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show went away. " Do they all pay about the same? " she asked.

" Yes. Sometimes you get a little more. This show doesn't pay very

much. "

" I get twelve, " said Carrie.

" Do you? " said the girl. " They pay me fifteen, and you do more work

than I do. I wouldn't stand it if I were you. They're just giving you

less because they think you don't know. You ought to be making

fifteen. "

" Well, I'm not, " said Carrie.

" Well, you'll get more at the next place if you want it, " went on the

girl, who admired Carrie very much. " You do fine, and the manager

knows it. "

To say the truth, Carrie did unconsciously move about with an air

pleasing and somewhat distinctive. It was due wholly to her natural

manner and total lack of self-consciousness.

" Do you suppose I could get more up at the Broadway? "

" Of course you can, " answered the girl. " You come with me when I go.

I'll do the talking. "

Carrie heard this, flushing with thankfulness. She liked this little

gaslight soldier. She seemed so experienced and self-reliant in her

tinsel helmet and military accoutrements.

" My future must be assured if I can always get work this way, " thought

Carrie.

Still, in the morning, when her household duties would infringe upon

her and Hurstwood sat there, a perfect load to contemplate, her fate

seemed dismal and unrelieved. It did not take so very much to feed

them under Hurstwood's close-measured buying, and there would possibly

be enough for rent, but it left nothing else. Carrie bought the shoes

and some other things, which complicated the rent problem very

seriously. Suddenly, a week from the fatal day, Carrie realized that

they were going to run short.

" I don't believe, " she exclaimed, looking into her purse at breakfast,

" that I'll have enough to pay the rent. "

" How much have you? " inquired Hurstwood.

" Well, I've got twenty-two dollars, but there's everything to be paid

for this week yet, and if I use all I get Saturday to pay this, there

won't be any left for next week. Do you think your hotel man will open

his hotel this month? "

" I think so, " returned Hurstwood. " He said he would. "

After a while, Hurstwood said:

" Don't worry about it. Maybe the grocer will wait. He can do that.

We've traded there long enough to make him trust us for a week or two. "

" Do you think he will? " she asked.

" I think so. " On this account, Hurstwood, this very day, looked grocer

Oeslogge clearly in the eye as he ordered a pound of coffee, and said:

" Do you mind carrying my account until the end of every week? "

" No, no, Mr. Wheeler, " said Mr. Oeslogge. " Dat iss all right. "

Hurstwood, still tactful in distress, added nothing to this. It seemed

an easy thing. He looked out of the door, and then gathered up his

coffee when ready and came away. The game of a desperate man had

begun.

Rent was paid, and now came the grocer. Hurstwood managed by paying

out of his own ten and collecting from Carrie at the end of the week.

Then he delayed a day next time settling with the grocer, and so soon

had his ten back, with Oeslogge getting his pay on this Thursday or

Friday for last Saturday's bill.

This entanglement made Carrie anxious for a change of some sort.

Hurstwood did not seem to realize that she had a right to anything. He

schemed to make what she earned cover all expenses, but seemed not to

trouble over adding anything himself.

" He talks about worrying, " thought Carrie. " If he worried enough he

couldn't sit there and wait for me. He'd get something to do. No man

could go seven months without finding something if he tried. "

The sight of him always around in his untidy clothes and gloomy

appearance drove Carrie to seek relief in other places. Twice a week

there were matinees, and then Hurstwood ate a cold snack, which he

prepared himself. Two other days there were rehearsals beginning at

ten in the morning and lasting usually until one. Now, to this Carrie

added a few visits to one or two chorus girls, including the blue-eyed

soldier of the golden helmet. She did it because it was pleasant and a

relief from dullness of the home over which her husband brooded.

The blue-eyed soldier's name was Osborne--Lola Osborne. Her room was

in Nineteenth Street near Fourth Avenue, a block now given up wholly to

office buildings. Here she had a comfortable back room, looking over a

collection of back yards in which grew a number of shade trees pleasant

to see.

" Isn't your home in New York? " she asked of Lola one day.

" Yes; but I can't get along with my people. They always want me to do

what they want. Do you live here? "

" Yes, " said Carrie.

" With your family? "

Carrie was ashamed to say that she was married. She had talked so much

about getting more salary and confessed to so much anxiety about her

future, that now, when the direct question of fact was waiting, she

could not tell this girl.

" With some relatives, " she answered.

