growing. Morning brings a change of feeling. The existent condition invariably pleads for itself. It is only at odd moments that we get glimpses of the misery of things. The heart understands when it is confronted with contrasts. Take them away and the ache subsides.

Carrie went on, leading much this same life for six months thereafter or more. She did not see Ames any more. He called once upon the Vances, but she only heard about it through the young wife. Then he went West, and there was a gradual subsidence of whatever personal attraction had existed. The mental effect of the thing had not gone, however, and never would entirely. She had an ideal to contrast men by – particularly men close to her.

During all this time – a period rapidly approaching three years-Hurstwood had been moving along in an even path. There was no apparent slope downward, and distinctly none upward, so far as the casual observer might have seen.

Hurstwood, set down under new conditions, was in a position to see that he was no longer young. If he did not, it was due wholly to the fact that his state was so well balanced that an absolute change for the worse did not show.

Not trained to reason or introspect himself, he could not analyze the change that was taking place in his mind, and hence his body, but he felt the depression of it. Constant comparison between his old state and his new showed a balance for the worse, which produced a constant state of gloom or, at least, depression.

The time came, in the third year, when this thinking began to produce results in the Warren Street place. The tide of patronage dropped a little below what it had been at its best since he had been there. This irritated and worried him.

There came a night when he confessed to Carrie that the business was not doing as well this month as it had the month before. This was in lieu of certain suggestions she had made concerning little things she wanted to buy. She had not failed to notice that he did not seem to consult her about buying clothes for himself. For the first time, it struck her as a ruse, or that he said it so that she would not think of asking for things. Her reply was mild enough, but her thoughts were rebellious. He was not looking after her at all. She was depending for her enjoyment upon the Vances.

And now the latter announced that they were going away. It was approaching spring, and they were going North.

“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Vance to Carrie, “we think we might as well give up the flat and store our things. We’ll be gone for the summer, and it would be a useless expense. I think we’ll settle a little farther down town when we come back.”

Carrie heard this with genuine sorrow. She had enjoyed Mrs. Vance’s companionship so much. There was no one else in the house whom she knew. Again she would be all alone.

Hurstwood’s gloom over the slight decrease in profits and the departure of the Vances came together. So Carrie had loneliness and this mood of her husband to enjoy at the same time. It was a grievous thing. She became restless and dissatisfied, not exactly, as she thought, with Hurstwood, but with life. What was it? A very dull round indeed. What did she have? Nothing but this narrow, little flat. The Vances could travel, they could do the things worth doing, and here she was. For what was she made, anyhow? More thought followed, and then tears – tears seemed justified, and the only relief in the world.

For another period this state continued, the twain leading a rather monotonous life, and then there was a slight change for the worse. One evening, Hurstwood, after thinking about a way to modify Carrie’s desire for clothes and the general strain upon his ability to provide, said:

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do much with Shaughnessy.”

“What’s the matter?” said Carrie.

“Oh, he’s a slow, greedy ’mick’! He won’t agree to anything to improve the place, and it won’t ever pay without it.”

“Can’t you make him?” said Carrie.

“No; I’ve tried. The only thing I can see, if I want to improve, is to get hold of a place of my own.”

“Why don’t you?” said Carrie.

“Well, all I have is tied up in there just now. If I had a chance to save a while I think I could open a place that would give us plenty of money.”

“Can’t we save?” said Carrie.

“We might try it,” he suggested. “I’ve been thinking that if we’d take a smaller flat down town and live economically for a year, I would have enough, with what I have invested, to open a good place. Then we could arrange to live as you want to.”

“It would suit me all right,” said Carrie, who, nevertheless, felt badly to think it had come to this. Talk of a smaller flat sounded like poverty.

“There are lots of nice little flats down around Sixth Avenue, below Fourteenth Street. We might get one down there.”

“I’ll look at them if you say so,” said Carrie.

“I think I could break away from this fellow inside of a year,” said Hurstwood. “Nothing will ever come of this arrangement as it’s going on now.”

“I’ll look around,” said Carrie, observing that the proposed change seemed to be a serious thing with him.

