He was the creature of an inborn desire.
Yet no beggar could have caught his eye and said,
“My God, mister, I’m starving,” but he would gladly have handed out what was considered the proper portion to give beggars and thought no more about it.
There would have been no speculation, no philosophising.
He had no mental process in him worthy the dignity of either of those terms.
In his good clothes and fine health, he was a merry, unthinking moth of the lamp.
Deprived of his position, and struck by a few of the involved and baffling forces which sometimes play upon man, he would have been as helpless as Carrie — as helpless, as non-understanding, as pitiable, if you will, as she.
Now, in regard to his pursuit of women, he meant them no harm, because he did not conceive of the relation which he hoped to hold with them as being harmful.
He loved to make advances to women, to have them succumb to his charms, not because he was a cold-blooded, dark, scheming villain, but because his inborn desire urged him to that as a chief delight.
He was vain, he was boastful, he was as deluded by fine clothes as any silly-headed girl.
A truly deep-dyed villain could have hornswaggled him as readily as he could have flattered a pretty shop-girl.
His fine success as a salesman lay in his geniality and the thoroughly reputable standing of his house.
He bobbed about among men, a veritable bundle of enthusiasm — no power worthy the name of intellect, no thoughts worthy the adjective noble, no feelings long continued in one strain.
A Madame Sappho would have called him a pig; a Shakespeare would have said “my merry child”; old, drinking Caryoe thought him a clever, successful businessman.
In short, he was as good as his intellect conceived.
The best proof that there was something open and commendable about the man was the fact that Carrie took the money.
No deep, sinister soul with ulterior motives could have given her fifteen cents under the guise of friendship.
The unintellectual are not so helpless.
Nature has taught the beasts of the field to fly when some unheralded danger threatens. She has put into the small, unwise head of the chipmunk the untutored fear of poisons.
“He keepeth His creatures whole,” was not written of beasts alone.
Carrie was unwise, and, therefore, like the sheep in its unwisdom, strong in feeling.
The instinct of self-protection, strong in all such natures, was roused but feebly, if at all, by the overtures of Drouet.
When Carrie had gone, he felicitated himself upon her good opinion.
By George, 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 Fitzgerald and Moy’s and get a cigar.
It made him feel light of foot as he thought about her.
Carrie reached home in high good spirits, which she could scarcely conceal.
The possession of the money involved a number of points which perplexed her seriously.
How should she buy any clothes when Minnie knew that she had no money?
She had no sooner entered the flat than this point was settled for her. It could not be done.
She could think of no way 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 say something directly opposed.
She would prevaricate, but it would be in the line of her feelings at least.
So instead of complaining when she felt so good, she said:
“I have the promise of something.”
“Where?”
“At the Boston Store.”
“Is it sure promised?” questioned Minnie.
“Well, I’m to find out tomorrow,” returned Carrie disliking to draw out a lie any longer than was necessary.
Minnie felt the atmosphere of good feeling which Carrie brought with her. She felt now was the time to express to Carrie the state of Hanson’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 her any longer, out of work.
She did not blame Minnie, she did not blame Hanson very much.
Now, as she sat there digesting the remark, she was glad she had Drouet’s money.