["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> When Caroline Meeber boarded the afternoon train for Chicago, her total\noutfit consisted of a small trunk, a cheap imitation alligator-skin\nsatchel, a small lunch in a paper box, and a yellow leather snap purse,\ncontaining her ticket, a scrap of paper with her sister's address in Van\nBuren Street, and four dollars in money. It was in August, 1889. She\nwas eighteen years of age, bright, timid, and full of the illusions of\nignorance and youth. Whatever touch of regret at parting characterised\nher thoughts, it was certainly not for advantages now being given up. A\ngush of tears at her mother's farewell kiss, a touch in her throat when\nthe cars clacked by the flour mill where her father worked by the day,\na pathetic sigh as the familiar green environs of the village passed in\nreview, and the threads which bound her so lightly to girlhood and home\nwere irretrievably broken. To be sure there was always the next station, where one might descend\nand return. There was the great city, bound more closely by these very\ntrains which came up daily. Columbia City was not so very far away,\neven once she was in Chicago. What, pray, is a few hours--a few hundred\nmiles? She looked at the little slip bearing her sister's address and\nwondered. She gazed at the green landscape, now passing in swift\nreview, until her swifter thoughts replaced its impression with vague\nconjectures of what Chicago might be. When a girl leaves her home at eighteen, she does one of two things. Either she falls into saving hands and becomes better, or she rapidly\nassumes the cosmopolitan standard of virtue and becomes worse. Of an\nintermediate balance, under the circumstances, there is no possibility. The city has its cunning wiles, no less than the infinitely smaller and\nmore human tempter. There are large forces which allure with all the\nsoulfulness of expression possible in the most cultured human. The gleam\nof a thousand lights is often as effective as the persuasive light in a\nwooing and fascinating eye. Half the undoing of the unsophisticated and\nnatural mind is accomplished by forces wholly superhuman. A blare\nof sound, a roar of life, a vast array of human hives, appeal to the\nastonished senses in equivocal terms. Without a counsellor at hand to\nwhisper cautious interpretations, what falsehoods may not these things\nbreathe into the unguarded ear! Unrecognised for what they are, their\nbeauty, like music, too often relaxes, then weakens, then perverts the\nsimpler human perceptions. Caroline, or Sister Carrie, as she had been half affectionately termed\nby the family, was possessed of a mind rudimentary in its power of\nobservation and analysis. Self-interest with her was high, but not\nstrong. It was, nevertheless, her guiding characteristic. Warm with the\nfancies of youth, pretty with the insipid prettiness of the formative\nperiod, possessed of a figure promising eventual shapeliness and an eye\nalight with certain native intelligence, she was a fair example of the\nmiddle American class--two generations removed from the emigrant. Books\nwere beyond her interest--knowledge a sealed book. In the intuitive\ngraces she was still crude. She could scarcely toss her head gracefully. Her hands were almost ineffectual. The feet, though small, were set\nflatly. And yet she was interested in her charms, quick to understand\nthe keener pleasures of life, ambitious to gain in material things. A half-equipped little knight she was, venturing to reconnoitre\nthe mysterious city and dreaming wild dreams of some vague, far-off\nsupremacy, which should make it prey and subject--the proper penitent,\ngrovelling at a woman's slipper. \"That,\" said a voice in her ear, \"is one of the prettiest little resorts\nin Wisconsin.\" \"Is it?\" she answered nervously. The train was just pulling out of Waukesha. For some time she had been\nconscious of a man behind. She felt him observing her mass of hair. He had been fidgetting, and with natural intuition she felt a certain\ninterest growing in that quarter. Her maidenly reserve, and a certain\nsense of what was conventional under the circumstances, called her to\nforestall and deny this familiarity, but the daring and magnetism of\nthe individual, born of past experiences and triumphs, prevailed. She\nanswered. He leaned forward to put his elbows upon the back of her seat and\nproceeded to make himself volubly agreeable. \"Yes, that is a great resort for Chicago people. The hotels are swell. You are not familiar with this part of the country, are you?\" \"Oh, yes, I am,\" answered Carrie. \"That is, I live at Columbia City. I\nhave never been through here, though.\" \"And so this is your first visit to Chicago,\" he observed. All the time she was conscious of certain features out of the side of\nher eye. Flush, colourful cheeks, a light moustache, a grey fedora\nhat. She now turned and looked upon him in full, the instincts of\nself-protection and coquetry mingling confusedly in her brain. \"I didn't say that,\" she said. \"Oh,\" he answered, in a very pleasing way and with an assumed air of\nmistake, \"I thought you did.\" Here was a type of the travelling canvasser for a manufacturing house--a\nclass which at that time was first being dubbed by the slang of the day\n\"drummers.\" He came within the meaning of a still newer term, which had\nsprung into general use among Americans in 1880, and which concisely\nexpressed the thought of one whose dress or manners are calculated to\nelicit the admiration of susceptible young women--a \"masher.\" His suit\nwas of a striped and crossed pattern of brown wool, new at that time,\nbut since become familiar as a business suit. The low crotch of the vest\nrevealed a stiff shirt bosom of white and pink stripes. From his coat\nsleeves protruded a pair of linen cuffs of the same pattern, fastened\nwith large, gold plate buttons, set with the common yellow agates known\nas \"cat's-eyes.\" His fingers bore several rings--one, the ever-enduring\nheavy seal--and from his vest dangled a neat gold watch chain, from\nwhich was suspended the secret insignia of the Order of Elks. The whole\nsuit was rather tight-fitting, and was finished off with heavy-soled tan\nshoes, highly polished, and the grey fedora hat. He was, for the order\nof intellect represented, attractive, and whatever he had to recommend\nhim, you may be sure was not lost upon Carrie, in this, her first\nglance. Lest this order of individual should permanently pass, let me put down\nsome of the most striking characteristics of his most successful manner\nand method. Good clothes, of course, were the first essential, the\nthings without which he was nothing. A strong physical nature, actuated\nby a keen desire for the feminine, was the next. A mind free of any\nconsideration of the problems or forces of the world and actuated not\nby greed, but an insatiable love of variable pleasure. His method was\nalways simple. Its principal element was daring, backed, of course, by\nan intense desire and admiration for the sex. Let him meet with a young\nwoman once and he would approach her with an air of kindly familiarity,\nnot unmixed with pleading, which would result in most cases in a\ntolerant acceptance. If she showed any tendency to coquetry he would be\napt to straighten her tie, or if she \"took up\" with him at all, to call\nher by her first name. If he visited a department store it was to lounge\nfamiliarly over the counter and ask some leading questions. In more\nexclusive circles, on the train or in waiting stations, he went slower. If some seemingly vulnerable object appeared he was all attention--to\npass the compliments of the day, to lead the way to the parlor car,\ncarrying her grip, or, failing that, to take a seat next her with the\nhope of being able to court her to her destination. Pillows, books, a\nfootstool, the shade lowered; all these figured in the things which he\ncould do. If, when she reached her destination he did not alight and\nattend her baggage for her, it was because, in his own estimation, he\nhad signally failed. A woman should some day write the complete philosophy of clothes. No\nmatter how young, it is one of the things she wholly comprehends. There\nis an indescribably faint line in the matter of man's apparel which\nsomehow divides for her those who are worth glancing at and those\nwho are not. Once an individual has passed this faint line on the way\ndownward he will get no glance from her. There is another line at\nwhich the dress of a man will cause her to study her own.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-04 The user is reading a book]\n<User> This line the\nindividual at her elbow now marked for Carrie. She became conscious\nof an inequality. Her own plain blue dress, with its black cotton tape\ntrimmings, now seemed to her shabby. She felt the worn state of her\nshoes. \"Let's see,\" he went on, \"I know quite a number of people in your town. Morgenroth the clothier and Gibson the dry goods man.\" \"Oh, do you?\" she interrupted, aroused by memories of longings their\nshow windows had cost her. At last he had a clew to her interest, and followed it deftly. In a few\nminutes he had come about into her seat. He talked of sales of clothing,\nhis travels, Chicago, and the amusements of that city. \"If you are going there, you will enjoy it immensely. Have you\nrelatives?\" \"I am going to visit my sister,\" she explained. \"You want to see Lincoln Park,\" he said, \"and Michigan Boulevard. They\nare putting up great buildings there. It's a second New York--great. So\nmuch to see--theatres, crowds, fine houses--oh, you'll like that.\" There was a little ache in her fancy of all he described. Her\ninsignificance in the presence of so much magnificence faintly affected\nher. She realised that hers was not to be a round of pleasure, and yet\nthere was something promising in all the material prospect he set forth. There was something satisfactory in the attention of this individual\nwith his good clothes. She could not help smiling as he told her of some\npopular actress of whom she reminded him. She was not silly, and yet\nattention of this sort had its weight. \"You will be in Chicago some little time, won't you?\" he observed at one\nturn of the now easy conversation. \"I don't know,\" said Carrie vaguely--a flash vision of the possibility\nof her not securing employment rising in her mind. \"Several weeks, anyhow,\" he said, looking steadily into her eyes. There was much more passing now than the mere words indicated. He\nrecognised the indescribable thing that made up for fascination and\nbeauty in her. She realised that she was of interest to him from the\none standpoint which a woman both delights in and fears. Her manner was\nsimple, though for the very reason that she had not yet learned the many\nlittle affectations with which women conceal their true feelings. Some\nthings she did appeared bold. A clever companion--had she ever had\none--would have warned her never to look a man in the eyes so steadily. \"Why do you ask?\" she said. \"Well, I'm going to be there several weeks. I'm going to study stock at\nour place and get new samples. I might show you 'round.\" \"I don't know whether you can or not. I mean I don't know whether I can. I shall be living with my sister, and----\"\n\n\"Well, if she minds, we'll fix that.\" He took out his pencil and a\nlittle pocket note-book as if it were all settled. \"What is your address\nthere?\" She fumbled her purse which contained the address slip. He reached down in his hip pocket and took out a fat purse. It was\nfilled with slips of paper, some mileage books, a roll of greenbacks. It impressed her deeply. Such a purse had never been carried by any one\nattentive to her. Indeed, an experienced traveller, a brisk man of the\nworld, had never come within such close range before. The purse, the\nshiny tan shoes, the smart new suit, and the air with which he did\nthings, built up for her a dim world of fortune, of which he was the\ncentre. It disposed her pleasantly toward all he might do. He took out a neat business card, on which was engraved Bartlett, Caryoe\n& Company, and down in the left-hand corner, Chas. H. Drouet. \"That's me,\" he said, putting the card in her hand and touching his\nname. \"It's pronounced Drew-eh. Our family was French, on my father's\nside.\" She looked at it while he put up his purse. Then he got out a letter\nfrom a bunch in his coat pocket. \"This is the house I travel for,\" he\nwent on, pointing to a picture on it, \"corner of State and Lake.\" There\nwas pride in his voice. He felt that it was something to be connected\nwith such a place, and he made her feel that way. \"What is your address?\" he began again, fixing his pencil to write. She looked at his hand. \"Carrie Meeber,\" she said slowly. \"Three hundred and fifty-four West Van\nBuren Street, care S. C. Hanson.\" He wrote it carefully down and got out the purse again. \"You'll be at\nhome if I come around Monday night?\" he said. \"I think so,\" she answered. How true it is that words are but the vague shadows of the volumes we\nmean. Little audible links, they are, chaining together great inaudible\nfeelings and purposes. Here were these two, bandying little phrases,\ndrawing purses, looking at cards, and both unconscious of how\ninarticulate all their real feelings were. Neither was wise enough to be\nsure of the working of the mind of the other. He could not tell how his\nluring succeeded. She could not realise that she was drifting, until he\nsecured her address. Now she felt that she had yielded something--he,\nthat he had gained a victory. Already they felt that they were somehow\nassociated. Already he took control in directing the conversation. His\nwords were easy. Her manner was relaxed. They were nearing Chicago. Signs were everywhere numerous. Trains\nflashed by them. Across wide stretches of flat, open prairie they could\nsee lines of telegraph poles stalking across the fields toward the great\ncity. Far away were indications of suburban towns, some big smokestacks\ntowering high in the air. Frequently there were two-story frame houses standing out in the open\nfields, without fence or trees, lone outposts of the approaching army of\nhomes. To the child, the genius with imagination, or the wholly untravelled,\nthe approach to a great city for the first time is a wonderful thing. Particularly if it be evening--that mystic period between the glare and\ngloom of the world when life is changing from one sphere or condition\nto another. Ah, the promise of the night. What does it not hold for the\nweary! What old illusion of hope is not here forever repeated! Says the\nsoul of the toiler to itself, \"I shall soon be free. I shall be in the\nways and the hosts of the merry. The streets, the lamps, the lighted\nchamber set for dining, are for me. The theatre, the halls, the parties,\nthe ways of rest and the paths of song--these are mine in the night.\" Though all humanity be still enclosed in the shops, the thrill runs\nabroad. It is in the air. The dullest feel something which they may not\nalways express or describe. It is the lifting of the burden of toil. Sister Carrie gazed out of the window. Her companion, affected by her\nwonder, so contagious are all things, felt anew some interest in the\ncity and pointed out its marvels. \"This is Northwest Chicago,\" said Drouet. \"This is the Chicago River,\"\nand he pointed to a little muddy creek, crowded with the huge masted\nwanderers from far-off waters nosing the black-posted banks. With a\npuff, a clang, and a clatter of rails it was gone. \"Chicago is getting\nto be a great town,\" he went on. \"It's a wonder. You'll find lots to see\nhere.\" She did not hear this very well. Her heart was troubled by a kind of\nterror. The fact that she was alone, away from home, rushing into a\ngreat sea of life and endeavour, began to tell. She could not help but\nfeel a little choked for breath--a little sick as her heart beat so\nfast. She half closed her eyes and tried to think it was nothing, that\nColumbia City was only a little way off. \"Chicago! Chicago!\" called the brakeman, slamming open the door. They\nwere rushing into a more crowded yard, alive with the clatter and clang\nof life. She began to gather up her poor little grip and closed her hand\nfirmly upon her purse. Drouet arose, kicked his legs to straighten his\ntrousers, and seized his clean yellow grip. \"I suppose your people will be here to meet you?\" he said. \"Let me carry\nyour grip.\" \"Oh, no,\" she said. \"I'd rather you wouldn't. I'd rather you wouldn't be\nwith me when I meet my sister.\" \"All right,\" he said in all kindness. \"I'll be near, though, in case she\nisn't here, and take you out there safely.\"\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-04, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-06 The user is reading a book]\n<User> \"You're so kind,\" said Carrie, feeling the goodness of such attention in\nher strange situation. \"Chicago!\" called the brakeman, drawing the word out long. They were\nunder a great shadowy train shed, where the lamps were already beginning\nto shine out, with passenger cars all about and the train moving at a\nsnail's pace. The people in the car were all up and crowding about the\ndoor. \"Well, here we are,\" said Drouet, leading the way to the door. \"Good-bye, till I see you Monday.\" \"Good-bye,\" she answered, taking his proffered hand. \"Remember, I'll be looking till you find your sister.\" She smiled into his eyes. They filed out, and he affected to take no notice of her. A lean-faced,\nrather commonplace woman recognised Carrie on the platform and hurried\nforward. \"Why, Sister Carrie!\" she began, and there was embrace of welcome. Carrie realised the change of affectional atmosphere at once. Amid all\nthe maze, uproar, and novelty she felt cold reality taking her by the\nhand. No world of light and merriment. No round of amusement. Her sister\ncarried with her most of the grimness of shift and toil. \"Why, how are all the folks at home?\" she began; \"how is father, and\nmother?\" Carrie answered, but was looking away. Down the aisle, toward the gate\nleading into the waiting-room and the street, stood Drouet. He was\nlooking back. When he saw that she saw him and was safe with her sister\nhe turned to go, sending back the shadow of a smile. Only Carrie saw it. She felt something lost to her when he moved away. When he disappeared\nshe felt his absence thoroughly. With her sister she was much alone, a\nlone figure in a tossing, thoughtless sea. Minnie's flat, as the one-floor resident apartments were then being\ncalled, was in a part of West Van Buren Street inhabited by families of\nlabourers and clerks, men who had come, and were still coming, with the\nrush of population pouring in at the rate of 50,000 a year. It was on\nthe third floor, the front windows looking down into the street, where,\nat night, the lights of grocery stores were shining and children were\nplaying. To Carrie, the sound of the little bells upon the horse-cars,\nas they tinkled in and out of hearing, was as pleasing as it was novel. She gazed into the lighted street when Minnie brought her into the front\nroom, and wondered at the sounds, the movement, the murmur of the vast\ncity which stretched for miles and miles in every direction. Mrs. Hanson, after the first greetings were over, gave Carrie the baby\nand proceeded to get supper. Her husband asked a few questions and sat\ndown to read the evening paper. He was a silent man, American born, of a\nSwede father, and now employed as a cleaner of refrigerator cars at the\nstock-yards. To him the presence or absence of his wife's sister was a\nmatter of indifference. Her personal appearance did not affect him one\nway or the other. His one observation to the point was concerning the\nchances of work in Chicago. \"It's a big place,\" he said. \"You can get in somewhere in a few days. Everybody does.