Sister Carrie by Theodore Dreiser (best book clubs .TXT) 📕

put on his old assured air, but it was almost gone. He was repenting rapidly.

“I wish I hadn’t done that,” he said. “That was a mistake.”

He walked steadily down the street, greeting a night watchman whom he knew who was trying doors. He must get out of the city, and that quickly.

“I wonder how the trains run?” he thought.

Instantly he pulled out his watch and looked. It was nearly half-past one.

At the first drug store he stopped, seeing a long-distance telephone booth inside. It was a famous drug store, and contained one of the first private telephone booths ever erected.

“I want to use your phone a minute,” he said to the night clerk.

The latter nodded.

“Give me 1643,” he called to Central, after looking up the Michigan Central depot number. Soon he got the ticket agent.

“How do the trains leave here for Detroit?” he asked.

The man explained the hours.

“No more tonight?”

“Nothing with a sleeper. Yes, there is, too,” he added. “There is a mail train out of here at three o’clock.”

“All right,” said Hurstwood. “What time does that get to Detroit?”

He was thinking if he could only get there and cross the river into Canada, he could take his time about getting to Montreal. He was relieved to learn that it would reach there by noon.

“Mayhew won’t open the safe till nine,” he thought. “They can’t get on my track before noon.”

Then he thought of Carrie. With what speed must he get her, if he got her at all. She would have to come along. He jumped into the nearest cab standing by.

“To Ogden Place,” he said sharply. “I’ll give you a dollar more if you make good time.”

The cabby beat his horse into a sort of imitation gallop, which was fairly fast, however. On the way Hurstwood thought what to do. Reaching the number, he hurried up the steps and did not spare the bell in waking the servant.

“Is Mrs. Drouet in?” he asked.

“Yes,” said the astonished girl.

“Tell her to dress and come to the door at once. Her husband is in the hospital, injured, and wants to see her.”

The servant girl hurried upstairs, convinced by the man’s strained and emphatic manner.

“What!” said Carrie, lighting the gas and searching for her clothes.

“Mr. Drouet is hurt and in the hospital. He wants to see you. The cab’s downstairs.”

Carrie dressed very rapidly, and soon appeared below, forgetting everything save the necessities.

“Drouet is hurt,” said Hurstwood quickly. “He wants to see you. Come quickly.”

Carrie was so bewildered that she swallowed the whole story.

“Get in,” said Hurstwood, helping her and jumping after.

The cabby began to turn the horse around.

“Michigan Central depot,” he said, standing up and speaking so low that Carrie could not hear, “as fast as you can go.”

XXVIII A Pilgrim, an Outlaw: The Spirit Detained

The cab had not travelled a short block before Carrie, settling herself and thoroughly waking in the night atmosphere, asked:

“What’s the matter with him? Is he hurt badly?”

“It isn’t anything very serious,” Hurstwood said solemnly. He was very much disturbed over his own situation, and now that he had Carrie with him, he only wanted to get safely out of reach of the law. Therefore he was in no mood for anything save such words as would further his plans distinctly.

Carrie did not forget that there was something to be settled between her and Hurstwood, but the thought was ignored in her agitation. The one thing was to finish this strange pilgrimage.

“Where is he?”

“Way out on the South Side,” said Hurstwood. “We’ll have to take the train. It’s the quickest way.”

Carrie said nothing, and the horse gambolled on. The weirdness of the city by night held her attention. She looked at the long receding rows of lamps and studied the dark, silent houses.

“How did he hurt himself?” she asked⁠—meaning what was the nature of his injuries. Hurstwood understood. He hated to lie any more than necessary, and yet he wanted no protests until he was out of danger.

“I don’t know exactly,” he said. “They just called me up to go and get you and bring you out. They said there wasn’t any need for alarm, but that I shouldn’t fail to bring you.”

The man’s serious manner convinced Carrie, and she became silent, wondering.

Hurstwood examined his watch and urged the man to hurry. For one in so delicate a position he was exceedingly cool. He could only think of how needful it was to make the train and get quietly away. Carrie seemed quite tractable, and he congratulated himself.

In due time they reached the depot, and after helping her out he handed the man a five-dollar bill and hurried on.

“You wait here,” he said to Carrie, when they reached the waiting-room, “while I get the tickets.”

“Have I much time to catch that train for Detroit?” he asked of the agent.

“Four minutes,” said the latter.

He paid for two tickets as circumspectly as possible.

“Is it far?” said Carrie, as he hurried back.

“Not very,” he said. “We must get right in.”

He pushed her before him at the gate, stood between her and the ticket man while the latter punched their tickets, so that she could not see, and then hurried after.

There was a long line of express and passenger cars and one or two common day coaches. As the train had only recently been made up and few passengers were expected, there were only one or two brakemen waiting. They entered the rear day coach and sat down. Almost immediately, “All aboard,” resounded faintly from the outside, and the train started.

Carrie began to think it was a little bit curious⁠—this going to a depot⁠—but said nothing. The whole incident was so out of the natural that she did not attach too much weight to anything she imagined.

“How have you been?” asked Hurstwood gently, for he now breathed easier.

“Very well,” said Carrie, who was so disturbed that she could not bring a proper attitude to bear in the matter. She was still nervous to reach Drouet and see what