嘉莉妹妹 英文版 Sister Carrie
德莱塞 Theodore Dreiser
Chapter XLV Page 2
"Silence!" exclaimed the captain. "Now, then, gentlemen, thesemen are without beds. They have to have some place to sleep to-night. They can't lie out in the streets. I need twelve centsto put one of them to bed. Who will give it to me?"
No reply.
"Well, we'll have to wait here, boys, until some one does.Twelve cents isn't so very much for one man."
"Here's fifteen," exclaimed a young man, peering forward withstrained eyes. "It's all I can afford."
"All right. Now I have fifteen. Step out of the line," andseizing one by the shoulder, the captain marched him off a littleway and stood him up alone.
Coming back, he resumed his place and began again.
"I have three cents left. These men must be put to bed somehow.There are"--counting--"one, two, three, four, five, six, seven,eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve men. Nine cents more will putthe next man to bed; give him a good, comfortable bed for thenight. I go right along and look after that myself. Who willgive me nine cents?"
One of the watchers, this time a middle-aged man, handed him afive-cent piece.
"Now, I have eight cents. Four more will give this man a bed.Come, gentlemen. We are going very slow this evening. You allhave good beds. How about these?"
"Here you are," remarked a bystander, putting a coin into hishand.
"That," said the captain, looking at the coin, "pays for two bedsfor two men and gives me five on the next one. Who will give meseven cents more?"
"I will," said a voice.
Coming down Sixth Avenue this evening, Hurstwood chanced to crosseast through Twenty-sixth Street toward Third Avenue. He waswholly disconsolate in spirit, hungry to what he deemed an almostmortal extent, weary, and defeated. How should he get at Carrienow? It would be eleven before the show was over. If she came ina coach, she would go away in one. He would need to interruptunder most trying circumstances. Worst of all, he was hungry andweary, and at best a whole day must intervene, for he had notheart to try again to-night. He had no food and no bed.
When he neared Broadway, he noticed the captain's gathering ofwanderers, but thinking it to be the result of a street preacheror some patent medicine fakir, was about to pass on. However, incrossing the street toward Madison Square Park, he noticed theline of men whose beds were already secured, stretching out fromthe main body of the crowd. In the glare of the neighbouringelectric light he recognised a type of his own kind--the figureswhom he saw about the streets and in the lodging-houses, driftingin mind and body like himself. He wondered what it could be andturned back.
There was the captain curtly pleading as before. He heard withastonishment and a sense of relief the oft-repeated words: "Thesemen must have a bed." Before him was the line of unfortunateswhose beds were yet to be had, and seeing a newcomer quietly edgeup and take a position at the end of the line, he decided to dolikewise. What use to contend? He was weary to-night. It was asimple way out of one difficulty, at least. To-morrow, maybe, hewould do better.
Back of him, where some of those were whose beds were safe, arelaxed air was apparent. The strain of uncertainty beingremoved, he heard them talking with moderate freedom and someleaning toward sociability. Politics, religion, the state of thegovernment, some newspaper sensations, and the more notoriousfacts the world over, found mouthpieces and auditors there.Cracked and husky voices pronounced forcibly upon odd matters.Vague and rambling observations were made in reply.
There were squints, and leers, and some dull, ox-like stares fromthose who were too dull or too weary to converse.
Standing tells. Hurstwood became more weary waiting. He thoughthe should drop soon and shifted restlessly from one foot to theother. At last his turn came. The man ahead had been paid forand gone to the blessed line of success. He was now first, andalready the captain was talking for him.
"Twelve cents, gentlemen--twelve cents puts this man to bed. Hewouldn't stand here in the cold if he had any place to go."
hundred to-night," said .
Hurstwood swallowed something that rose to his throat. Hungerand weakness had made a coward of him.
"Here you are," said a stranger, handing money to the captain.
Now the latter put a kindly hand on the ex-manager's shoulder."Line up over there," he said.
Once there, Hurstwood breathed easier. He felt as if the worldwere not quite so bad with such a good man in it. Others seemedto feel like himself about this.
