The sum and substance of it was that there was no hope, and they wanted the money with the least trouble possible.  Hurstwood read his doom.  He decided to pay $9,500 to the agent whom they said they would send, keeping $1,300 for his own use.  He telegraphed his acquiescence, explained to the representative who called at the hotel the same day, took a certificate of payment, and told Carrie to pack her trunk.  He was slightly depressed over this newest move at the time he began to make it, but eventually restored himself.  He feared that even yet he might be seized and taken back, so he tried to conceal his movements, but it was scarcely possible.  He ordered Carrie’s trunk sent to the depot, where he had it sent by express to New York.  No one seemed to be observing him, but he left at night.  He was greatly agitated lest at the first station across the border or at the depot in New York there should be waiting for him an officer of the law.

Carrie, ignorant of his theft and his fears, enjoyed the entry into the latter city in the morning.  The round green hills sentineling the broad, expansive bosom of the Hudson held her attention by their beauty as the train followed the line of the stream.  She had heard of the Hudson River, the great city of New York, and now she looked out, filling her mind with the wonder of it.

As the train turned east at Spuyten Duyvil and followed the east bank of the Harlem River, Hurstwood nervously called her attention to the fact that they were on the edge of the city.  After her experience with Chicago, she expected long lines of cars—­a great highway of tracks—­ and noted the difference.  The sight of a few boats in the Harlem and more in the East River tickled her young heart.  It was the first sign of the great sea.  Next came a plain street with five-story brick flats, and then the train plunged into the tunnel.

“Grand Central Station!” called the trainman, as, after a few minutes of darkness and smoke, daylight reappeared.  Hurstwood arose and gathered up his small grip.  He was screwed up to the highest tension.  With Carrie he waited at the door and then dismounted.  No one approached him, but he glanced furtively to and fro as he made for the street entrance.  So excited was he that he forgot all about Carrie, who fell behind, wondering at his self-absorption.  As he passed through the depot proper the strain reached its climax and began to wane.  All at once he was on the sidewalk, and none but cabmen hailed him.  He heaved a great breath and turned, remembering Carrie.

“I thought you were going to run off and leave me,” she said.

“I was trying to remember which car takes us to the Gilsey,” he answered.

Carrie hardly heard him, so interested was she in the busy scene.

“How large is New York?” she asked.

“Oh a million or more,” said Hurstwood.

He looked around and hailed a cab, but he did so in a changed way.