第4章

To the child, the genius with imagination, or the wholly untravelled, the 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 gloom of the world when life is changing from one sphere or condition to another.Ah, the promise of the night.What does it not hold for the weary! What old illusion of hope is not here forever repeated! Says the soul of the toiler to itself, "I shall soon be free.I shall be in the ways and the hosts of the merry.The streets, the lamps, the lighted chamber set for dining, are for me.The theatre, the halls, the parties, the 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 abroad.It is in the air.The dullest feel something which they may not always express or describe.It is the lifting of the burden of toil.

Sister Carrie gazed out of the window.Her companion, affected by her wonder, so contagious are all things, felt anew some interest in the city and pointed out its marvels.

"This is Northwest Chicago," said Drouet."This is the Chicago River," and he pointed to a little muddy creek, crowded with the huge masted wanderers from far-off waters nosing the black-posted banks.With a puff, a clang, and a clatter of rails it was gone.

"Chicago is getting to be a great town," he went on."It's a wonder.You'll find lots to see here."

She did not hear this very well.Her heart was troubled by a kind of terror.The fact that she was alone, away from home, rushing into a great sea of life and endeavour, began to tell.

She could not help but feel a little choked for breath--a little sick as her heart beat so fast.She half closed her eyes and tried to think it was nothing, that Columbia City was only a little way off.

"Chicago! Chicago!" called the brakeman, slamming open the door.

They were rushing into a more crowded yard, alive with the clatter and clang of life.She began to gather up her poor little grip and closed her hand firmly upon her purse.Drouet arose, kicked his legs to straighten his trousers, and seized his clean yellow grip.

"I suppose your people will be here to meet you?" he said."Let me carry your grip."

"Oh, no," she said."I'd rather you wouldn't.I'd rather you wouldn't be with me when I meet my sister."

"All right," he said in all kindness."I'll be near, though, in case she isn't here, and take you out there safely."

"You're so kind," said Carrie, feeling the goodness of such attention in her strange situation.

"Chicago!" called the brakeman, drawing the word out long.They were under a great shadowy train shed, where the lamps were already beginning to shine out, with passenger cars all about and the train moving at a snail's pace.The people in the car were all up and crowding about the door.

"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, rather commonplace woman recognised Carrie on the platform and hurried forward.

"Why, Sister Carrie!" she began, and there was embrace of welcome.

Carrie realised the change of affectional atmosphere at once.

Amid all the maze, uproar, and novelty she felt cold reality taking her by the hand.No world of light and merriment.No round of amusement.Her sister carried with her most of the grimness of shift and toil.

"Why, how are all the folks at home?" she began; "how is father, and mother?"

Carrie answered, but was looking away.Down the aisle, toward the gate leading into the waiting-room and the street, stood Drouet.He was looking back.When he saw that she saw him and was safe with her sister he 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 she felt his absence thoroughly.With her sister she was much alone, a lone figure in a tossing, thoughtless sea.