Miss Osborne took it for granted that, like herself, Carrie's time was

her own. She invariably asked her to stay, proposing little outings

and other things of that sort until Carrie began neglecting her dinner

hours. Hurstwood noticed it, but felt in no position to quarrel with

her. Several times she came so late as scarcely to have an hour in

which to patch up a meal and start for the theatre.

" Do you rehearse in the afternoons? " Hurstwood once asked, concealing

almost completely the cynical protest and regret which prompted it.

" No; I was looking around for another place, " said Carrie.

As a matter of fact she was, but only in such a way as furnished the

least straw of an excuse. Miss Osborne and she had gone to the office

of the manager who was to produce the new opera at the Broadway and

returned straight to the former's room, where they had been since three

o'clock.

Carrie felt this question to be an infringement on her liberty. She did

not take into account how much liberty she was securing. Only the

latest step, the newest freedom, must not be questioned.

Hurstwood saw it all clearly enough. He was shrewd after his kind, and

yet there was enough decency in the man to stop him from making any

effectual protest. In his almost inexplicable apathy he was content to

droop supinely while Carrie drifted out of his life, just as he was

willing supinely to see opportunity pass beyond his control. He could

not help clinging and protesting in a mild, irritating, and ineffectual

way, however--a way that simply widened the breach by slow degrees.

A further enlargement of this chasm between them came when the manager,

looking between the wings upon the brightly lighted stage where the

chorus was going through some of its glittering evolutions, said to the

master of the ballet:

" Who is that fourth girl there on the right--the one coming round at

the end now? "

" Oh, " said the ballet-master, " that's Miss Madenda. "

" She's good looking. Why don't you let her head that line? "

" I will, " said the man.

" Just do that. She'll look better there than the woman you've got. "

" All right. I will do that, " said the master.

The next evening Carrie was called out, much as if for an error.

" You lead your company to night, " said the master.

" Yes, sir, " said Carrie.

" Put snap into it, " he added. " We must have snap. "

" Yes, sir, " replied Carrie.

Astonished at this change, she thought that the heretofore leader must

be ill; but when she saw her in the line, with a distinct expression of

something unfavorable in her eye, she began to think that perhaps it

was merit.

She had a chic way of tossing her head to one side, and holding her

arms as if for action--not listlessly. In front of the line this

showed up even more effectually.

" That girl knows how to carry herself, " said the manager, another

evening. He began to think that he should like to talk with her. If he

hadn't made it a rule to have nothing to do with the members of the

chorus, he would have approached her most unbendingly.

" Put that girl at the head of the white column, " he suggested to the

man in charge of the ballet.

This white column consisted of some twenty girls, all in snow white

flannel trimmed with silver and blue. Its leader was most stunningly

arrayed in the same colors, elaborated, however, with epaulets and a

belt of silver, with a short sword dangling at one side. Carrie was

fitted for this costume, and a few days later appeared, proud of her

new laurels. She was especially gratified to find that her salary was

now eighteen instead of twelve.

Hurstwood heard nothing about this.

" I'll not give him the rest of my money, " said Carrie. " I do enough.

I am going to get me something to wear. "

As a matter of fact, during this second month she had been buying for

herself as recklessly as she dared, regardless of the consequences.

There were impending more complications rent day, and more extension of

the credit system in the neighborhood. Now, however, she proposed to do

better by herself.

Her first move was to buy a shirt waist, and in studying these she

found how little her money would buy--how much, if she could only use

all. She forgot that if she were alone she would have to pay for a

room and board, and imagined that every cent of her eighteen could be

spent for clothes and things that she liked.

At last she picked upon something, which not only used up all her

surplus above twelve, but invaded that sum. She knew she was going too

far, but her feminine love of finery prevailed. The next day Hurstwood

said:

" We owe the grocer five dollars and forty cents this week. "

" Do we? " said Carrie, frowning a little.

She looked in her purse to leave it.

" I've only got eight dollars and twenty cents altogether. "

" We owe the milkman sixty cents, " added Hurstwood.

" Yes, and there's the coal man, " said Carrie.

Hurstwood said nothing. He had seen the new things she was buying; the

way she was neglecting household duties; the readiness with which she

was slipping out afternoons and staying. He felt that something was

going to happen. All at once she spoke:

" I don't know, " she said; " I can't do it all. I don't earn enough. "

This was a direct challenge. Hurstwood had to take it up. He tried to

be calm.

" I don't want you to do it all, " he said. " I only want a little help

until I can get something to do. "

" Oh, yes, " answered Carrie. " That's always the way. It takes more

than I can earn to pay for things. I don't see what I'm going to do.