\" It had been tacitly understood beforehand that she was to get work and\npay her board. He was of a clean, saving disposition, and had already\npaid a number of monthly instalments on two lots far out on the West\nSide. His ambition was some day to build a house on them. In the interval which marked the preparation of the meal Carrie found\ntime to study the flat. She had some slight gift of observation and that\nsense, so rich in every woman--intuition. She felt the drag of a lean and narrow life. The walls of the rooms were\ndiscordantly papered. The floors were covered with matting and the hall\nlaid with a thin rag carpet. One could see that the furniture was of\nthat poor, hurriedly patched together quality sold by the instalment\nhouses. She sat with Minnie, in the kitchen, holding the baby until it began\nto cry. Then she walked and sang to it, until Hanson, disturbed in his\nreading, came and took it. A pleasant side to his nature came out here. He was patient. One could see that he was very much wrapped up in his\noffspring. \"Now, now,\" he said, walking. \"There, there,\" and there was a certain\nSwedish accent noticeable in his voice. \"You'll want to see the city first, won't you?\" said Minnie, when they\nwere eating. \"Well, we'll go out Sunday and see Lincoln Park.\" Carrie noticed that Hanson had said nothing to this. He seemed to be\nthinking of something else. \"Well,\" she said, \"I think I'll look around tomorrow. I've got Friday\nand Saturday, and it won't be any trouble. Which way is the business\npart?\" Minnie began to explain, but her husband took this part of the\nconversation to himself. \"It's that way,\" he said, pointing east. \"That's east.\" Then he went off\ninto the longest speech he had yet indulged in, concerning the lay of\nChicago. \"You'd better look in those big manufacturing houses along\nFranklin Street and just the other side of the river,\" he concluded. \"Lots of girls work there. You could get home easy, too. It isn't very\nfar.\" Carrie nodded and asked her sister about the neighbourhood. The latter\ntalked in a subdued tone, telling the little she knew about it, while\nHanson concerned himself with the baby. Finally he jumped up and handed\nthe child to his wife. \"I've got to get up early in the morning, so I'll go to bed,\" and off\nhe went, disappearing into the dark little bedroom off the hall, for the\nnight. \"He works way down at the stock-yards,\" explained Minnie, \"so he's got\nto get up at half-past five.\" \"What time do you get up to get breakfast?\" asked Carrie. \"At about twenty minutes of five.\" Together they finished the labour of the day, Carrie washing the dishes\nwhile Minnie undressed the baby and put it to bed. Minnie's manner was\none of trained industry, and Carrie could see that it was a steady round\nof toil with her. She began to see that her relations with Drouet would have to be\nabandoned. He could not come here. She read from the manner of Hanson,\nin the subdued air of Minnie, and, indeed, the whole atmosphere of the\nflat, a settled opposition to anything save a conservative round of\ntoil. If Hanson sat every evening in the front room and read his paper,\nif he went to bed at nine, and Minnie a little later, what would\nthey expect of her? She saw that she would first need to get work and\nestablish herself on a paying basis before she could think of having\ncompany of any sort. Her little flirtation with Drouet seemed now an\nextraordinary thing. \"No,\" she said to herself, \"he can't come here.\" She asked Minnie for ink and paper, which were upon the mantel in\nthe dining-room, and when the latter had gone to bed at ten, got out\nDrouet's card and wrote him. \"I cannot have you call on me here. You will have to wait until you hear\nfrom me again. My sister's place is so small.\" She troubled herself over what else to put in the letter. She wanted\nto make some reference to their relations upon the train, but was too\ntimid. She concluded by thanking him for his kindness in a crude way,\nthen puzzled over the formality of signing her name, and finally decided\nupon the severe, winding up with a \"Very truly,\" which she subsequently\nchanged to \"Sincerely.\" She scaled and addressed the letter, and going\nin the front room, the alcove of which contained her bed, drew the one\nsmall rocking-chair up to the open window, and sat looking out upon\nthe night and streets in silent wonder. Finally, wearied by her own\nreflections, she began to grow dull in her chair, and feeling the need\nof sleep, arranged her clothing for the night and went to bed. When she awoke at eight the next morning, Hanson had gone. Her sister\nwas busy in the dining-room, which was also the sitting-room, sewing. She worked, after dressing, to arrange a little breakfast for herself,\nand then advised with Minnie as to which way to look. The latter had\nchanged considerably since Carrie had seen her. She was now a thin,\nthough rugged, woman of twenty-seven, with ideas of life coloured by her\nhusband's, and fast hardening into narrower conceptions of pleasure and\nduty than had ever been hers in a thoroughly circumscribed youth. She\nhad invited Carrie, not because she longed for her presence, but because\nthe latter was dissatisfied at home, and could probably get work and pay\nher board here.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-06, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-07 The user is reading a book]\n<User> She was pleased to see her in a way but reflected her\nhusband's point of view in the matter of work. Anything was good enough\nso long as it paid--say, five dollars a week to begin with. A shop girl\nwas the destiny prefigured for the newcomer. She would get in one of the\ngreat shops and do well enough until--well, until something happened. Neither of them knew exactly what. They did not figure on promotion. They did not exactly count on marriage. Things would go on, though, in a\ndim kind of way until the better thing would eventuate, and Carrie\nwould be rewarded for coming and toiling in the city. It was under such\nauspicious circumstances that she started out this morning to look for\nwork. Before following her in her round of seeking, let us look at the\nsphere in which her future was to lie. In 1889 Chicago had the peculiar\nqualifications of growth which made such adventuresome pilgrimages even\non the part of young girls plausible. Its many and growing commercial\nopportunities gave it widespread fame, which made of it a giant\nmagnet, drawing to itself, from all quarters, the hopeful and the\nhopeless--those who had their fortune yet to make and those whose\nfortunes and affairs had reached a disastrous climax elsewhere. It was\na city of over 500,000, with the ambition, the daring, the activity of\na metropolis of a million. Its streets and houses were already scattered\nover an area of seventy-five square miles. Its population was not so\nmuch thriving upon established commerce as upon the industries which\nprepared for the arrival of others. The sound of the hammer engaged upon\nthe erection of new structures was everywhere heard. Great industries\nwere moving in. The huge railroad corporations which had long before\nrecognised the prospects of the place had seized upon vast tracts of\nland for transfer and shipping purposes. Street-car lines had been\nextended far out into the open country in anticipation of rapid growth. The city had laid miles and miles of streets and sewers through regions\nwhere, perhaps, one solitary house stood out alone--a pioneer of the\npopulous ways to be. There were regions open to the sweeping winds and\nrain, which were yet lighted throughout the night with long, blinking\nlines of gas-lamps, fluttering in the wind. Narrow board walks extended\nout, passing here a house, and there a store, at far intervals,\neventually ending on the open prairie. In the central portion was the vast wholesale and shopping district,\nto which the uninformed seeker for work usually drifted. It was a\ncharacteristic of Chicago then, and one not generally shared by other\ncities, that individual firms of any pretension occupied individual\nbuildings. The presence of ample ground made this possible. It gave an\nimposing appearance to most of the wholesale houses, whose offices were\nupon the ground floor and in plain view of the street. The large plates\nof window glass, now so common, were then rapidly coming into use, and\ngave to the ground floor offices a distinguished and prosperous look. The casual wanderer could see as he passed a polished array of\noffice fixtures, much frosted glass, clerks hard at work, and genteel\nbusinessmen in \"nobby\" suits and clean linen lounging about or sitting\nin groups. Polished brass or nickel signs at the square stone entrances\nannounced the firm and the nature of the business in rather neat and\nreserved terms. The entire metropolitan centre possessed a high and\nmighty air calculated to overawe and abash the common applicant, and to\nmake the gulf between poverty and success seem both wide and deep. Into this important commercial region the timid Carrie went. She walked\neast along Van Buren Street through a region of lessening importance,\nuntil it deteriorated into a mass of shanties and coal-yards, and\nfinally verged upon the river. She walked bravely forward, led by\nan honest desire to find employment and delayed at every step by the\ninterest of the unfolding scene, and a sense of helplessness amid so\nmuch evidence of power and force which she did not understand. These\nvast buildings, what were they? These strange energies and huge\ninterests, for what purposes were they there? She could have understood\nthe meaning of a little stone-cutter's yard at Columbia City, carving\nlittle pieces of marble for individual use, but when the yards of some\nhuge stone corporation came into view, filled with spur tracks and flat\ncars, transpierced by docks from the river and traversed overhead by\nimmense trundling cranes of wood and steel, it lost all significance in\nher little world. It was so with the vast railroad yards, with the crowded array of\nvessels she saw at the river, and the huge factories over the way,\nlining the water's edge. Through the open windows she could see the\nfigures of men and women in working aprons, moving busily about. The\ngreat streets were wall-lined mysteries to her; the vast offices,\nstrange mazes which concerned far-off individuals of importance. She\ncould only think of people connected with them as counting money,\ndressing magnificently, and riding in carriages. What they dealt in,\nhow they laboured, to what end it all came, she had only the vaguest\nconception. It was all wonderful, all vast, all far removed, and she\nsank in spirit inwardly and fluttered feebly at the heart as she thought\nof entering any one of these mighty concerns and asking for something to\ndo--something that she could do--anything. Once across the river and into the wholesale district, she glanced about\nher for some likely door at which to apply. As she contemplated the wide\nwindows and imposing signs, she became conscious of being gazed upon\nand understood for what she was--a wage-seeker. She had never done this\nthing before, and lacked courage. To avoid a certain indefinable shame\nshe felt at being caught spying about for a position, she quickened her\nsteps and assumed an air of indifference supposedly common to one upon\nan errand. In this way she passed many manufacturing and wholesale\nhouses without once glancing in. At last, after several blocks of\nwalking, she felt that this would not do, and began to look about again,\nthough without relaxing her pace. A little way on she saw a great door\nwhich, for some reason, attracted her attention. It was ornamented by a\nsmall brass sign, and seemed to be the entrance to a vast hive of six\nor seven floors. \"Perhaps,\" she thought, \"they may want some one,\"\nand crossed over to enter. When she came within a score of feet of the\ndesired goal, she saw through the window a young man in a grey checked\nsuit. That he had anything to do with the concern, she could not tell,\nbut because he happened to be looking in her direction her weakening\nheart misgave her and she hurried by, too overcome with shame to enter. Over the way stood a great six-story structure, labelled Storm and King,\nwhich she viewed with rising hope. It was a wholesale dry goods concern\nand employed women. She could see them moving about now and then upon\nthe upper floors. This place she decided to enter, no matter what. She\ncrossed over and walked directly toward the entrance. As she did so,\ntwo men came out and paused in the door. A telegraph messenger in\nblue dashed past her and up the few steps that led to the entrance and\ndisappeared. Several pedestrians out of the hurrying throng which filled\nthe sidewalks passed about her as she paused, hesitating. She looked\nhelplessly around, and then, seeing herself observed, retreated. It was\ntoo difficult a task. She could not go past them. So severe a defeat told sadly upon her nerves. Her feet carried her\nmechanically forward, every foot of her progress being a satisfactory\nportion of a flight which she gladly made. Block after block passed by. Upon streetlamps at the various corners she read names such as Madison,\nMonroe, La Salle, Clark, Dearborn, State, and still she went, her feet\nbeginning to tire upon the broad stone flagging. She was pleased in part\nthat the streets were bright and clean. The morning sun, shining down\nwith steadily increasing warmth, made the shady side of the streets\npleasantly cool. She looked at the blue sky overhead with more\nrealisation of its charm than had ever come to her before. Her cowardice began to trouble her in a way. She turned back, resolving\nto hunt up Storm and King and enter. On the way, she encountered a great\nwholesale shoe company, through the broad plate windows of which she saw\nan enclosed executive department, hidden by frosted glass. Without\nthis enclosure, but just within the street entrance, sat a grey-haired\ngentleman at a small table, with a large open ledger before him. She\nwalked by this institution several times hesitating, but, finding\nherself unobserved, faltered past the screen door and stood humble\nwaiting. \"Well, young lady,\" observed the old gentleman, looking at her somewhat\nkindly, \"what is it you wish?\"\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-07, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-08 The user is reading a book]\n<User> \"I am, that is, do you--I mean, do you need any help?\" she stammered. \"Not just at present,\" he answered smiling. \"Not just at present. Come\nin some time next week. Occasionally we need some one.\" She received the answer in silence and backed awkwardly out. The\npleasant nature of her reception rather astonished her. She had expected\nthat it would be more difficult, that something cold and harsh would be\nsaid--she knew not what. That she had not been put to shame and made to\nfeel her unfortunate position, seemed remarkable. Somewhat encouraged, she ventured into another large structure. It was a\nclothing company, and more people were in evidence--well-dressed men of\nforty and more, surrounded by brass railings. An office boy approached her. \"Who is it you wish to see?\" he asked. \"I want to see the manager,\" she said. He ran away and spoke to one of\na group of three men who were conferring together. One of these came\ntowards her. \"Well?\" he said coldly. The greeting drove all courage from her at once. \"Do you need any help?\" she stammered. \"No,\" he replied abruptly, and turned upon his heel. She went foolishly out, the office boy deferentially swinging the door\nfor her, and gladly sank into the obscuring crowd. It was a severe\nsetback to her recently pleased mental state. Now she walked quite aimlessly for a time, turning here and there,\nseeing one great company after another, but finding no courage to\nprosecute her single inquiry. High noon came, and with it hunger. She\nhunted out an unassuming restaurant and entered, but was disturbed to\nfind that the prices were exorbitant for the size of her purse. A bowl\nof soup was all that she could afford, and, with this quickly eaten,\nshe went out again. It restored her strength somewhat and made her\nmoderately bold to pursue the search. In walking a few blocks to fix upon some probable place, she again\nencountered the firm of Storm and King, and this time managed to get in. Some gentlemen were conferring close at hand, but took no notice of her. She was left standing, gazing nervously upon the floor. When the limit\nof her distress had been nearly reached, she was beckoned to by a man at\none of the many desks within the near-by railing. \"Who is it you wish to see?\" he required. \"Why, any one, if you please,\" she answered. \"I am looking for something\nto do.\" \"Oh, you want to see Mr. McManus,\" he returned. \"Sit down,\" and he\npointed to a chair against the neighbouring wall. He went on leisurely\nwriting, until after a time a short, stout gentleman came in from the\nstreet. \"Mr. McManus,\" called the man at the desk, \"this young woman wants to\nsee you.\" The short gentleman turned about towards Carrie, and she arose and came\nforward. \"What can I do for you, miss?\" he inquired, surveying her curiously. \"I want to know if I can get a position,\" she inquired. \"As what?\" he asked. \"Not as anything in particular,\" she faltered. \"Have you ever had any experience in the wholesale dry goods business?\" he questioned. \"No, sir,\" she replied. \"Are you a stenographer or typewriter?\" \"No, sir.\" \"Well, we haven't anything here,\" he said. \"We employ only\nexperienced help.\" She began to step backward toward the door, when something about her\nplaintive face attracted him. \"Have you ever worked at anything before?\" he inquired. \"No, sir,\" she said. \"Well, now, it's hardly possible that you would get anything to do in a\nwholesale house of this kind. Have you tried the department stores?\" She acknowledged that she had not. \"Well, if I were you,\" he said, looking at her rather genially, \"I would\ntry the department stores. They often need young women as clerks.