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When Caroline Meeber boarded the afternoon train for Chicago, her luggage consisted of a small case, a small lunch in a paper box, and a yellow purse, containing her ticket, a paper with her sister’s address in Van Buren Street, and four dollar in money. It was in August, 1889. She was eighteen years or age, bright, modest, and full of the illusions of ignorance and youth. There was the great city, bound more closely by these very trains which came up daily. Columbia City was not so very far away, even once she was in Chicago. The city has its advantages and disadvantages for young people. Some of them the city helps to develop and they become better. Others the city destroys and they become worse. Carrie looked at her sister’s address and dreamt about a new life. “That,” said a voice in her ear,” is one of the prettiest little resorts in Wisconsin.” “Is it?” she answered nervously. For some time she had been thinking of a man behind. She felt him watching her. “Yes, that is a great resort for Chicago people. The hotels are full. You are not familiar with this part of the country, are you?” “Oh, yes I am,” answered Carrie. “That is, I live at Columbia City. I have never been through here, though.” “And so this is your first visit to Chicago,” he observed. “I didn’t say that” she said “Oh,” he answered, “I thought you did.” “Let’s see,” he went on, “I know quite a number of people in your town. Morgenroth the clothier and Gibson the dry goods man.” “Oh, do you?” she interrupted. At last he had found out her interest and sat closer to her. He talked of clothes, his travels, Chicago, and the excitement of that city. “If you are going there, you will enjoy it. Have you relatives?” “I am going to visit my sister,” she explained. “You want to see Lincoln Park,” he said, “and Michigan Boulevard. They are putting up great buildings there. It’s a second New York great. So much to see theatres, crowds, fine houses oh, you’ll like that.” They were nearing Chicago. Signs were everywhere numerous. Trains ran by them. Far away the city was seen. Sister Carrie, as her family called her, looked through the window. “This is Northwest Chicago,” said Drouet. “This is the Chicago River.” She did not hear this very well. Her heart was troubled by a kind of terror. The fact that she was alone and away from home, she could not help but feel a little choked. “Chicago! Chicago!” called the brakeman and opened the door.