The upshot of this was that the change was eventually effected; not without great gloom on the part of Carrie. It really affected her more seriously than anything that had yet happened. She began to look upon Hurstwood wholly as a man, and not as a lover or husband. She felt thoroughly bound to him as a wife, and that her lot was cast with his, whatever it might be; but she began to see that he was gloomy and taciturn, not a young, strong, and buoyant man. He looked a little bit old to her about the eyes and mouth now, and there were other things which placed him in his true rank, so far as her estimation was concerned. She began to feel that she had made a mistake. Incidentally, she also began to recall the fact that he had practically forced her to flee with him.

The new flat was located in Thirteenth Street, a half block west of Sixth Avenue, and contained only four rooms. The new neighborhood did not appeal to Carrie as much. There were no trees here, no west view of the river. The street was solidly built up. There were twelve families here, respectable enough, but nothing like the Vances. Richer people required more space.

Being left alone in this little place, Carrie did without a girl. She made it charming enough, but could not make it delight her. Hurstwood was not inwardly pleased to think that they should have to modify their state, but he argued that he could do nothing. He must put the best face on it, and let it go at that.

The road downward has but few landings and level places. The very state of his mind, super induced by his condition, caused the breach to widen between him and his partner. At last that individual began to wish that Hurstwood was out of it. It so happened, however, that a real estate deal on the part of the owner of the land arranged things even more effectually than ill will could have schemed.

“Did you see that?” said Shaughnessy one morning to Hurstwood, pointing to the real estate column in a copy of the “Herald,” which he held.

“No, what is it?” said Hurstwood, looking down the items of news.

“The man who owns this ground has sold it.”

“You don’t say so?” said Hurstwood.

He looked, and there was the notice. Mr. August Viele had yesterday registered the transfer of the lot, 25×75 feet, at the corner of Warren and Hudson Streets, to J. F. Slawson for the sum of $57,000.

“Our lease expires when?” asked Hurstwood, thinking. “Next February, isn’t it?”

“That’s right,” said Shaughnessy.

“It doesn’t say what the new man’s going to do with it,” remarked Hurstwood, looking back to the paper.

“We’ll hear, I guess, soon enough,” said Shaughnessy.

Sure enough, it did develop. Mr. Slawson owned the property adjoining, and was going to put up a modern office building. The present one was to be torn down. It would take probably a year and a half to complete the other one.

All these things developed by degrees, and Hurstwood began to ponder over what would become of the saloon. One day he spoke about it to his partner.

“Do you think it would be worth while to open up somewhere else in the neighborhood?”

“What would be the use?” said Shaughnessy. “We couldn’t get another corner around here.”

“It wouldn’t pay anywhere else, do you think?”

“I wouldn’t try it,” said the other. The approaching change now took on a most serious aspect to Hurstwood. Dissolution meant the loss of his thousand dollars, and he could not save another thousand in the time. He understood that Shaughnessy was merely tired of the arrangement, and would probably lease the new corner, when completed, alone. He began to worry about the necessity of a new connection and to see impending serious financial straits unless something turned up. This left him in no mood to enjoy his flat or Carrie, and consequently the depression invaded that quarter.

Meanwhile, he took such time as he could to look about, but opportunities were not numerous. More, he had not the same impressive personality which he had when he first came to New York. Bad thoughts had put a shade into his eyes which did not impress others favorably. Neither had he thirteen hundred dollars in hand to talk with. About a month later, finding that he had not made any progress, Shaughnessy reported definitely that Slawson would not extend the lease.

“I guess this thing’s got to come to an end,” he said, affecting an air of concern.

“Well, if it has, it has,” answered Hurstwood, grimly. He would not give the other a key to his opinions, whatever they were. He should not have the satisfaction.

A day or two later he saw that he must say something to Carrie.

“You know,” he said, “I think I’m going to get the worst of my deal down there.”

“How is that?” asked Carrie in astonishment.

“Well, the man who owns the ground has sold it and the new owner won’t re-lease it to us. The business may come to an end.”

“Can’t you start somewhere else?”

“There doesn’t seem to be any place. Shaughnessy doesn’t want to.”

“Do you lose what you put in?”

“Yes,” said Hurstwood, whose face was a study.

“Oh, isn’t that too bad?” said Carrie.

“It’s a trick,” said Hurstwood. “That’s all. They’ll start another place there all right.”

Carrie looked at him, and gathered from his whole demeanor what it meant. It was serious, very serious.

“Do you think you can get something else?” she ventured, timidly. Hurstwood thought a while. It was all up with the bluff about money and investment. She could see now that he was “broke”.

“I don’t know,” he said solemnly; “I can try.”