\" \"Thank you,\" she said, her whole nature relieved by this spark of\nfriendly interest. \"Yes,\" he said, as she moved toward the door, \"you try the department\nstores,\" and off he went. At that time the department store was in its earliest form of successful\noperation, and there were not many. The first three in the United\nStates, established about 1884, were in Chicago. Carrie was familiar\nwith the names of several through the advertisements in the \"Daily\nNews,\" and now proceeded to seek them. The words of Mr. McManus had\nsomehow managed to restore her courage, which had fallen low, and she\ndared to hope that this new line would offer her something. Some time\nshe spent in wandering up and down, thinking to encounter the buildings\nby chance, so readily is the mind, bent upon prosecuting a hard but\nneedful errand, eased by that self-deception which the semblance of\nsearch, without the reality, gives. At last she inquired of a police\nofficer, and was directed to proceed \"two blocks up,\" where she would\nfind \"The Fair.\" The nature of these vast retail combinations, should they ever\npermanently disappear, will form an interesting chapter in the\ncommercial history of our nation. Such a flowering out of a modest trade\nprinciple the world had never witnessed up to that time. They were along\nthe line of the most effective retail organisation, with hundreds of\nstores coordinated into one and laid out upon the most imposing and\neconomic basis. They were handsome, bustling, successful affairs, with\na host of clerks and a swarm of patrons. Carrie passed along the busy\naisles, much affected by the remarkable displays of trinkets, dress\ngoods, stationery, and jewelry. Each separate counter was a show place\nof dazzling interest and attraction. She could not help feeling the\nclaim of each trinket and valuable upon her personally, and yet she did\nnot stop. There was nothing there which she could not have used--nothing\nwhich she did not long to own. The dainty slippers and stockings,\nthe delicately frilled skirts and petticoats, the laces, ribbons,\nhair-combs, purses, all touched her with individual desire, and she felt\nkeenly the fact that not any of these things were in the range of her\npurchase. She was a work-seeker, an outcast without employment, one whom\nthe average employee could tell at a glance was poor and in need of a\nsituation. It must not be thought that any one could have mistaken her for a\nnervous, sensitive, high-strung nature, cast unduly upon a cold,\ncalculating, and unpoetic world. Such certainly she was not. But women\nare peculiarly sensitive to their adornment. Not only did Carrie feel the drag of desire for all which was new and\npleasing in apparel for women, but she noticed too, with a touch at the\nheart, the fine ladies who elbowed and ignored her, brushing past in\nutter disregard of her presence, themselves eagerly enlisted in the\nmaterials which the store contained. Carrie was not familiar with the\nappearance of her more fortunate sisters of the city. Neither had she\nbefore known the nature and appearance of the shop girls with whom she\nnow compared poorly. They were pretty in the main, some even handsome,\nwith an air of independence and indifference which added, in the case of\nthe more favoured, a certain piquancy. Their clothes were neat, in many\ninstances fine, and wherever she encountered the eye of one it was only\nto recognise in it a keen analysis of her own position--her individual\nshortcomings of dress and that shadow of manner which she thought must\nhang about her and make clear to all who and what she was. A flame of\nenvy lighted in her heart. She realised in a dim way how much the city\nheld--wealth, fashion, ease--every adornment for women, and she longed\nfor dress and beauty with a whole heart. On the second floor were the managerial offices, to which, after some\ninquiry, she was now directed. There she found other girls ahead of\nher, applicants like herself, but with more of that self-satisfied\nand independent air which experience of the city lends; girls\nwho scrutinised her in a painful manner. After a wait of perhaps\nthree-quarters of an hour, she was called in turn. \"Now,\" said a sharp, quick-mannered Jew, who was sitting at a roll-top\ndesk near the window, \"have you ever worked in any other store?\" \"No, sir,\" said Carrie. \"Oh, you haven't,\" he said, eyeing her keenly. \"No, sir,\" she replied. \"Well, we prefer young women just now with some experience. I guess we\ncan't use you.\" Carrie stood waiting a moment, hardly certain whether the interview had\nterminated. \"Don't wait!\" he exclaimed. \"Remember we are very busy here.\"\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-08, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-09 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Carrie began to move quickly to the door. \"Hold on,\" he said, calling her back. \"Give me your name and address. We\nwant girls occasionally.\" When she had gotten safely into the street, she could scarcely restrain\nthe tears. It was not so much the particular rebuff which she had just\nexperienced, but the whole abashing trend of the day. She was tired and\nnervous. She abandoned the thought of appealing to the other department\nstores and now wandered on, feeling a certain safety and relief in\nmingling with the crowd. In her indifferent wandering she turned into Jackson Street, not far\nfrom the river, and was keeping her way along the south side of that\nimposing thoroughfare, when a piece of wrapping paper, written on with\nmarking ink and tacked up on the door, attracted her attention. It\nread, \"Girls wanted--wrappers & stitchers.\" She hesitated a moment, then\nentered. The firm of Speigelheim & Co., makers of boys' caps, occupied one floor\nof the building, fifty feet in width and some eighty feet in depth. It was a place rather dingily lighted, the darkest portions having\nincandescent lights, filled with machines and work benches. At the\nlatter laboured quite a company of girls and some men. The former were\ndrabby-looking creatures, stained in face with oil and dust, clad in\nthin, shapeless, cotton dresses and shod with more or less worn shoes. Many of them had their sleeves rolled up, revealing bare arms, and in\nsome cases, owing to the heat, their dresses were open at the neck. They\nwere a fair type of nearly the lowest order of shop-girls--careless,\nslouchy, and more or less pale from confinement. They were not timid,\nhowever; were rich in curiosity, and strong in daring and slang. Carrie looked about her, very much disturbed and quite sure that she did\nnot want to work here. Aside from making her uncomfortable by sidelong\nglances, no one paid her the least attention. She waited until the whole\ndepartment was aware of her presence. Then some word was sent around,\nand a foreman, in an apron and shirt sleeves, the latter rolled up to\nhis shoulders, approached. \"Do you want to see me?\" he asked. \"Do you need any help?\" said Carrie, already learning directness of\naddress. \"Do you know how to stitch caps?\" he returned. \"No, sir,\" she replied. \"Have you ever had any experience at this kind of work?\" he inquired. She answered that she had not. \"Well,\" said the foreman, scratching his ear meditatively, \"we do need\na stitcher. We like experienced help, though. We've hardly got time\nto break people in.\" He paused and looked away out of the window. \"We\nmight, though, put you at finishing,\" he concluded reflectively. \"How much do you pay a week?\" ventured Carrie, emboldened by a certain\nsoftness in the man's manner and his simplicity of address. \"Three and a half,\" he answered. \"Oh,\" she was about to exclaim, but checked herself and allowed her\nthoughts to die without expression. \"We're not exactly in need of anybody,\" he went on vaguely, looking her\nover as one would a package. \"You can come on Monday morning, though,\"\nhe added, \"and I'll put you to work.\" \"Thank you,\" said Carrie weakly. \"If you come, bring an apron,\" he added. He walked away and left her standing by the elevator, never so much as\ninquiring her name. While the appearance of the shop and the announcement of the price paid\nper week operated very much as a blow to Carrie's fancy, the fact that\nwork of any kind was offered after so rude a round of experience was\ngratifying. She could not begin to believe that she would take the\nplace, modest as her aspirations were. She had been used to better than\nthat. Her mere experience and the free out-of-door life of the country\ncaused her nature to revolt at such confinement. Dirt had never been her\nshare. Her sister's flat was clean. This place was grimy and low, the\ngirls were careless and hardened. They must be bad-minded and hearted,\nshe imagined. Still, a place had been offered her. Surely Chicago\nwas not so bad if she could find one place in one day. She might find\nanother and better later. Her subsequent experiences were not of a reassuring nature, however. From all the more pleasing or imposing places she was turned away\nabruptly with the most chilling formality. In others where she applied\nonly the experienced were required. She met with painful rebuffs, the\nmost trying of which had been in a manufacturing cloak house, where she\nhad gone to the fourth floor to inquire. \"No, no,\" said the foreman, a rough, heavily built individual, who\nlooked after a miserably lighted workshop, \"we don't want any one. Don't\ncome here.\" With the wane of the afternoon went her hopes, her courage, and her\nstrength. She had been astonishingly persistent. So earnest an effort\nwas well deserving of a better reward. On every hand, to her fatigued\nsenses, the great business portion grew larger, harder, more stolid in\nits indifference. It seemed as if it was all closed to her, that the\nstruggle was too fierce for her to hope to do anything at all. Men and\nwomen hurried by in long, shifting lines. She felt the flow of the\ntide of effort and interest--felt her own helplessness without quite\nrealising the wisp on the tide that she was. She cast about vainly\nfor some possible place to apply, but found no door which she had\nthe courage to enter. It would be the same thing all over. The old\nhumiliation of her plea, rewarded by curt denial. Sick at heart and in\nbody, she turned to the west, the direction of Minnie's flat, which she\nhad now fixed in mind, and began that wearisome, baffled retreat which\nthe seeker for employment at nightfall too often makes. In passing\nthrough Fifth Avenue, south towards Van Buren Street, where she intended\nto take a car, she passed the door of a large wholesale shoe house,\nthrough the plate-glass windows of which she could see a middle-aged\ngentleman sitting at a small desk. One of those forlorn impulses which\noften grow out of a fixed sense of defeat, the last sprouting of a\nbaffled and uprooted growth of ideas, seized upon her. She walked\ndeliberately through the door and up to the gentleman, who looked at her\nweary face with partially awakened interest. \"What is it?\" he said. \"Can you give me something to do?\" said Carrie. \"Now, I really don't know,\" he said kindly. \"What kind of work is it you\nwant--you're not a typewriter, are you?\" \"Oh, no,\" answered Carrie. \"Well, we only employ book-keepers and typewriters here. You might\ngo around to the side and inquire upstairs. They did want some help\nupstairs a few days ago. Ask for Mr. Brown.\" She hastened around to the side entrance and was taken up by the\nelevator to the fourth floor. \"Call Mr. Brown, Willie,\" said the elevator man to a boy near by. Willie went off and presently returned with the information that Mr.\nBrown said she should sit down and that he would be around in a little\nwhile. It was a portion of the stock room which gave no idea of the general\ncharacter of the place, and Carrie could form no opinion of the nature\nof the work. \"So you want something to do,\" said Mr. Brown, after he inquired\nconcerning the nature of her errand. \"Have you ever been employed in a\nshoe factory before?\" \"No, sir,\" said Carrie. \"What is your name?\" he inquired, and being informed, \"Well, I don't\nknow as I have anything for you. Would you work for four and a half a\nweek?\" Carrie was too worn by defeat not to feel that it was considerable. She\nhad not expected that he would offer her less than six. She acquiesced,\nhowever, and he took her name and address. \"Well,\" he said, finally, \"you report here at eight o'clock Monday\nmorning. I think I can find something for you to do.\" He left her revived by the possibilities, sure that she had found\nsomething at last. Instantly the blood crept warmly over her body. Her nervous tension relaxed. She walked out into the busy street and\ndiscovered a new atmosphere. Behold, the throng was moving with a\nlightsome step. She noticed that men and women were smiling. Scraps of\nconversation and notes of laughter floated to her. The air was light. People were already pouring out of the buildings, their labour ended\nfor the day.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-09, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-12 The user is reading a book]\n<User> She noticed that they were pleased, and thoughts of her\nsister's home and the meal that would be awaiting her quickened her\nsteps. She hurried on, tired perhaps, but no longer weary of foot. What\nwould not Minnie say! Ah, the long winter in Chicago--the lights, the\ncrowd, the amusement! This was a great, pleasing metropolis after all. Her new firm was a goodly institution. Its windows were of huge plate\nglass. She could probably do well there. Thoughts of Drouet returned--of\nthe things he had told her. She now felt that life was better, that it\nwas livelier, sprightlier. She boarded a car in the best of spirits,\nfeeling her blood still flowing pleasantly. She would live in Chicago,\nher mind kept saying to itself. She would have a better time than she\nhad ever had before--she would be happy. For the next two days Carrie indulged in the most high-flown\nspeculations. Her fancy plunged recklessly into privileges and amusements which would\nhave been much more becoming had she been cradled a child of fortune. With ready will and quick mental selection she scattered her meagre\nfour-fifty per week with a swift and graceful hand. Indeed, as she sat\nin her rocking-chair these several evenings before going to bed and\nlooked out upon the pleasantly lighted street, this money cleared for\nits prospective possessor the way to every joy and every bauble which\nthe heart of woman may desire. \"I will have a fine time,\" she thought. Her sister Minnie knew nothing of these rather wild cerebrations, though\nthey exhausted the markets of delight. She was too busy scrubbing the\nkitchen woodwork and calculating the purchasing power of eighty cents\nfor Sunday's dinner. When Carrie had returned home, flushed with her\nfirst success and ready, for all her weariness, to discuss the now\ninteresting events which led up to her achievement, the former had\nmerely smiled approvingly and inquired whether she would have to spend\nany of it for car fare. This consideration had not entered in before,\nand it did not now for long affect the glow of Carrie's enthusiasm. Disposed as she then was to calculate upon that vague basis which\nallows the subtraction of one sum from another without any perceptible\ndiminution, she was happy. When Hanson came home at seven o'clock, he was inclined to be a little\ncrusty--his usual demeanour before supper. This never showed so much in\nanything he said as in a certain solemnity of countenance and the\nsilent manner in which he slopped about. He had a pair of yellow carpet\nslippers which he enjoyed wearing, and these he would immediately\nsubstitute for his solid pair of shoes. This, and washing his face with\nthe aid of common washing soap until it glowed a shiny red, constituted\nhis only preparation for his evening meal. He would then get his evening\npaper and read in silence. For a young man, this was rather a morbid turn of character, and so\naffected Carrie. Indeed, it affected the entire atmosphere of the flat,\nas such things are inclined to do, and gave to his wife's mind its\nsubdued and tactful turn, anxious to avoid taciturn replies. Under the\ninfluence of Carrie's announcement he brightened up somewhat. \"You didn't lose any time, did you?\" he remarked, smiling a little. \"No,\" returned Carrie with a touch of pride. He asked her one or two more questions and then turned to play with the\nbaby, leaving the subject until it was brought up again by Minnie at the\ntable. Carrie, however, was not to be reduced to the common level of\nobservation which prevailed in the flat. \"It seems to be such a large company,\" she said, at one place. \"Great big plate-glass windows and lots of clerks. The man I saw said\nthey hired ever so many people.\" \"It's not very hard to get work now,\" put in Hanson, \"if you look\nright.\" Minnie, under the warming influence of Carrie's good spirits and her\nhusband's somewhat conversational mood, began to tell Carrie of some\nof the well-known things to see--things the enjoyment of which cost\nnothing. \"You'd like to see Michigan Avenue. There are such fine houses. It is\nsuch a fine street.\" \"Where is H. R. Jacob's?\" interrupted Carrie, mentioning one of the\ntheatres devoted to melodrama which went by that name at the time. \"Oh, it's not very far from here,\" answered Minnie. \"It's in Halstead\nStreet, right up here.\" \"How I'd like to go there. I crossed Halstead Street to-day, didn't I?\" At this there was a slight halt in the natural reply. Thoughts are a\nstrangely permeating factor. At her suggestion of going to the theatre,\nthe unspoken shade of disapproval to the doing of those things which\ninvolved the expenditure of money--shades of feeling which arose in the\nmind of Hanson and then in Minnie--slightly affected the atmosphere of\nthe table. Minnie answered \"yes,\" but Carrie could feel that going to\nthe theatre was poorly advocated here. The subject was put off for a\nlittle while until Hanson, through with his meal, took his paper and\nwent into the front room. When they were alone, the two sisters began a somewhat freer\nconversation, Carrie interrupting it to hum a little, as they worked at\nthe dishes. \"I should like to walk up and see Halstead Street, if it isn't too far,\"\nsaid Carrie, after a time. \"Why don't we go to the theatre to-night?\" \"Oh, I don't think Sven would want to go to-night,\" returned Minnie. \"He\nhas to get up so early.\" \"He wouldn't mind--he'd enjoy it,\" said Carrie. \"No, he doesn't go very often,\" returned Minnie. \"Well, I'd like to go,\" rejoined Carrie. \"Let's you and me go.\" Minnie pondered a while, not upon whether she could or would go--for\nthat point was already negatively settled with her--but upon some means\nof diverting the thoughts of her sister to some other topic. \"We'll go some other time,\" she said at last, finding no ready means of\nescape. Carrie sensed the root of the opposition at once. \"I have some money,\" she said. \"You go with me.