The Essential Writings of Theodore Dreiser. Theodore DreiserЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter XXVIII

      A Pilgrim, an Outlaw — The Spirit Detained

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

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

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

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

      “Where is he?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “Four minutes,” said the latter.

      He paid for two tickets as circumspectly as possible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “Very well,” said Carrie, who was so disturbed that she could not bring a proper attitude to bear in the matter. She was still nervous to reach Drouet and see what could be the matter. Hurstwood contemplated her and felt this. He was not disturbed that it should be so. He did not trouble because she was moved sympathetically in the matter. It was one of the qualities in her which pleased him exceedingly. He was only thinking how he should explain. Even this was not the most serious thing in his mind, however. His own deed and present flight were the great shadows which weighed upon him.

      “What a fool I was to do that,” he said over and over. “What a mistake!”

      In his sober senses, he could scarcely realise that the thing had been done. He could not begin to feel that he was a fugitive from justice. He had often read of such things, and had thought they must be terrible, but now that the thing was upon him, he only sat and looked into the past. The future was a thing which concerned the Canadian line. He wanted to reach that. As for the rest he surveyed his actions for the evening, and counted them parts of a great mistake.

      “Still,” he said, “what could I have done?”

      Then he would decide to make the best of it, and would begin to do so by starting the whole inquiry over again. It was a fruitless, harassing round, and left him in a queer mood to deal with the proposition he had in the presence of Carrie.

      The train clacked through the yards along the lake front, and ran rather slowly to Twenty-fourth Street. Brakes and signals were visible without. The engine gave short calls with its whistle, and frequently the bell rang. Several brakemen came through, bearing lanterns. They were locking the vestibules and putting the cars in order for a long run.

      Presently it began to gain speed, and Carrie saw the silent streets flashing by in rapid succession. The engine also began its whistle-calls of four parts, with which it signalled danger to important crossings.

      “Is it very far?” asked Carrie. “Not so very,” said Hurstwood. He could hardly repress a smile at her simplicity. He wanted to explain and conciliate her, but he also wanted to be well out of Chicago.

      In the lapse of another half-hour it became apparent to Carrie that it was quite a run to wherever he was taking her, anyhow.

      “Is it in Chicago?” she asked nervously. They were now far beyond the city limits, and the train was scudding across the Indiana line at a great rate.

      “No,” he said, “not where we are going.”

      There was something in the way he said this which aroused her in an instant.

      Her pretty brow began to contract.

      “We are going to