"Captain's a great feller, ain't he?" said the man ahead--alittle, woebegone, helpless-looking sort of individual, wholooked as though he had ever been the sport and care of fortune.
"Yes," said Hurstwood, indifferently.
"Huh! there's a lot back there yet," said a man farther up,leaning out and looking back at the applicants for whom thecaptain was pleading.
"Yes. Must be over a hundred to-night," said another.
"Look at the guy in the cab," observed a third.
A cab had stopped. Some gentleman in evening dress reached out abill to the captain, who took it with simple thanks and turnedaway to his line. There was a general craning of necks as thejewel in the white shirt front sparkled and the cab moved off.Even the crowd gaped in awe.
"That fixes up nine men for the night," said the captain,counting out as many of the line near him. "Line up over there.Now, then, there are only seven. I need twelve cents."
Money came slowly. In the course of time the crowd thinned outto a meagre handful. Fifth Avenue, save for an occasional cab orfoot passenger, was bare. Broadway was thinly peopled withpedestrians. Only now and then a stranger passing noticed thesmall group, handed out a coin, and went away, unheeding.
The captain remained stolid and determined. He talked on, veryslowly, uttering the fewest words and with a certain assurance,as though he could not fail.
"Come; I can't stay out here all night. These men are gettingtired and cold. Some one give me four cents."
There came a time when he said nothing at all. Money was handedhim, and for each twelve cents he singled out a man and put himin the other line. Then he walked up and down as before, lookingat the ground.
The theatres let out. Fire signs disappeared. A clock struckeleven. Another half-hour and he was down to the last two men.
"Come, now," he exclaimed to several curious observers; "eighteencents will fix us all up for the night. Eighteen cents. I havesix. Somebody give me the money. Remember, I have to go over toBrooklyn yet to-night. Before that I have to take these men downand put them to bed. Eighteen cents."
No one responded. He walked to and fro, looking down for severalminutes, occasionally saying softly: "Eighteen cents." It seemedas if this paltry sum would delay the desired culmination longerthan all the rest had. Hurstwood, buoyed up slightly by the longline of which he was a part, refrained with an effort fromgroaning, he was so weak.
At last a lady in opera cape and rustling skirts came down FifthAvenue, accompanied by her escort. Hurstwood gazed wearily,reminded by her both of Carrie in her new world and of the timewhen he had escorted his own wife in like manner.
While he was gazing, she turned and, looking at the remarkablecompany, sent her escort over. He came, holding a bill in hisfingers, all elegant and graceful.
"Here you are," he said.
"Thanks," said the captain, turning to the two remainingapplicants. "Now we have some for to-morrow night," he added.
Therewith he lined up the last two and proceeded to the head,counting as he went.
"One hundred and thirty-seven," he announced. "Now, boys, lineup. Right dress there. We won't be much longer about this.Steady, now."
He placed himself at the head and called out "Forward." Hurstwoodmoved with the line. Across Fifth Avenue, through Madison Squareby the winding paths, east on Twenty-third Street, and down ThirdAvenue wound the long, serpentine company. Midnight pedestriansand loiterers stopped and stared as the company passed. Chattingpolicemen, at various corners, stared indifferently or nodded tothe leader, whom they had seen before. On Third Avenue theymarched, a seemingly weary way, to Eighth Street, where there wasa lodginghouse, closed, apparently, for the night. They wereexpected, however.
Outside in the gloom they stood, while the leader parleyedwithin. Then doors swung open and they were invited in with a"Steady, now."
Some one was at the head showing rooms, so that there was nodelay for keys. Toiling up the creaky stairs, Hurstwood lookedback and saw the captain, watching; the last one of the linebeing included in his broad solicitude. Then he gathered hiscloak about him and strolled out into the night.
"I can't stand much of this," said Hurstwood, whose legs achedhim painfully, as he sat down upon the miserable bunk in thesmall, lightless chamber allotted to him. "I've got to eat, orI'll die."