\" Minnie shook her head. \"He could go along,\" said Carrie. \"No,\" returned Minnie softly, and rattling the dishes to drown the\nconversation. \"He wouldn't.\" It had been several years since Minnie had seen Carrie, and in that time\nthe latter's character had developed a few shades. Naturally timid in\nall things that related to her own advancement, and especially so when\nwithout power or resource, her craving for pleasure was so strong that\nit was the one stay of her nature. She would speak for that when silent\non all else. \"Ask him,\" she pleaded softly. Minnie was thinking of the resource which Carrie's board would add. It\nwould pay the rent and would make the subject of expenditure a little\nless difficult to talk about with her husband. But if Carrie was going\nto think of running around in the beginning there would be a hitch\nsomewhere. Unless Carrie submitted to a solemn round of industry and saw\nthe need of hard work without longing for play, how was her coming to\nthe city to profit them? These thoughts were not those of a cold,\nhard nature at all. They were the serious reflections of a mind\nwhich invariably adjusted itself, without much complaining, to such\nsurroundings as its industry could make for it. At last she yielded enough to ask Hanson. It was a half-hearted\nprocedure without a shade of desire on her part. \"Carrie wants us to go to the theatre,\" she said, looking in upon her\nhusband. Hanson looked up from his paper, and they exchanged a mild\nlook, which said as plainly as anything: \"This isn't what we expected.\" \"I don't care to go,\" he returned. \"What does she want to see?\" \"H. R. Jacob's,\" said Minnie. He looked down at his paper and shook his head negatively. When Carrie saw how they looked upon her proposition, she gained a still\nclearer feeling of their way of life. It weighed on her, but took no\ndefinite form of opposition. \"I think I'll go down and stand at the foot of the stairs,\" she said,\nafter a time. Minnie made no objection to this, and Carrie put on her hat and went\nbelow. \"Where has Carrie gone?\" asked Hanson, coming back into the dining-room\nwhen he heard the door close. \"She said she was going down to the foot of the stairs,\" answered\nMinnie. \"I guess she just wants to look out a while.\" \"She oughtn't to be thinking about spending her money on theatres\nalready, do you think?\" he said. \"She just feels a little curious, I guess,\" ventured Minnie. \"Everything\nis so new.\" \"I don't know,\" said Hanson, and went over to the baby, his forehead\nslightly wrinkled.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-12, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-14 The user is reading a book]\n<User> He was thinking of a full career of vanity and wastefulness which a\nyoung girl might indulge in, and wondering how Carrie could contemplate\nsuch a course when she had so little, as yet, with which to do. On Saturday Carrie went out by herself--first toward the river, which\ninterested her, and then back along Jackson Street, which was then lined\nby the pretty houses and fine lawns which subsequently caused it to\nbe made into a boulevard. She was struck with the evidences of wealth,\nalthough there was, perhaps, not a person on the street worth more than\na hundred thousand dollars. She was glad to be out of the flat, because\nalready she felt that it was a narrow, humdrum place, and that\ninterest and joy lay elsewhere. Her thoughts now were of a more\nliberal character, and she punctuated them with speculations as to the\nwhereabouts of Drouet. She was not sure but that he might call anyhow\nMonday night, and, while she felt a little disturbed at the possibility,\nthere was, nevertheless, just the shade of a wish that he would. On Monday she arose early and prepared to go to work. She dressed\nherself in a worn shirt-waist of dotted blue percale, a skirt of\nlight-brown serge rather faded, and a small straw hat which she had worn\nall summer at Columbia City. Her shoes were old, and her necktie was in\nthat crumpled, flattened state which time and much wearing impart. She made a very average looking shop-girl with the exception of her\nfeatures. These were slightly more even than common, and gave her a\nsweet, reserved, and pleasing appearance. It is no easy thing to get up early in the morning when one is used to\nsleeping until seven and eight, as Carrie had been at home. She gained\nsome inkling of the character of Hanson's life when, half asleep, she\nlooked out into the dining-room at six o'clock and saw him silently\nfinishing his breakfast. By the time she was dressed he was gone, and\nshe, Minnie, and the baby ate together, the latter being just old enough\nto sit in a high chair and disturb the dishes with a spoon. Her spirits\nwere greatly subdued now when the fact of entering upon strange and\nuntried duties confronted her. Only the ashes of all her fine fancies\nwere remaining--ashes still concealing, nevertheless, a few red embers\nof hope. So subdued was she by her weakening nerves, that she ate quite\nin silence going over imaginary conceptions of the character of the\nshoe company, the nature of the work, her employer's attitude. She was\nvaguely feeling that she would come in contact with the great owners,\nthat her work would be where grave, stylishly dressed men occasionally\nlook on. \"Well, good luck,\" said Minnie, when she was ready to go. They had\nagreed it was best to walk, that morning at least, to see if she could\ndo it every day--sixty cents a week for car fare being quite an item\nunder the circumstances. \"I'll tell you how it goes to-night,\" said Carrie. Once in the sunlit street, with labourers tramping by in either\ndirection, the horse-cars passing crowded to the rails with the small\nclerks and floor help in the great wholesale houses, and men and women\ngenerally coming out of doors and passing about the neighbourhood,\nCarrie felt slightly reassured. In the sunshine of the morning, beneath\nthe wide, blue heavens, with a fresh wind astir, what fears, except\nthe most desperate, can find a harbourage? In the night, or the gloomy\nchambers of the day, fears and misgivings wax strong, but out in the\nsunlight there is, for a time, cessation even of the terror of death. Carrie went straight forward until she crossed the river, and then\nturned into Fifth Avenue. The thoroughfare, in this part, was like a\nwalled canon of brown stone and dark red brick. The big windows looked\nshiny and clean. Trucks were rumbling in increasing numbers; men and\nwomen, girls and boys were moving onward in all directions. She met\ngirls of her own age, who looked at her as if with contempt for her\ndiffidence. She wondered at the magnitude of this life and at the\nimportance of knowing much in order to do anything in it at all. Dread\nat her own inefficiency crept upon her. She would not know how, she\nwould not be quick enough. Had not all the other places refused her\nbecause she did not know something or other? She would be scolded,\nabused, ignominiously discharged. It was with weak knees and a slight catch in her breathing that she came\nup to the great shoe company at Adams and Fifth Avenue and entered the\nelevator. When she stepped out on the fourth floor there was no one at\nhand, only great aisles of boxes piled to the ceiling. She stood, very\nmuch frightened, awaiting some one. Presently Mr. Brown came up. He did not seem to recognise her. \"What is it you want?\" he inquired. Carrie's heart sank. \"You said I should come this morning to see about work--\"\n\n\"Oh,\" he interrupted. \"Um--yes. What is your name?\" \"Carrie Meeber.\" \"Yes,\" said he. \"You come with me.\" He led the way through dark, box-lined aisles which had the smell of\nnew shoes, until they came to an iron door which opened into the factory\nproper. There was a large, low-ceiled room, with clacking, rattling\nmachines at which men in white shirt sleeves and blue gingham aprons\nwere working. She followed him diffidently through the clattering\nautomatons, keeping her eyes straight before her, and flushing slightly. They crossed to a far corner and took an elevator to the sixth floor. Out of the array of machines and benches, Mr. Brown signalled a foreman. \"This is the girl,\" he said, and turning to Carrie, \"You go with him.\" He then returned, and Carrie followed her new superior to a little desk\nin a corner, which he used as a kind of official centre. \"You've never worked at anything like this before, have you?\" he\nquestioned, rather sternly. \"No, sir,\" she answered. He seemed rather annoyed at having to bother with such help, but put\ndown her name and then led her across to where a line of girls occupied\nstools in front of clacking machines. On the shoulder of one of the\ngirls who was punching eye-holes in one piece of the upper, by the aid\nof the machine, he put his hand. \"You,\" he said, \"show this girl how to do what you're doing. When you\nget through, come to me.\" The girl so addressed rose promptly and gave Carrie her place. \"It isn't hard to do,\" she said, bending over. \"You just take this so,\nfasten it with this clamp, and start the machine.\" She suited action to word, fastened the piece of leather, which was\neventually to form the right half of the upper of a man's shoe, by\nlittle adjustable clamps, and pushed a small steel rod at the side of\nthe machine. The latter jumped to the task of punching, with sharp,\nsnapping clicks, cutting circular bits of leather out of the side of the\nupper, leaving the holes which were to hold the laces. After observing a\nfew times, the girl let her work at it alone. Seeing that it was fairly\nwell done, she went away. The pieces of leather came from the girl at the machine to her right,\nand were passed on to the girl at her left. Carrie saw at once that an\naverage speed was necessary or the work would pile up on her and all\nthose below would be delayed. She had no time to look about, and bent\nanxiously to her task. The girls at her left and right realised her\npredicament and feelings, and, in a way, tried to aid her, as much as\nthey dared, by working slower. At this task she laboured incessantly for some time, finding relief from\nher own nervous fears and imaginings in the humdrum, mechanical movement\nof the machine. She felt, as the minutes passed, that the room was not\nvery light. It had a thick odour of fresh leather, but that did not\nworry her. She felt the eyes of the other help upon her, and troubled\nlest she was not working fast enough. Once, when she was fumbling at the little clamp, having made a slight\nerror in setting in the leather, a great hand appeared before her eyes\nand fastened the clamp for her. It was the foreman. Her heart thumped so\nthat she could scarcely see to go on. \"Start your machine,\" he said, \"start your machine. Don't keep the line\nwaiting.\" This recovered her sufficiently and she went excitedly on, hardly\nbreathing until the shadow moved away from behind her. Then she heaved a\ngreat breath. As the morning wore on the room became hotter.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-14, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-15 The user is reading a book]\n<User> She felt the need of a\nbreath of fresh air and a drink of water, but did not venture to stir. The stool she sat on was without a back or foot-rest, and she began to\nfeel uncomfortable. She found, after a time, that her back was beginning\nto ache. She twisted and turned from one position to another slightly\ndifferent, but it did not ease her for long. She was beginning to weary. \"Stand up, why don't you?\" said the girl at her right, without any form\nof introduction. \"They won't care.\" Carrie looked at her gratefully. \"I guess I will,\" she said. She stood up from her stool and worked that way for a while, but it was\na more difficult position. Her neck and shoulders ached in bending over. The spirit of the place impressed itself on her in a rough way. She did\nnot venture to look around, but above the clack of the machine she could\nhear an occasional remark. She could also note a thing or two out of the\nside of her eye. \"Did you see Harry last night?\" said the girl at her left, addressing\nher neighbour. \"No.\" \"You ought to have seen the tie he had on. Gee, but he was a mark.\" \"S-s-t,\" said the other girl, bending over her work. The first,\nsilenced, instantly assumed a solemn face. The foreman passed slowly\nalong, eyeing each worker distinctly. The moment he was gone, the\nconversation was resumed again. \"Say,\" began the girl at her left, \"what jeh think he said?\" \"I don't know.\" \"He said he saw us with Eddie Harris at Martin's last night.\" \"No!\" They\nboth giggled. A youth with tan-coloured hair, that needed clipping very badly, came\nshuffling along between the machines, bearing a basket of leather\nfindings under his left arm, and pressed against his stomach. When near\nCarrie, he stretched out his right hand and gripped one girl under the\narm. \"Aw, let me go,\" she exclaimed angrily. \"Duffer.\" He only grinned broadly in return. \"Rubber!\" he called back as she looked after him. There was nothing of\nthe gallant in him. Carrie at last could scarcely sit still. Her legs began to tire and she\nwanted to get up and stretch. Would noon never come? It seemed as if she\nhad worked an entire day. She was not hungry at all, but weak, and her\neyes were tired, straining at the one point where the eye-punch came\ndown. The girl at the right noticed her squirmings and felt sorry for\nher. She was concentrating herself too thoroughly--what she did really\nrequired less mental and physical strain. There was nothing to be done,\nhowever. The halves of the uppers came piling steadily down. Her hands\nbegan to ache at the wrists and then in the fingers, and towards the\nlast she seemed one mass of dull, complaining muscles, fixed in an\neternal position and performing a single mechanical movement which\nbecame more and more distasteful, until as last it was absolutely\nnauseating. When she was wondering whether the strain would ever cease,\na dull-sounding bell clanged somewhere down an elevator shaft, and the\nend came. In an instant there was a buzz of action and conversation. All\nthe girls instantly left their stools and hurried away in an adjoining\nroom, men passed through, coming from some department which opened on\nthe right. The whirling wheels began to sing in a steadily modifying\nkey, until at last they died away in a low buzz. There was an audible\nstillness, in which the common voice sounded strange. Carrie got up and sought her lunch box. She was stiff, a little dizzy,\nand very thirsty. On the way to the small space portioned off by wood,\nwhere all the wraps and lunches were kept, she encountered the foreman,\nwho stared at her hard. \"Well,\" he said, \"did you get along all right?\" \"I think so,\" she replied, very respectfully. \"Um,\" he replied, for want of something better, and walked on. Under better material conditions, this kind of work would not have been\nso bad, but the new socialism which involves pleasant working conditions\nfor employees had not then taken hold upon manufacturing companies. The place smelled of the oil of the machines and the new leather--a\ncombination which, added to the stale odours of the building, was not\npleasant even in cold weather. The floor, though regularly swept every\nevening, presented a littered surface. Not the slightest provision\nhad been made for the comfort of the employees, the idea being that\nsomething was gained by giving them as little and making the work\nas hard and unremunerative as possible. What we know of foot-rests,\nswivel-back chairs, dining-rooms for the girls, clean aprons and curling\nirons supplied free, and a decent cloak room, were unthought of. The\nwashrooms were disagreeable, crude, if not foul places, and the whole\natmosphere was sordid. Carrie looked about her, after she had drunk a tinful of water from a\nbucket in one corner, for a place to sit and eat. The other girls had\nranged themselves about the windows or the work-benches of those of the\nmen who had gone out. She saw no place which did not hold a couple or a\ngroup of girls, and being too timid to think of intruding herself, she\nsought out her machine and, seated upon her stool, opened her lunch on\nher lap. There she sat listening to the chatter and comment about\nher. It was, for the most part, silly and graced by the current slang. Several of the men in the room exchanged compliments with the girls at\nlong range. \"Say, Kitty,\" called one to a girl who was doing a waltz step in a few\nfeet of space near one of the windows, \"are you going to the ball with\nme?\" \"Look out, Kitty,\" called another, \"you'll jar your back hair.\" \"Go on, Rubber,\" was her only comment. As Carrie listened to this and much more of similar familiar badinage\namong the men and girls, she instinctively withdrew into herself. She\nwas not used to this type, and felt that there was something hard and\nlow about it all. She feared that the young boys about would address\nsuch remarks to her--boys who, beside Drouet, seemed uncouth and\nridiculous. She made the average feminine distinction between clothes,\nputting worth, goodness, and distinction in a dress suit, and leaving\nall the unlovely qualities and those beneath notice in overalls and\njumper. She was glad when the short half hour was over and the wheels began to\nwhirr again. Though wearied, she would be inconspicuous. This illusion\nended when another young man passed along the aisle and poked her\nindifferently in the ribs with his thumb. She turned about, indignation\nleaping to her eyes, but he had gone on and only once turned to grin. She found it difficult to conquer an inclination to cry. The girl next her noticed her state of mind. \"Don't you mind,\" she said. \"He's too fresh.\" Carrie said nothing, but bent over her work. She felt as though she\ncould hardly endure such a life. Her idea of work had been so entirely\ndifferent. All during the long afternoon she thought of the city outside\nand its imposing show, crowds, and fine buildings. Columbia City and the\nbetter side of her home life came back. By three o'clock she was sure it\nmust be six, and by four it seemed as if they had forgotten to note the\nhour and were letting all work overtime. The foreman became a true ogre,\nprowling constantly about, keeping her tied down to her miserable task. What she heard of the conversation about her only made her feel sure\nthat she did not want to make friends with any of these. When six\no'clock came she hurried eagerly away, her arms aching and her limbs\nstiff from sitting in one position. As she passed out along the hall after getting her hat, a young machine\nhand, attracted by her looks, made bold to jest with her. \"Say, Maggie,\" he called, \"if you wait, I'll walk with you.\" It was thrown so straight in her direction that she knew who was meant,\nbut never turned to look. In the crowded elevator, another dusty, toil-stained youth tried to make\nan impression on her by leering in her face. One young man, waiting on the walk outside for the appearance of\nanother, grinned at her as she passed. \"Ain't going my way, are you?\" he called jocosely. Carrie turned her face to the west with a subdued heart. As she turned\nthe corner, she saw through the great shiny window the small desk at\nwhich she had applied. There were the crowds, hurrying with the same\nbuzz and energy-yielding enthusiasm. She felt a slight relief, but it\nwas only at her escape.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-15, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-17 The user is reading a book]\n<User> She felt ashamed in the face of better dressed\ngirls who went by. She felt as though she should be better served, and\nher heart revolted. Drouet did not call that evening. After receiving the letter, he had\nlaid aside all thought of Carrie for the time being and was floating\naround having what he considered a gay time. On this particular evening\nhe dined at \"Rector's,\" a restaurant of some local fame, which occupied\na basement at Clark and Monroe Streets. There--after he visited the\nresort of Fitzgerald and Moy's in Adams Street, opposite the imposing\nFederal Building. There he leaned over the splendid bar and swallowed a\nglass of plain whiskey and purchased a couple of cigars, one of which\nhe lighted. This to him represented in part high life--a fair sample of\nwhat the whole must be. Drouet was not a drinker in excess. He was not a\nmoneyed man. He only craved the best, as his mind conceived it, and such\ndoings seemed to him a part of the best. Rector's, with its polished\nmarble walls and floor, its profusion of lights, its show of china and\nsilverware, and, above all, its reputation as a resort for actors and\nprofessional men, seemed to him the proper place for a successful man to\ngo. He loved fine clothes, good eating, and particularly the company and\nacquaintanceship of successful men. When dining, it was a source of keen\nsatisfaction to him to know that Joseph Jefferson was wont to come to\nthis same place, or that Henry E. Dixie, a well-known performer of the\nday, was then only a few tables off. At Rector's he could always obtain\nthis satisfaction, for there one could encounter politicians, brokers,\nactors, some rich young \"rounders\" of the town, all eating and drinking\namid a buzz of popular commonplace conversation. \"That's So-and-so over there,\" was a common remark of these gentlemen\namong themselves, particularly among those who had not yet reached, but\nhoped to do so, the dazzling height which money to dine here lavishly\nrepresented. \"You don't say so,\" would be the reply. \"Why, yes, didn't you know that? Why, he's manager of the Grand Opera\nHouse.\" When these things would fall upon Drouet's ears, he would straighten\nhimself a little more stiffly and eat with solid comfort. If he had any\nvanity, this augmented it, and if he had any ambition, this stirred it. He would be able to flash a roll of greenbacks too some day. As it was,\nhe could eat where THEY did. His preference for Fitzgerald and Moy's Adams Street place was another\nyard off the same cloth. This was really a gorgeous saloon from a\nChicago standpoint. Like Rector's, it was also ornamented with a blaze\nof incandescent lights, held in handsome chandeliers. The floors were of\nbrightly coloured tiles, the walls a composition of rich, dark, polished\nwood, which reflected the light, and coloured stucco-work, which gave\nthe place a very sumptuous appearance. The long bar was a blaze of\nlights, polished woodwork, coloured and cut glassware, and many fancy\nbottles. It was a truly swell saloon, with rich screens, fancy wines,\nand a line of bar goods unsurpassed in the country. At Rector's, Drouet had met Mr. G. W. Hurstwood, manager of Fitzgerald\nand Moy's. He had been pointed out as a very successful and well-known\nman about town. Hurstwood looked the part, for, besides being slightly\nunder forty, he had a good, stout constitution, an active manner, and a\nsolid, substantial air, which was composed in part of his fine clothes,\nhis clean linen, his jewels, and, above all, his own sense of his\nimportance. Drouet immediately conceived a notion of him as being some\none worth knowing, and was glad not only to meet him, but to visit the\nAdams Street bar thereafter whenever he wanted a drink or a cigar. Hurstwood was an interesting character after his kind. He was shrewd and\nclever in many little things, and capable of creating a good impression. His managerial position was fairly important--a kind of stewardship\nwhich was imposing, but lacked financial control. He had risen by\nperseverance and industry, through long years of service, from the\nposition of barkeeper in a commonplace saloon to his present altitude. He had a little office in the place, set off in polished cherry and\ngrill-work, where he kept, in a roll-top desk, the rather simple\naccounts of the place--supplies ordered and needed. The chief executive\nand financial functions devolved upon the owners--Messrs. Fitzgerald and\nMoy--and upon a cashier who looked after the money taken in. For the most part he lounged about, dressed in excellent tailored suits\nof imported goods, a solitaire ring, a fine blue diamond in his tie,\na striking vest of some new pattern, and a watch-chain of solid gold,\nwhich held a charm of rich design, and a watch of the latest make and\nengraving. He knew by name, and could greet personally with a \"Well, old\nfellow,\" hundreds of actors, merchants, politicians, and the general run\nof successful characters about town, and it was part of his success to\ndo so. He had a finely graduated scale of informality and\nfriendship, which improved from the \"How do you do?\" addressed to\nthe fifteen-dollar-a-week clerks and office attaches, who, by long\nfrequenting of the place, became aware of his position, to the \"Why, old\nman, how are you?\" which he addressed to those noted or rich individuals\nwho knew him and were inclined to be friendly. There was a class,\nhowever, too rich, too famous, or too successful, with whom he could not\nattempt any familiarity of address, and with these he was professionally\ntactful, assuming a grave and dignified attitude, paying them the\ndeference which would win their good feeling without in the least\ncompromising his own bearing and opinions. There were, in the last\nplace, a few good followers, neither rich nor poor, famous, nor yet\nremarkably successful, with whom he was friendly on the score of\ngood-fellowship. These were the kind of men with whom he would converse\nlongest and most seriously. He loved to go out and have a good time\nonce in a while--to go to the races, the theatres, the sporting\nentertainments at some of the clubs. He kept a horse and neat trap, had\nhis wife and two children, who were well established in a neat house on\nthe North Side near Lincoln Park, and was altogether a very acceptable\nindividual of our great American upper class--the first grade below the\nluxuriously rich. Hurstwood liked Drouet. The latter's genial nature and dressy appearance\npleased him. He knew that Drouet was only a travelling salesman--and not\none of many years at that--but the firm of Bartlett, Caryoe & Company\nwas a large and prosperous house, and Drouet stood well. Hurstwood\nknew Caryoe quite well, having drunk a glass now and then with him, in\ncompany with several others, when the conversation was general. Drouet\nhad what was a help in his business, a moderate sense of humour, and\ncould tell a good story when the occasion required. He could talk races\nwith Hurstwood, tell interesting incidents concerning himself and his\nexperiences with women, and report the state of trade in the cities\nwhich he visited, and so managed to make himself almost invariably\nagreeable. To-night he was particularly so, since his report to the\ncompany had been favourably commented upon, his new samples had been\nsatisfactorily selected, and his trip marked out for the next six weeks. \"Why, hello, Charlie, old man,\" said Hurstwood, as Drouet came in that\nevening about eight o'clock. \"How goes it?\" The room was crowded. Drouet shook hands, beaming good nature, and they strolled towards the\nbar. \"Oh, all right.\" \"I haven't seen you in six weeks. When did you get in?\" \"Friday,\" said Drouet. \"Had a fine trip.\" \"Glad of it,\" said Hurstwood, his black eyes lit with a warmth which\nhalf displaced the cold make-believe that usually dwelt in them. \"What\nare you going to take?\" he added, as the barkeeper, in snowy jacket and\ntie, leaned toward them from behind the bar. \"Old Pepper,\" said Drouet. \"A little of the same for me,\" put in Hurstwood. \"How long are you in town this time?\" inquired Hurstwood. \"Only until Wednesday. I'm going up to St. Paul.\" \"George Evans was in here Saturday and said he saw you in Milwaukee last\nweek.\" \"Yes, I saw George,\" returned Drouet. \"Great old boy, isn't he? We had\nquite a time there together.\"\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-17, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-19 The user is reading a book]\n<User> The barkeeper was setting out the glasses and bottle before them, and\nthey now poured out the draught as they talked, Drouet filling his to\nwithin a third of full, as was considered proper, and Hurstwood taking\nthe barest suggestion of whiskey and modifying it with seltzer. \"What's become of Caryoe?\" remarked Hurstwood. \"I haven't seen him\naround here in two weeks.\" \"Laid up, they say,\" exclaimed Drouet. \"Say, he's a gouty old boy!\" \"Made a lot of money in his time, though, hasn't he?\" \"Yes, wads of it,\" returned Drouet. \"He won't live much longer. Barely\ncomes down to the office now.\" \"Just one boy, hasn't he?\" asked Hurstwood. \"Yes, and a swift-pacer,\" laughed Drouet. \"I guess he can't hurt the business very much, though, with the other\nmembers all there.\" \"No, he can't injure that any, I guess.\" Hurstwood was standing, his coat open, his thumbs in his pockets,\nthe light on his jewels and rings relieving them with agreeable\ndistinctness. He was the picture of fastidious comfort. To one not inclined to drink, and gifted with a more serious turn of\nmind, such a bubbling, chattering, glittering chamber must ever seem an\nanomaly, a strange commentary on nature and life. Here come the\nmoths, in endless procession, to bask in the light of the flame. Such\nconversation as one may hear would not warrant a commendation of the\nscene upon intellectual grounds. It seems plain that schemers\nwould choose more sequestered quarters to arrange their plans, that\npoliticians would not gather here in company to discuss anything save\nformalities, where the sharp-eared may hear, and it would scarcely be\njustified on the score of thirst, for the majority of those who frequent\nthese more gorgeous places have no craving for liquor. Nevertheless,\nthe fact that here men gather, here chatter, here love to pass and rub\nelbows, must be explained upon some grounds. It must be that a strange\nbundle of passions and vague desires give rise to such a curious social\ninstitution or it would not be. Drouet, for one, was lured as much by his longing for pleasure as by his\ndesire to shine among his betters. The many friends he met here dropped\nin because they craved, without, perhaps, consciously analysing it, the\ncompany, the glow, the atmosphere which they found. One might take it,\nafter all, as an augur of the better social order, for the things which\nthey satisfied here, though sensory, were not evil. No evil could come\nout of the contemplation of an expensively decorated chamber. The\nworst effect of such a thing would be, perhaps, to stir up in the\nmaterial-minded an ambition to arrange their lives upon a similarly\nsplendid basis. In the last analysis, that would scarcely be called the\nfault of the decorations, but rather of the innate trend of the mind. That such a scene might stir the less expensively dressed to emulate the\nmore expensively dressed could scarcely be laid at the door of anything\nsave the false ambition of the minds of those so affected. Remove the\nelement so thoroughly and solely complained of--liquor--and there would\nnot be one to gainsay the qualities of beauty and enthusiasm which would\nremain. The pleased eye with which our modern restaurants of fashion are\nlooked upon is proof of this assertion. Yet, here is the fact of the lighted chamber, the dressy, greedy\ncompany, the small, self-interested palaver, the disorganized, aimless,\nwandering mental action which it represents--the love of light and show\nand finery which, to one outside, under the serene light of the eternal\nstars, must seem a strange and shiny thing. Under the stars and sweeping\nnight winds, what a lamp-flower it must bloom; a strange, glittering\nnight-flower, odour-yielding, insect-drawing, insect-infested rose of\npleasure. \"See that fellow coming in there?\" said Hurstwood, glancing at a\ngentleman just entering, arrayed in a high hat and Prince Albert coat,\nhis fat cheeks puffed and red as with good eating. \"No, where?\" said Drouet. \"There,\" said Hurstwood, indicating the direction by a cast of his eye,\n\"the man with the silk hat.\" \"Oh, yes,\" said Drouet, now affecting not to see. \"Who is he?\" \"That's Jules Wallace, the spiritualist.\" Drouet followed him with his eyes, much interested. \"Doesn't look much like a man who sees spirits, does he?\" said Drouet. \"Oh, I don't know,\" returned Hurstwood. \"He's got the money, all right,\"\nand a little twinkle passed over his eyes. \"I don't go much on those things, do you?\" asked Drouet. \"Well, you never can tell,\" said Hurstwood. \"There may be something to\nit. I wouldn't bother about it myself, though. By the way,\" he added,\n\"are you going anywhere to-night?\" \"'The Hole in the Ground,'\" said Drouet, mentioning the popular farce of\nthe time. \"Well, you'd better be going. It's half after eight already,\" and he\ndrew out his watch. The crowd was already thinning out considerably--some bound for the\ntheatres, some to their clubs, and some to that most fascinating of\nall the pleasures--for the type of man there represented, at least--the\nladies. \"Yes, I will,\" said Drouet. \"Come around after the show. I have something I want to show you,\" said\nHurstwood. \"Sure,\" said Drouet, elated. \"You haven't anything on hand for the night, have you?\" added Hurstwood. \"Not a thing.\" \"Well, come round, then.\" \"I struck a little peach coming in on the train Friday,\" remarked\nDrouet, by way of parting. \"By George, that's so, I must go and call on\nher before I go away.\" \"Oh, never mind her,\" Hurstwood remarked. \"Say, she was a little dandy, I tell you,\" went on Drouet\nconfidentially, and trying to impress his friend. \"Twelve o'clock,\" said Hurstwood. \"That's right,\" said Drouet, going out. Thus was Carrie's name bandied about in the most frivolous and gay of\nplaces, and that also when the little toiler was bemoaning her narrow\nlot, which was almost inseparable from the early stages of this, her\nunfolding fate. At the flat that evening Carrie felt a new phase of its atmosphere. The\nfact that it was unchanged, while her feelings were different, increased\nher knowledge of its character. Minnie, after the good spirits Carrie\nmanifested at first, expected a fair report. Hanson supposed that Carrie\nwould be satisfied. \"Well,\" he said, as he came in from the hall in his working clothes, and\nlooked at Carrie through the dining-room door, \"how did you make out?\" \"Oh,\" said Carrie, \"it's pretty hard. I don't like it.\" There was an air about her which showed plainer than any words that she\nwas both weary and disappointed. \"What sort of work is it?\" he asked, lingering a moment as he turned\nupon his heel to go into the bathroom. \"Running a machine,\" answered Carrie. It was very evident that it did not concern him much, save from the side\nof the flat's success. He was irritated a shade because it could not\nhave come about in the throw of fortune for Carrie to be pleased. Minnie worked with less elation than she had just before Carrie arrived. The sizzle of the meat frying did not sound quite so pleasing now that\nCarrie had reported her discontent. To Carrie, the one relief of the\nwhole day would have been a jolly home, a sympathetic reception, a\nbright supper table, and some one to say: \"Oh, well, stand it a little\nwhile. You will get something better,\" but now this was ashes. She began\nto see that they looked upon her complaint as unwarranted, and that she\nwas supposed to work on and say nothing. She knew that she was to pay\nfour dollars for her board and room, and now she felt that it would be\nan exceedingly gloomy round, living with these people. Minnie was no companion for her sister--she was too old. Her thoughts\nwere staid and solemnly adapted to a condition. If Hanson had any\npleasant thoughts or happy feelings he concealed them. He seemed to do\nall his mental operations without the aid of physical expression. He was\nas still as a deserted chamber. Carrie, on the other hand, had the blood\nof youth and some imagination. Her day of love and the mysteries of\ncourtship were still ahead. She could think of things she would like to\ndo, of clothes she would like to wear, and of places she would like to\nvisit.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-19, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-22 The user is reading a book]\n<User> These were the things upon which her mind ran, and it was like\nmeeting with opposition at every turn to find no one here to call forth\nor respond to her feelings. She had forgotten, in considering and explaining the result of her day,\nthat Drouet might come. Now, when she saw how unreceptive these two\npeople were, she hoped he would not. She did not know exactly what she\nwould do or how she would explain to Drouet, if he came. After supper\nshe changed her clothes. When she was trimly dressed she was rather a\nsweet little being, with large eyes and a sad mouth. Her face expressed\nthe mingled expectancy, dissatisfaction, and depression she felt. She\nwandered about after the dishes were put away, talked a little with\nMinnie, and then decided to go down and stand in the door at the foot of\nthe stairs. If Drouet came, she could meet him there. Her face took on\nthe semblance of a look of happiness as she put on her hat to go below. \"Carrie doesn't seem to like her place very well,\" said Minnie to\nher husband when the latter came out, paper in hand, to sit in the\ndining-room a few minutes. \"She ought to keep it for a time, anyhow,\" said Hanson. \"Has she gone\ndownstairs?\" \"Yes,\" said Minnie. \"I'd tell her to keep it if I were you. She might be here weeks without\ngetting another one.\" Minnie said she would, and Hanson read his paper. \"If I were you,\" he said a little later, \"I wouldn't let her stand in\nthe door down there. It don't look good.\" \"I'll tell her,\" said Minnie. The life of the streets continued for a long time to interest Carrie. She never wearied of wondering where the people in the cars were going\nor what their enjoyments were. Her imagination trod a very narrow round,\nalways winding up at points which concerned money, looks, clothes, or\nenjoyment. She would have a far-off thought of Columbia City now and\nthen, or an irritating rush of feeling concerning her experiences of the\npresent day, but, on the whole, the little world about her enlisted her\nwhole attention. The first floor of the building, of which Hanson's flat was the third,\nwas occupied by a bakery, and to this, while she was standing there,\nHanson came down to buy a loaf of bread. She was not aware of his\npresence until he was quite near her. \"I'm after bread,\" was all he said as he passed. The contagion of thought here demonstrated itself. While Hanson really\ncame for bread, the thought dwelt with him that now he would see what\nCarrie was doing. No sooner did he draw near her with that in mind than\nshe felt it. Of course, she had no understanding of what put it into\nher head, but, nevertheless, it aroused in her the first shade of\nreal antipathy to him. She knew now that she did not like him. He was\nsuspicious. A thought will colour a world for us. The flow of Carrie's meditations\nhad been disturbed, and Hanson had not long gone upstairs before she\nfollowed. She had realised with the lapse of the quarter hours that\nDrouet was not coming, and somehow she felt a little resentful, a little\nas if she had been forsaken--was not good enough. She went upstairs,\nwhere everything was silent. Minnie was sewing by a lamp at the table. Hanson had already turned in for the night. In her weariness and\ndisappointment Carrie did no more than announce that she was going to\nbed. \"Yes, you'd better,\" returned Minnie. \"You've got to get up early, you\nknow.\" The morning was no better. Hanson was just going out the door as Carrie\ncame from her room. Minnie tried to talk with her during breakfast, but\nthere was not much of interest which they could mutually discuss. As on\nthe previous morning, Carrie walked down town, for she began to realise\nnow that her four-fifty would not even allow her car fare after she paid\nher board. This seemed a miserable arrangement. But the morning light\nswept away the first misgivings of the day, as morning light is ever\nwont to do. At the shoe factory she put in a long day, scarcely so wearisome as the\npreceding, but considerably less novel. The head foreman, on his round,\nstopped by her machine. \"Where did you come from?\" he inquired. \"Mr. Brown hired me,\" she replied. \"Oh, he did, eh!\" and then, \"See that you keep things going.\" The machine girls impressed her even less favourably. They seemed\nsatisfied with their lot, and were in a sense \"common.\" Carrie had more\nimagination than they. She was not used to slang. Her instinct in the\nmatter of dress was naturally better. She disliked to listen to the girl\nnext to her, who was rather hardened by experience. \"I'm going to quit this,\" she heard her remark to her neighbour. \"What\nwith the stipend and being up late, it's too much for me health.\" They were free with the fellows, young and old, about the place, and\nexchanged banter in rude phrases, which at first shocked her. She saw\nthat she was taken to be of the same sort and addressed accordingly. \"Hello,\" remarked one of the stout-wristed sole-workers to her at noon. \"You're a daisy.\" He really expected to hear the common \"Aw! go chase\nyourself!\" in return, and was sufficiently abashed, by Carrie's silently\nmoving away, to retreat, awkwardly grinning. That night at the flat she was even more lonely--the dull situation\nwas becoming harder to endure. She could see that the Hansons seldom\nor never had any company. Standing at the street door looking out,\nshe ventured to walk out a little way. Her easy gait and idle manner\nattracted attention of an offensive but common sort. She was slightly\ntaken back at the overtures of a well-dressed man of thirty, who in\npassing looked at her, reduced his pace, turned back, and said:\n\n\"Out for a little stroll, are you, this evening?\" Carrie looked at him in amazement, and then summoned sufficient thought\nto reply: \"Why, I don't know you,\" backing away as she did so. \"Oh, that don't matter,\" said the other affably. She bandied no more words with him, but hurried away, reaching her own\ndoor quite out of breath. There was something in the man's look which\nfrightened her. During the remainder of the week it was very much the same. One or two\nnights she found herself too tired to walk home, and expended car fare. She was not very strong, and sitting all day affected her back. She went\nto bed one night before Hanson. Transplantation is not always successful in the matter of flowers or\nmaidens. It requires sometimes a richer soil, a better atmosphere\nto continue even a natural growth. It would have been better if her\nacclimatization had been more gradual--less rigid. She would have done\nbetter if she had not secured a position so quickly, and had seen more\nof the city which she constantly troubled to know about. On the first morning it rained she found that she had no umbrella. Minnie loaned her one of hers, which was worn and faded. There was the\nkind of vanity in Carrie that troubled at this. She went to one of the\ngreat department stores and bought herself one, using a dollar and a\nquarter of her small store to pay for it. \"What did you do that for, Carrie?\" asked Minnie when she saw it. \"Oh, I need one,\" said Carrie. \"You foolish girl.\" Carrie resented this, though she did not reply. She was not going to be\na common shop-girl, she thought; they need not think it, either. On the first Saturday night Carrie paid her board, four dollars. Minnie\nhad a quaver of conscience as she took it, but did not know how to\nexplain to Hanson if she took less. That worthy gave up just four\ndollars less toward the household expenses with a smile of satisfaction. He contemplated increasing his Building and Loan payments. As for\nCarrie, she studied over the problem of finding clothes and amusement\non fifty cents a week. She brooded over this until she was in a state of\nmental rebellion. \"I'm going up the street for a walk,\" she said after supper. \"Not alone, are you?\" asked Hanson. \"Yes,\" returned Carrie. \"I wouldn't,\" said Minnie. \"I want to see SOMETHING,\" said Carrie, and by the tone she put into\nthe last word they realised for the first time she was not pleased with\nthem. \"What's the matter with her?\" asked Hanson, when she went into the front\nroom to get her hat. \"I don't know,\" said Minnie. \"Well, she ought to know better than to want to go out alone.\"\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-22, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-24 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Carrie did not go very far, after all. She returned and stood in the\ndoor. The next day they went out to Garfield Park, but it did not please\nher. She did not look well enough. In the shop next day she heard the\nhighly coloured reports which girls give of their trivial amusements. They had been happy. On several days it rained and she used up car fare. One night she got thoroughly soaked, going to catch the car at Van Buren\nStreet. All that evening she sat alone in the front room looking out\nupon the street, where the lights were reflected on the wet pavements,\nthinking. She had imagination enough to be moody. On Saturday she paid another four dollars and pocketed her fifty cents\nin despair. The speaking acquaintanceship which she formed with some of\nthe girls at the shop discovered to her the fact that they had more of\ntheir earnings to use for themselves than she did. They had young men\nof the kind whom she, since her experience with Drouet, felt above, who\ntook them about. She came to thoroughly dislike the light-headed young\nfellows of the shop. Not one of them had a show of refinement. She saw\nonly their workday side. There came a day when the first premonitory blast of winter swept over\nthe city. It scudded the fleecy clouds in the heavens, trailed long,\nthin streamers of smoke from the tall stacks, and raced about the\nstreets and corners in sharp and sudden puffs. Carrie now felt the\nproblem of winter clothes. What was she to do? She had no winter jacket,\nno hat, no shoes. It was difficult to speak to Minnie about this, but at\nlast she summoned the courage. \"I don't know what I'm going to do about clothes,\" she said one evening\nwhen they were together. \"I need a hat.\" Minnie looked serious. \"Why don't you keep part of your money and buy yourself one?\" she\nsuggested, worried over the situation which the withholding of Carrie's\nmoney would create. \"I'd like to for a week or so, if you don't mind,\" ventured Carrie. \"Could you pay two dollars?\" asked Minnie. Carrie readily acquiesced, glad to escape the trying situation, and\nliberal now that she saw a way out. She was elated and began figuring at\nonce. She needed a hat first of all. How Minnie explained to Hanson she\nnever knew. He said nothing at all, but there were thoughts in the air\nwhich left disagreeable impressions. The new arrangement might have worked if sickness had not intervened. It\nblew up cold after a rain one afternoon when Carrie was still without\na jacket. She came out of the warm shop at six and shivered as the wind\nstruck her. In the morning she was sneezing, and going down town made\nit worse. That day her bones ached and she felt light-headed. Towards\nevening she felt very ill, and when she reached home was not hungry. Minnie noticed her drooping actions and asked her about herself. \"I don't know,\" said Carrie. \"I feel real bad.\" She hung about the stove, suffered a chattering chill, and went to bed\nsick. The next morning she was thoroughly feverish. Minnie was truly distressed at this, but maintained a kindly demeanour. Hanson said perhaps she had better go back home for a while. When she\ngot up after three days, it was taken for granted that her position was\nlost. The winter was near at hand, she had no clothes, and now she was\nout of work. \"I don't know,\" said Carrie; \"I'll go down Monday and see if I can't get\nsomething.\" If anything, her efforts were more poorly rewarded on this trial than\nthe last. Her clothes were nothing suitable for fall wearing. Her\nlast money she had spent for a hat. For three days she wandered\nabout, utterly dispirited. The attitude of the flat was fast becoming\nunbearable. She hated to think of going back there each evening. Hanson\nwas so cold. She knew it could not last much longer. Shortly she would\nhave to give up and go home. On the fourth day she was down town all day, having borrowed ten cents\nfor lunch from Minnie. She had applied in the cheapest kind of places\nwithout success. She even answered for a waitress in a small restaurant\nwhere she saw a card in the window, but they wanted an experienced girl. She moved through the thick throng of strangers, utterly subdued in\nspirit. Suddenly a hand pulled her arm and turned her about. \"Well, well!\" said a voice. In the first glance she beheld Drouet. He\nwas not only rosy-cheeked, but radiant. He was the essence of sunshine\nand good-humour. \"Why, how are you, Carrie?\" he said. \"You're a daisy. Where have you been?\" Carrie smiled under his irresistible flood of geniality. \"I've been out home,\" she said. \"Well,\" he said, \"I saw you across the street there. I thought it was\nyou. I was just coming out to your place. How are you, anyhow?\" \"I'm all right,\" said Carrie, smiling. Drouet looked her over and saw something different. \"Well,\" he said, \"I want to talk to you. You're not going anywhere in\nparticular, are you?\" \"Not just now,\" said Carrie. \"Let's go up here and have something to eat. George! but I'm glad to see\nyou again.\" She felt so relieved in his radiant presence, so much looked after and\ncared for, that she assented gladly, though with the slightest air of\nholding back. \"Well,\" he said, as he took her arm--and there was an exuberance of\ngood-fellowship in the word which fairly warmed the cockles of her\nheart. They went through Monroe Street to the old Windsor dining-room, which\nwas then a large, comfortable place, with an excellent cuisine and\nsubstantial service. Drouet selected a table close by the window,\nwhere the busy rout of the street could be seen. He loved the changing\npanorama of the street--to see and be seen as he dined. \"Now,\" he said, getting Carrie and himself comfortably settled, \"what\nwill you have?\" Carrie looked over the large bill of fare which the waiter handed her\nwithout really considering it. She was very hungry, and the things she\nsaw there awakened her desires, but the high prices held her attention. \"Half broiled spring chicken--seventy-five. Sirloin steak with\nmushrooms--one twenty-five.\" She had dimly heard of these things, but it\nseemed strange to be called to order from the list. \"I'll fix this,\" exclaimed Drouet. \"Sst! waiter.\" That officer of the board, a full-chested, round-faced negro,\napproached, and inclined his ear. \"Sirloin with mushrooms,\" said Drouet. \"Stuffed tomatoes.\" \"Yassah,\" assented the negro, nodding his head. \"Hashed brown potatoes.\" \"Yassah.\" \"Asparagus.\" \"Yassah.\" \"And a pot of coffee.\" Drouet turned to Carrie. \"I haven't had a thing since breakfast. Just\ngot in from Rock Island. I was going off to dine when I saw you.\" Carrie smiled and smiled. \"What have you been doing?\" he went on. \"Tell me all about yourself. How\nis your sister?\" \"She's well,\" returned Carrie, answering the last query. He looked at her hard. \"Say,\" he said, \"you haven't been sick, have you?\" Carrie nodded. \"Well, now, that's a blooming shame, isn't it? You don't look very well. I thought you looked a little pale. What have you been doing?\" \"Working,\" said Carrie. \"You don't say so! At what?\" She told him. \"Rhodes, Morgenthau and Scott--why, I know that house over here on\nFifth Avenue, isn't it? They're a close-fisted concern. What made you go\nthere?\" \"I couldn't get anything else,\" said Carrie frankly. \"Well, that's an outrage,\" said Drouet. \"You oughtn't to be working for\nthose people. Have the factory right back of the store, don't they?\" \"Yes,\" said Carrie. \"That isn't a good house,\" said Drouet. \"You don't want to work at\nanything like that, anyhow.\" He chatted on at a great rate, asking questions, explaining things about\nhimself, telling her what a good restaurant it was, until the waiter\nreturned with an immense tray, bearing the hot savoury dishes which had\nbeen ordered. Drouet fairly shone in the matter of serving. He appeared\nto great advantage behind the white napery and silver platters of the\ntable and displaying his arms with a knife and fork.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-24, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-27 The user is reading a book]\n<User> As he cut the meat\nhis rings almost spoke. His new suit creaked as he stretched to reach\nthe plates, break the bread, and pour the coffee. He helped Carrie to\na rousing plateful and contributed the warmth of his spirit to her body\nuntil she was a new girl. He was a splendid fellow in the true popular\nunderstanding of the term, and captivated Carrie completely. That little soldier of fortune took her good turn in an easy way. She\nfelt a little out of place, but the great room soothed her and the view\nof the well-dressed throng outside seemed a splendid thing. Ah, what was\nit not to have money! What a thing it was to be able to come in here and\ndine! Drouet must be fortunate. He rode on trains, dressed in such nice\nclothes, was so strong, and ate in these fine places. He seemed quite a\nfigure of a man, and she wondered at his friendship and regard for her. \"So you lost your place because you got sick, eh?\" he said. \"What are\nyou going to do now?\" \"Look around,\" she said, a thought of the need that hung outside this\nfine restaurant like a hungry dog at her heels passing into her eyes. \"Oh, no,\" said Drouet, \"that won't do. How long have you been looking?\" \"Four days,\" she answered. \"Think of that!\" he said, addressing some problematical individual. \"You\noughtn't to be doing anything like that. These girls,\" and he waved an\ninclusion of all shop and factory girls, \"don't get anything. Why, you\ncan't live on it, can you?\" He was a brotherly sort of creature in his demeanour. When he had\nscouted the idea of that kind of toil, he took another tack. Carrie was\nreally very pretty. Even then, in her commonplace garb, her figure was\nevidently not bad, and her eyes were large and gentle. Drouet looked\nat her and his thoughts reached home. She felt his admiration. It was\npowerfully backed by his liberality and good-humour. She felt that she\nliked him--that she could continue to like him ever so much. There was\nsomething even richer than that, running as a hidden strain, in her\nmind. Every little while her eyes would meet his, and by that means the\ninterchanging current of feeling would be fully connected. \"Why don't you stay down town and go to the theatre with me?\" he said,\nhitching his chair closer. The table was not very wide. \"Oh, I can't,\" she said. \"What are you going to do to-night?\" \"Nothing,\" she answered, a little drearily. \"You don't like out there where you are, do you?\" \"Oh, I don't know.\" \"What are you going to do if you don't get work?\" \"Go back home, I guess.\" There was the least quaver in her voice as she said this. Somehow, the\ninfluence he was exerting was powerful. They came to an understanding of\neach other without words--he of her situation, she of the fact that\nhe realised it. \"No,\" he said, \"you can't make it!\" genuine sympathy\nfilling his mind for the time. \"Let me help you. You take some of my\nmoney.\" \"Oh, no!\" she said, leaning back. \"What are you going to do?\" he said. She sat meditating, merely shaking her head. He looked at her quite tenderly for his kind. There were some loose\nbills in his vest pocket--greenbacks. They were soft and noiseless, and\nhe got his fingers about them and crumpled them up in his hand. \"Come on,\" he said, \"I'll see you through all right. Get yourself some\nclothes.\" It was the first reference he had made to that subject, and now she\nrealised how bad off she was. In his crude way he had struck the\nkey-note. Her lips trembled a little. She had her hand out on the table before her. They were quite alone in\ntheir corner, and he put his larger, warmer hand over it. \"Aw, come, Carrie,\" he said, \"what can you do alone? Let me help you.\" He pressed her hand gently and she tried to withdraw it. At this he held\nit fast, and she no longer protested. Then he slipped the greenbacks he\nhad into her palm, and when she began to protest, he whispered:\n\n\"I'll loan it to you--that's all right. I'll loan it to you.\" He made her take it. She felt bound to him by a strange tie of affection\nnow. They went out, and he walked with her far out south toward Polk\nStreet, talking. \"You don't want to live with those people?\" he said in one place,\nabstractedly. Carrie heard it, but it made only a slight impression. \"Come down and meet me to morrow,\" he said, \"and we'll go to the\nmatinee. Will you?\" Carrie protested a while, but acquiesced. \"You're not doing anything. Get yourself a nice pair of shoes and a\njacket.\" She scarcely gave a thought to the complication which would trouble\nher when he was gone. In his presence, she was of his own hopeful,\neasy-way-out mood. \"Don't you bother about those people out there,\" he said at parting. \"I'll help you.\" Carrie left him, feeling as though a great arm had slipped out before\nher to draw off trouble. The money she had accepted was two soft, green,\nhandsome ten-dollar bills. The true meaning of money yet remains to be popularly explained and\ncomprehended. When each individual realises for himself that this thing\nprimarily stands for and should only be accepted as a moral due--that\nit should be paid out as honestly stored energy, and not as a usurped\nprivilege--many of our social, religious, and political troubles will\nhave permanently passed. As for Carrie, her understanding of the moral\nsignificance of money was the popular understanding, nothing more. The\nold definition: \"Money: something everybody else has and I must get,\"\nwould have expressed her understanding of it thoroughly. Some of it she\nnow held in her hand--two soft, green ten-dollar bills--and she felt\nthat she was immensely better off for the having of them. It was\nsomething that was power in itself. One of her order of mind would\nhave been content to be cast away upon a desert island with a bundle of\nmoney, and only the long strain of starvation would have taught her that\nin some cases it could have no value. Even then she would have had no\nconception of the relative value of the thing; her one thought would,\nundoubtedly, have concerned the pity of having so much power and the\ninability to use it. The poor girl thrilled as she walked away from Drouet. She felt ashamed\nin part because she had been weak enough to take it, but her need was so\ndire, she was still glad. Now she would have a nice new jacket! Now she\nwould buy a nice pair of pretty button shoes. She would get stockings,\ntoo, and a skirt, and, and--until already, as in the matter of her\nprospective salary, she had got beyond, in her desires, twice the\npurchasing power of her bills. She conceived a true estimate of Drouet. To her, and indeed to all the\nworld, he was a nice, good-hearted man. There was nothing evil in the\nfellow. He gave her the money out of a good heart--out of a realisation\nof her want. He would not have given the same amount to a poor young\nman, but we must not forget that a poor young man could not, in\nthe nature of things, have appealed to him like a poor young girl. Femininity affected his feelings. He was the creature of an inborn\ndesire. Yet no beggar could have caught his eye and said, \"My God,\nmister, I'm starving,\" but he would gladly have handed out what was\nconsidered the proper portion to give beggars and thought no more about\nit. There would have been no speculation, no philosophising. He had no\nmental process in him worthy the dignity of either of those terms. In\nhis good clothes and fine health, he was a merry, unthinking moth of the\nlamp. Deprived of his position, and struck by a few of the involved and\nbaffling forces which sometimes play upon man, he would have been as\nhelpless as Carrie--as helpless, as non-understanding, as pitiable, if\nyou will, as she. Now, in regard to his pursuit of women, he meant them no harm, because\nhe did not conceive of the relation which he hoped to hold with them as\nbeing harmful.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-27, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-29 The user is reading a book]\n<User> He loved to make advances to women, to have them succumb\nto his charms, not because he was a cold-blooded, dark, scheming\nvillain, but because his inborn desire urged him to that as a chief\ndelight. He was vain, he was boastful, he was as deluded by fine\nclothes as any silly-headed girl. A truly deep-dyed villain could\nhave hornswaggled him as readily as he could have flattered a pretty\nshop-girl. His fine success as a salesman lay in his geniality and the\nthoroughly reputable standing of his house. He bobbed about among men,\na veritable bundle of enthusiasm--no power worthy the name of intellect,\nno thoughts worthy the adjective noble, no feelings long continued in\none strain. A Madame Sappho would have called him a pig; a Shakespeare\nwould have said \"my merry child\"; old, drinking Caryoe thought him\na clever, successful businessman. In short, he was as good as his\nintellect conceived. The best proof that there was something open and commendable about the\nman was the fact that Carrie took the money. No deep, sinister soul with\nulterior motives could have given her fifteen cents under the guise of\nfriendship. The unintellectual are not so helpless. Nature has taught\nthe beasts of the field to fly when some unheralded danger threatens. She has put into the small, unwise head of the chipmunk the untutored\nfear of poisons. \"He keepeth His creatures whole,\" was not written of\nbeasts alone. Carrie was unwise, and, therefore, like the sheep in its\nunwisdom, strong in feeling. The instinct of self-protection, strong in\nall such natures, was roused but feebly, if at all, by the overtures of\nDrouet. When Carrie had gone, he felicitated himself upon her good opinion. By\nGeorge, it was a shame young girls had to be knocked around like that. Cold weather coming on and no clothes. Tough. He would go around to\nFitzgerald and Moy's and get a cigar. It made him feel light of foot as\nhe thought about her. Carrie reached home in high good spirits, which she could scarcely\nconceal. The possession of the money involved a number of points which\nperplexed her seriously. How should she buy any clothes when Minnie\nknew that she had no money? She had no sooner entered the flat than this\npoint was settled for her. It could not be done. She could think of no\nway of explaining. \"How did you come out?\" asked Minnie, referring to the day. Carrie had none of the small deception which could feel one thing and\nsay something directly opposed. She would prevaricate, but it would be\nin the line of her feelings at least. So instead of complaining when she\nfelt so good, she said:\n\n\"I have the promise of something.\" \"Where?\" \"At the Boston Store.\" \"Is it sure promised?\" questioned Minnie. \"Well, I'm to find out to-morrow,\" returned Carrie disliking to draw out\na lie any longer than was necessary. Minnie felt the atmosphere of good feeling which Carrie brought with\nher. She felt now was the time to express to Carrie the state of\nHanson's feeling about her entire Chicago venture. \"If you shouldn't get it--\" she paused, troubled for an easy way. \"If I don't get something pretty soon, I think I'll go home.\" Minnie saw her chance. \"Sven thinks it might be best for the winter, anyhow.\" The situation flashed on Carrie at once. They were unwilling to keep\nher any longer, out of work. She did not blame Minnie, she did not blame\nHanson very much. Now, as she sat there digesting the remark, she was\nglad she had Drouet's money. \"Yes,\" she said after a few moments, \"I\nthought of doing that.\" She did not explain that the thought, however, had aroused all the\nantagonism of her nature. Columbia City, what was there for her? She\nknew its dull, little round by heart. Here was the great, mysterious\ncity which was still a magnet for her. What she had seen only suggested\nits possibilities. Now to turn back on it and live the little old life\nout there--she almost exclaimed against the thought. She had reached home early and went in the front room to think. What\ncould she do? She could not buy new shoes and wear them here. She would\nneed to save part of the twenty to pay her fare home. She did not want\nto borrow of Minnie for that. And yet, how could she explain where she\neven got that money? If she could only get enough to let her out easy. She went over the tangle again and again. Here, in the morning, Drouet\nwould expect to see her in a new jacket, and that couldn't be. The\nHansons expected her to go home, and she wanted to get away, and yet she\ndid not want to go home. In the light of the way they would look on her\ngetting money without work, the taking of it now seemed dreadful. She\nbegan to be ashamed. The whole situation depressed her. It was all\nso clear when she was with Drouet. Now it was all so tangled, so\nhopeless--much worse than it was before, because she had the semblance\nof aid in her hand which she could not use. Her spirits sank so that at supper Minnie felt that she must have had\nanother hard day. Carrie finally decided that she would give the money\nback. It was wrong to take it. She would go down in the morning and hunt\nfor work. At noon she would meet Drouet as agreed and tell him. At this\ndecision her heart sank, until she was the old Carrie of distress. Curiously, she could not hold the money in her hand without feeling some\nrelief. Even after all her depressing conclusions, she could sweep\naway all thought about the matter and then the twenty dollars seemed a\nwonderful and delightful thing. Ah, money, money, money! What a thing it\nwas to have. How plenty of it would clear away all these troubles. In the morning she got up and started out a little early. Her decision\nto hunt for work was moderately strong, but the money in her pocket,\nafter all her troubling over it, made the work question the least\nshade less terrible. She walked into the wholesale district, but as the\nthought of applying came with each passing concern, her heart shrank. What a coward she was, she thought to herself. Yet she had applied so\noften. It would be the same old story. She walked on and on, and finally\ndid go into one place, with the old result. She came out feeling that\nluck was against her. It was no use. Without much thinking, she reached Dearborn Street. Here was the great\nFair store with its multitude of delivery wagons about its long window\ndisplay, its crowd of shoppers. It readily changed her thoughts, she who\nwas so weary of them. It was here that she had intended to come and get\nher new things. Now for relief from distress; she thought she would go\nin and see. She would look at the jackets. There is nothing in this world more delightful than that middle state\nin which we mentally balance at times, possessed of the means, lured by\ndesire, and yet deterred by conscience or want of decision. When Carrie\nbegan wandering around the store amid the fine displays she was in this\nmood. Her original experience in this same place had given her a high\nopinion of its merits. Now she paused at each individual bit of finery,\nwhere before she had hurried on. Her woman's heart was warm with desire\nfor them. How would she look in this, how charming that would make her! She came upon the corset counter and paused in rich reverie as she noted\nthe dainty concoctions of colour and lace there displayed. If she would\nonly make up her mind, she could have one of those now. She lingered in\nthe jewelry department. She saw the earrings, the bracelets, the pins,\nthe chains. What would she not have given if she could have had them\nall! She would look fine too, if only she had some of these things. The jackets were the greatest attraction. When she entered the store,\nshe already had her heart fixed upon the peculiar little tan jacket with\nlarge mother-of-pearl buttons which was all the rage that fall. Still\nshe delighted to convince herself that there was nothing she would\nlike better. She went about among the glass cases and racks where these\nthings were displayed, and satisfied herself that the one she thought\nof was the proper one. All the time she wavered in mind, now persuading\nherself that she could buy it right away if she chose, now recalling\nto herself the actual condition. At last the noon hour was dangerously\nnear, and she had done nothing.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-29, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-02-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> She must go now and return the money. Drouet was on the corner when she came up. \"Hello,\" he said, \"where is the jacket and\"--looking down--\"the shoes?\" Carrie had thought to lead up to her decision in some intelligent way,\nbut this swept the whole fore-schemed situation by the board. \"I came to tell you that--that I can't take the money.\" \"Oh, that's it, is it?\" he returned. \"Well, you come on with me. Let's\ngo over here to Partridge's.\" Carrie walked with him. Behold, the whole fabric of doubt and\nimpossibility had slipped from her mind. She could not get at the points\nthat were so serious, the things she was going to make plain to him. \"Have you had lunch yet? Of course you haven't. Let's go in here,\" and\nDrouet turned into one of the very nicely furnished restaurants off\nState Street, in Monroe. \"I mustn't take the money,\" said Carrie, after they were settled in\na cosey corner, and Drouet had ordered the lunch. \"I can't wear those\nthings out there. They--they wouldn't know where I got them.\" \"What do you want to do,\" he smiled, \"go without them?\" \"I think I'll go home,\" she said, wearily. \"Oh, come,\" he said, \"you've been thinking it over too long. I'll tell\nyou what you do. You say you can't wear them out there. Why don't you\nrent a furnished room and leave them in that for a week?\" Carrie shook her head. Like all women, she was there to object and be\nconvinced. It was for him to brush the doubts away and clear the path if\nhe could. \"Why are you going home?\" he asked. \"Oh, I can't get anything here.\" \"They won't keep you?\" he remarked, intuitively. \"They can't,\" said Carrie. \"I'll tell you what you do,\" he said. \"You come with me. I'll take care\nof you.\" Carrie heard this passively. The peculiar state which she was in made it\nsound like the welcome breath of an open door. Drouet seemed of her\nown spirit and pleasing. He was clean, handsome, well-dressed, and\nsympathetic. His voice was the voice of a friend. \"What can you do back at Columbia City?\" he went on, rousing by the\nwords in Carrie's mind a picture of the dull world she had left. \"There\nisn't anything down there. Chicago's the place. You can get a nice room\nhere and some clothes, and then you can do something.\" Carrie looked out through the window into the busy street. There it was,\nthe admirable, great city, so fine when you are not poor. An elegant\ncoach, with a prancing pair of bays, passed by, carrying in its\nupholstered depths a young lady. \"What will you have if you go back?\" asked Drouet. There was no subtle\nundercurrent to the question. He imagined that she would have nothing at\nall of the things he thought worth while. Carrie sat still, looking out. She was wondering what she could do. They\nwould be expecting her to go home this week. Drouet turned to the subject of the clothes she was going to buy. \"Why not get yourself a nice little jacket? You've got to have it. I'll loan you the money. You needn't worry about taking it. You can get\nyourself a nice room by yourself. I won't hurt you.\" Carrie saw the drift, but could not express her thoughts. She felt more\nthan ever the helplessness of her case. \"If I could only get something to do,\" she said. \"Maybe you can,\" went on Drouet, \"if you stay here. You can't if you go\naway. They won't let you stay out there. Now, why not let me get you a\nnice room? I won't bother you--you needn't be afraid. Then, when you get\nfixed up, maybe you could get something.\" He looked at her pretty face and it vivified his mental resources. She\nwas a sweet little mortal to him--there was no doubt of that. She seemed\nto have some power back of her actions. She was not like the common run\nof store-girls. She wasn't silly. In reality, Carrie had more imagination than he--more taste. It was\na finer mental strain in her that made possible her depression\nand loneliness. Her poor clothes were neat, and she held her head\nunconsciously in a dainty way. \"Do you think I could get something?\" she asked. \"Sure,\" he said, reaching over and filling her cup with tea. \"I'll help\nyou.\" She looked at him, and he laughed reassuringly. \"Now I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll go over here to Partridge's and\nyou pick out what you want. Then we'll look around for a room for you. You can leave the things there. Then we'll go to the show to-night.\" Carrie shook her head. \"Well, you can go out to the flat then, that's all right. You don't need\nto stay in the room. Just take it and leave your things there.\" She hung in doubt about this until the dinner was over. \"Let's go over and look at the jackets,\" he said. Together they went. In the store they found that shine and rustle of\nnew things which immediately laid hold of Carrie's heart. Under the\ninfluence of a good dinner and Drouet's radiating presence, the scheme\nproposed seemed feasible. She looked about and picked a jacket like the\none which she had admired at The Fair. When she got it in her hand it\nseemed so much nicer. The saleswoman helped her on with it, and, by\naccident, it fitted perfectly. Drouet's face lightened as he saw the\nimprovement. She looked quite smart. \"That's the thing,\" he said. Carrie turned before the glass. She could not help feeling pleased as\nshe looked at herself. A warm glow crept into her cheeks. \"That's the thing,\" said Drouet. \"Now pay for it.\" \"It's nine dollars,\" said Carrie. \"That's all right--take it,\" said Drouet. She reached in her purse and took out one of the bills. The woman asked\nif she would wear the coat and went off. In a few minutes she was back\nand the purchase was closed. From Partridge's they went to a shoe store, where Carrie was fitted\nfor shoes. Drouet stood by, and when he saw how nice they looked,\nsaid, \"Wear them.\" Carrie shook her head, however. She was thinking of\nreturning to the flat. He bought her a purse for one thing, and a pair\nof gloves for another, and let her buy the stockings. \"To-morrow,\" he said, \"you come down here and buy yourself a skirt.\" In all of Carrie's actions there was a touch of misgiving. The deeper\nshe sank into the entanglement, the more she imagined that the thing\nhung upon the few remaining things she had not done. Since she had not\ndone these, there was a way out. Drouet knew a place in Wabash Avenue where there were rooms. He showed\nCarrie the outside of these, and said: \"Now, you're my sister.\" He\ncarried the arrangement off with an easy hand when it came to the\nselection, looking around, criticising, opining. \"Her trunk will be here\nin a day or so,\" he observed to the landlady, who was very pleased. When they were alone, Drouet did not change in the least. He talked in\nthe same general way as if they were out in the street. Carrie left her\nthings. \"Now,\" said Drouet, \"why don't you move to-night?\" \"Oh, I can't,\" said Carrie. \"Why not?\" \"I don't want to leave them so.\" He took that up as they walked along the avenue. It was a warm\nafternoon. The sun had come out and the wind had died down. As he talked\nwith Carrie, he secured an accurate detail of the atmosphere of the\nflat. \"Come out of it,\" he said, \"they won't care. I'll help you get along.\" She listened until her misgivings vanished. He would show her about\na little and then help her get something. He really imagined that he\nwould. He would be out on the road and she could be working. \"Now, I'll tell you what you do,\" he said, \"you go out there and get\nwhatever you want and come away.\" She thought a long time about this. Finally she agreed. He would come\nout as far as Peoria Street and wait for her. She was to meet him at\nhalf-past eight.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-02-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-02-03 The user is reading a book]\n<User> At half-past five she reached home, and at six her\ndetermination was hardened. \"So you didn't get it?\" said Minnie, referring to Carrie's story of the\nBoston Store. Carrie looked at her out of the corner of her eye. \"No,\" she answered. \"I don't think you'd better try any more this fall,\" said Minnie. Carrie said nothing. When Hanson came home he wore the same inscrutable demeanour. He washed\nin silence and went off to read his paper. At dinner Carrie felt a\nlittle nervous. The strain of her own plans were considerable, and the\nfeeling that she was not welcome here was strong. \"Didn't find anything, eh?\" said Hanson. \"No.\" He turned to his eating again, the thought that it was a burden to have\nher here dwelling in his mind. She would have to go home, that was all. Once she was away, there would be no more coming back in the spring. Carrie was afraid of what she was going to do, but she was relieved\nto know that this condition was ending. They would not care. Hanson\nparticularly would be glad when she went. He would not care what became\nof her. After dinner she went into the bathroom, where they could not disturb\nher, and wrote a little note. \"Good-bye, Minnie,\" it read. \"I'm not going home. I'm going to stay\nin Chicago a little while and look for work. Don't worry. I'll be all\nright.\" In the front room Hanson was reading his paper. As usual, she helped\nMinnie clear away the dishes and straighten up. Then she said:\n\n\"I guess I'll stand down at the door a little while.\" She could scarcely\nprevent her voice from trembling. Minnie remembered Hanson's remonstrance. \"Sven doesn't think it looks good to stand down there,\" she said. \"Doesn't he?\" said Carrie. \"I won't do it any more after this.\" She put on her hat and fidgeted around the table in the little bedroom,\nwondering where to slip the note. Finally she put it under Minnie's\nhair-brush. When she had closed the hall-door, she paused a moment and wondered what\nthey would think. Some thought of the queerness of her deed affected\nher. She went slowly down the stairs. She looked back up the lighted\nstep, and then affected to stroll up the street. When she reached the\ncorner she quickened her pace. As she was hurrying away, Hanson came back to his wife. \"Is Carrie down at the door again?\" he asked. \"Yes,\" said Minnie; \"she said she wasn't going to do it any more.\" He went over to the baby where it was playing on the floor and began to\npoke his finger at it. Drouet was on the corner waiting, in good spirits. \"Hello, Carrie,\" he said, as a sprightly figure of a girl drew near him. \"Got here safe, did you? Well, we'll take a car.\" Among the forces which sweep and play throughout the universe, untutored\nman is but a wisp in the wind. Our civilisation is still in a middle\nstage, scarcely beast, in that it is no longer wholly guided by\ninstinct; scarcely human, in that it is not yet wholly guided by reason. On the tiger no responsibility rests. We see him aligned by nature with\nthe forces of life--he is born into their keeping and without thought he\nis protected. We see man far removed from the lairs of the jungles,\nhis innate instincts dulled by too near an approach to free-will, his\nfree-will not sufficiently developed to replace his instincts and afford\nhim perfect guidance. He is becoming too wise to hearken always to instincts and desires; he\nis still too weak to always prevail against them. As a beast, the forces\nof life aligned him with them; as a man, he has not yet wholly learned\nto align himself with the forces. In this intermediate stage he\nwavers--neither drawn in harmony with nature by his instincts nor yet\nwisely putting himself into harmony by his own free-will. He is even as\na wisp in the wind, moved by every breath of passion, acting now by his\nwill and now by his instincts, erring with one, only to retrieve by\nthe other, falling by one, only to rise by the other--a creature of\nincalculable variability. We have the consolation of knowing that\nevolution is ever in action, that the ideal is a light that cannot fail. He will not forever balance thus between good and evil. When this jangle\nof free-will instinct shall have been adjusted, when perfect under\nstanding has given the former the power to replace the latter entirely,\nman will no longer vary. The needle of understanding will yet point\nsteadfast and unwavering to the distinct pole of truth. In Carrie--as in how many of our worldlings do they not?--instinct\nand reason, desire and understanding, were at war for the mastery. She\nfollowed whither her craving led. She was as yet more drawn than she\ndrew. When Minnie found the note next morning, after a night of mingled wonder\nand anxiety, which was not exactly touched by yearning, sorrow, or love,\nshe exclaimed: \"Well, what do you think of that?\" \"What?\" said Hanson. \"Sister Carrie has gone to live somewhere else.\" Hanson jumped out of bed with more celerity than he usually displayed\nand looked at the note. The only indication of his thoughts came in\nthe form of a little clicking sound made by his tongue; the sound some\npeople make when they wish to urge on a horse. \"Where do you suppose she's gone to?\" said Minnie, thoroughly aroused. \"I don't know,\" a touch of cynicism lighting his eye. \"Now she has gone\nand done it.\" Minnie moved her head in a puzzled way. \"Oh, oh,\" she said, \"she doesn't know what she has done.\" \"Well,\" said Hanson, after a while, sticking his hands out before him,\n\"what can you do?\" Minnie's womanly nature was higher than this. She figured the\npossibilities in such cases. \"Oh,\" she said at last, \"poor Sister Carrie!\" At the time of this particular conversation, which occurred at 5 A.M.,\nthat little soldier of fortune was sleeping a rather troubled sleep in\nher new room, alone. Carrie's new state was remarkable in that she saw possibilities in it. She was no sensualist, longing to drowse sleepily in the lap of luxury. She turned about, troubled by her daring, glad of her release, wondering\nwhether she would get something to do, wondering what Drouet would do. That worthy had his future fixed for him beyond a peradventure. He could\nnot help what he was going to do. He could not see clearly enough to\nwish to do differently. He was drawn by his innate desire to act the old\npursuing part. He would need to delight himself with Carrie as surely\nas he would need to eat his heavy breakfast. He might suffer the least\nrudimentary twinge of conscience in whatever he did, and in just so far\nhe was evil and sinning. But whatever twinges of conscience he might\nhave would be rudimentary, you may be sure. The next day he called upon Carrie, and she saw him in her chamber. He\nwas the same jolly, enlivening soul. \"Aw,\" he said, \"what are you looking so blue about? Come on out to\nbreakfast. You want to get your other clothes to-day.\" Carrie looked at him with the hue of shifting thought in her large eyes. \"I wish I could get something to do,\" she said. \"You'll get that all right,\" said Drouet. \"What's the use worrying right\nnow? Get yourself fixed up. See the city. I won't hurt you.\" \"I know you won't,\" she remarked, half truthfully. \"Got on the new shoes, haven't you? Stick 'em out. George, they look\nfine. Put on your jacket.\" Carrie obeyed. \"Say, that fits like a T, don't it?\" he remarked, feeling the set of it\nat the waist and eyeing it from a few paces with real pleasure. \"What\nyou need now is a new skirt. Let's go to breakfast.\" Carrie put on her hat. \"Where are the gloves?\" he inquired. \"Here,\" she said, taking them out of the bureau drawer. \"Now, come on,\" he said. Thus the first hour of misgiving was swept away. It went this way on every occasion. Drouet did not leave her much alone. She had time for some lone wanderings, but mostly he filled her hours\nwith sight-seeing. At Carson, Pirie's he bought her a nice skirt and\nshirt waist. With his money she purchased the little necessaries of\ntoilet, until at last she looked quite another maiden. The mirror\nconvinced her of a few things which she had long believed.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-02-03, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-02-05 The user is reading a book]\n<User> She was\npretty, yes, indeed! How nice her hat set, and weren't her eyes pretty. She caught her little red lip with her teeth and felt her first thrill\nof power. Drouet was so good. They went to see \"The Mikado\" one evening, an opera which was\nhilariously popular at that time. Before going, they made off for\nthe Windsor dining-room, which was in Dearborn Street, a considerable\ndistance from Carrie's room. It was blowing up cold, and out of her\nwindow Carrie could see the western sky, still pink with the fading\nlight, but steely blue at the top where it met the darkness. A long,\nthin cloud of pink hung in midair, shaped like some island in a far-off\nsea. Somehow the swaying of some dead branches of trees across the way\nbrought back the picture with which she was familiar when she looked\nfrom their front window in December days at home. She paused and wrung\nher little hands. \"What's the matter?\" said Drouet. \"Oh, I don't know,\" she said, her lip trembling. He sensed something, and slipped his arm over her shoulder, patting her\narm. \"Come on,\" he said gently, \"you're all right.\" She turned to slip on her jacket. \"Better wear that boa about your throat to night.\" They walked north on Wabash to Adams Street and then west. The lights\nin the stores were already shining out in gushes of golden hue. The arc\nlights were sputtering overhead, and high up were the lighted windows\nof the tall office buildings. The chill wind whipped in and out in gusty\nbreaths. Homeward bound, the six o'clock throng bumped and jostled. Light overcoats were turned up about the ears, hats were pulled down. Little shop-girls went fluttering by in pairs and fours, chattering,\nlaughing. It was a spectacle of warm-blooded humanity. Suddenly a pair of eyes met Carrie's in recognition. They were looking\nout from a group of poorly dressed girls. Their clothes were faded and\nloose-hanging, their jackets old, their general make-up shabby. Carrie recognised the glance and the girl. She was one of those who\nworked at the machines in the shoe factory. The latter looked, not quite\nsure, and then turned her head and looked. Carrie felt as if some great\ntide had rolled between them. The old dress and the old machine came\nback. She actually started. Drouet didn't notice until Carrie bumped\ninto a pedestrian. \"You must be thinking,\" he said. They dined and went to the theatre. That spectacle pleased Carrie\nimmensely. The colour and grace of it caught her eye. She had vain\nimaginings about place and power, about far-off lands and magnificent\npeople. When it was over, the clatter of coaches and the throng of fine\nladies made her stare. \"Wait a minute,\" said Drouet, holding her back in the showy foyer where\nladies and gentlemen were moving in a social crush, skirts rustling,\nlace-covered heads nodding, white teeth showing through parted lips. \"Let's see.\" \"Sixty-seven,\" the coach-caller was saying, his voice lifted in a sort\nof euphonious cry. \"Sixty-seven.\" \"Isn't it fine?\" said Carrie. \"Great,\" said Drouet. He was as much affected by this show of finery and\ngayety as she. He pressed her arm warmly. Once she looked up, her even\nteeth glistening through her smiling lips, her eyes alight. As they were\nmoving out he whispered down to her, \"You look lovely!\" They were right\nwhere the coach-caller was swinging open a coach-door and ushering in\ntwo ladies. \"You stick to me and we'll have a coach,\" laughed Drouet. Carrie scarcely heard, her head was so full of the swirl of life. They\nstopped in at a restaurant for a little after-theatre lunch. Just a\nshade of a thought of the hour entered Carrie's head, but there was no\nhousehold law to govern her now. If any habits ever had time to fix upon\nher, they would have operated here. Habits are peculiar things. They\nwill drive the really non-religious mind out of bed to say prayers that\nare only a custom and not a devotion. The victim of habit, when he\nhas neglected the thing which it was his custom to do, feels a little\nscratching in the brain, a little irritating something which comes of\nbeing out of the rut, and imagines it to be the prick of conscience,\nthe still, small voice that is urging him ever to righteousness. If the\ndigression is unusual enough, the drag of habit will be heavy enough\nto cause the unreasoning victim to return and perform the perfunctory\nthing. \"Now, bless me,\" says such a mind, \"I have done my duty,\" when,\nas a matter of fact, it has merely done its old, unbreakable trick once\nagain. Carrie had no excellent home principles fixed upon her. If she had, she\nwould have been more consciously distressed. Now the lunch went off with\nconsiderable warmth. Under the influence of the varied occurrences, the\nfine, invisible passion which was emanating from Drouet, the food, the\nstill unusual luxury, she relaxed and heard with open ears. She was\nagain the victim of the city's hypnotic influence. \"Well,\" said Drouet at last, \"we had better be going.\" They had been dawdling over the dishes, and their eyes had frequently\nmet. Carrie could not help but feel the vibration of force which\nfollowed, which, indeed, was his gaze. He had a way of touching her hand\nin explanation, as if to impress a fact upon her. He touched it now as\nhe spoke of going. They arose and went out into the street. The downtown section was now\nbare, save for a few whistling strollers, a few owl cars, a few\nopen resorts whose windows were still bright. Out Wabash Avenue they\nstrolled, Drouet still pouring forth his volume of small information. He\nhad Carrie's arm in his, and held it closely as he explained. Once in a\nwhile, after some witticism, he would look down, and his eyes would meet\nhers. At last they came to the steps, and Carrie stood up on the first\none, her head now coming even with his own. He took her hand and held it\ngenially. He looked steadily at her as she glanced about, warmly musing. At about that hour, Minnie was soundly sleeping, after a long evening\nof troubled thought. She had her elbow in an awkward position under her\nside. The muscles so held irritated a few nerves, and now a vague scene\nfloated in on the drowsy mind. She fancied she and Carrie were somewhere\nbeside an old coal-mine. She could see the tall runway and the heap\nof earth and coal cast out. There was a deep pit, into which they were\nlooking; they could see the curious wet stones far down where the wall\ndisappeared in vague shadows. An old basket, used for descending, was\nhanging there, fastened by a worn rope. \"Let's get in,\" said Carrie. \"Oh, no,\" said Minnie. \"Yes, come on,\" said Carrie. She began to pull the basket over, and now, in spite of all protest, she\nhad swung over and was going down. \"Carrie,\" she called, \"Carrie, come back\"; but Carrie was far down now\nand the shadow had swallowed her completely. She moved her arm. Now the mystic scenery merged queerly and the place was by waters she\nhad never seen. They were upon some board or ground or something that\nreached far out, and at the end of this was Carrie. They looked about,\nand now the thing was sinking, and Minnie heard the low sip of the\nencroaching water. \"Come on, Carrie,\" she called, but Carrie was reaching farther out. She\nseemed to recede, and now it was difficult to call to her. \"Carrie,\" she called, \"Carrie,\" but her own voice sounded far away, and\nthe strange waters were blurring everything. She came away suffering as\nthough she had lost something. She was more inexpressibly sad than she\nhad ever been in life. It was this way through many shifts of the tired brain, those curious\nphantoms of the spirit slipping in, blurring strange scenes, one with\nthe other. The last one made her cry out, for Carrie was slipping away\nsomewhere over a rock, and her fingers had let loose and she had seen\nher falling. \"Minnie! What's the matter? Here, wake up,\" said Hanson, disturbed, and\nshaking her by the shoulder. \"Wha--what's the matter?\" said Minnie, drowsily. \"Wake up,\" he said, \"and turn over.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-02-05, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-02-07 The user is reading a book]\n<User> You're talking in your sleep.\" A week or so later Drouet strolled into Fitzgerald and Moy's, spruce in\ndress and manner. \"Hello, Charley,\" said Hurstwood, looking out from his office door. Drouet strolled over and looked in upon the manager at his desk. \"When\ndo you go out on the road again?\" he inquired. \"Pretty soon,\" said Drouet. \"Haven't seen much of you this trip,\" said Hurstwood. \"Well, I've been busy,\" said Drouet. They talked some few minutes on general topics. \"Say,\" said Drouet, as if struck by a sudden idea, \"I want you to come\nout some evening.\" \"Out where?\" inquired Hurstwood. \"Out to my house, of course,\" said Drouet, smiling. Hurstwood looked up quizzically, the least suggestion of a smile\nhovering about his lips. He studied the face of Drouet in his wise way,\nand then with the demeanour of a gentleman, said: \"Certainly; glad to.\" \"We'll have a nice game of euchre.\" \"May I bring a nice little bottle of Sec?\" asked Hurstwood. \"Certainly,\"\nsaid Drouet. \"I'll introduce you.\"\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-02-07, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-02-07", "answer": "Caroline Meeber, Carrie, Columbia City, Chicago, train journey, eighteen years old, sister's address, Minnie, Charles H. Drouet, business suit, polite conversation, trading names, trading addresses, Monday night visit, Chicago station, feeling alone, cosmopolitan virtues, half-equipped little knight, resorts, meeting at station, refusing help with bags, Dreiser"}]