" Well, I've tried to get something, " he exclaimed. What do you want me

to do? "

" You couldn't have tried so very hard, " said Carrie. " I got

something. "

" Well, I did, " he said, angered almost to harsh words. " You needn't

throw up your success to me. All I asked was a little help until I

could get something. I'm not down yet. I'll come up all right. "

He tried to speak steadily, but his voice trembled a little.

Carrie's anger melted on the instant. She felt ashamed.

" Well, " she said, " here's the money, " and emptied it out on the table.

" I haven't got quite enough to pay it all. If they can wait until

Saturday, though, I'll have some more. "

" You keep it, " said Hurstwood sadly. " I only want enough to pay the

grocer. "

She put it back, and proceeded to get dinner early and in good time.

Her little bravado made her feel as if she ought to make amends.

In a little while their old thoughts returned to both.

" She's making more than she says, " thought Hurstwood. " She says she's

making twelve, but that wouldn't buy all those things. I don't care.

Let her keep her money. I'll get something again one of these days.

Then she can go to the deuce. "

He only said this in his anger, but it prefigured a possible course of

action and attitude well enough.

" I don't care, " thought Carrie. " He ought to be told to get out and do

something. It isn't right that I should support him. "

In these days Carrie was introduced to several youths, friends of Miss

Osborne, who were of the kind most aptly described as gay and festive.

They called once to get Miss Osborne for an afternoon drive. Carrie

was with her at the time.

" Come and go along, " said Lola.

" No, I can't, " said Carrie.

" Oh, yes, come and go. What have you got to do? "

" I have to be home by five, " said Carrie.

" What for? "

" Oh, dinner. "

" They'll take us to dinner, " said Lola.

" Oh, no, " said Carrie. " I won't go. I can't. "

" Oh, do come. They're awful nice boys. We'll get you back in time.

We're only going for a drive in Central Park. " Carrie thought a while,

and at last yielded.

" Now, I must be back by half-past four, " she said.

The information went in one ear of Lola and out the other.

After Drouet and Hurstwood, there was the least touch of cynicism in

her attitude toward young men--especially of the gay and frivolous

sort. She felt a little older than they. Some of their pretty

compliments seemed silly. Still, she was young in heart and body and

youth appealed to her.

" Oh, we'll be right back, Miss Madenda, " said one of the chaps, bowing.

" You wouldn't think we'd keep you over time, now, would you? "

" Well, I don't know, " said Carrie, smiling.

They were off for a drive--she, looking about and noticing fine

clothing, the young men voicing those silly pleasantries and weak quips

which pass for humor in coy circles. Carrie saw the great park parade

of carriages, beginning at the Fifty-ninth Street entrance and winding

past the Museum of Art to the exit at One Hundred and Tenth Street and

Seventh Avenue. Her eye was once more taken by the show of wealth--the

elaborate costumes, elegant harnesses, spirited horses, and, above all,

the beauty. Once more the plague of poverty galled her, but now she

forgot in a measure her own troubles so far as to forget Hurstwood. He

waited until four, five, and even six. It was getting dark when he got

up out of his chair.

" I guess she isn't coming home, " he said, grimly.

" That's the way, " he thought. " She's getting a start now. I'm out of

it. "

Carrie had really discovered her neglect, but only at a quarter after

five, and the open carriage was now far up Seventh Avenue, near the

Harlem River.

" What time is it? " she inquired. " I must be getting back. "

" A quarter after five, " said her companion, consulting an elegant,

open-faced watch.

" Oh, dear me! " exclaimed Carrie. Then she settled back with a sigh.

" There's no use crying over spilt milk, " she said. " It's too late. "

" Of course it is, " said the youth, who saw visions of a fine dinner

now, and such invigorating talk as would result in a reunion after the

show. He was greatly taken with Carrie. " We'll drive down to

Delmonico's now and have something there, won't we, Orrin? "

" To be sure, " replied Orrin, gaily.

Carrie thought of Hurstwood. Never before had she neglected dinner

without an excuse.

They drove back, and at 6. 15 sat down to dine. It was the Sherry

incident over again, the remembrance of which came painfully back to

Carrie. She remembered Mrs. Vance, who had never called again after

Hurstwood's reception, and Ames.

At this figure her mind halted. It was a strong, clean vision. He

liked better books than she read, better people than she associated

with. His ideals burned in her heart.

" It's fine to be a good actress, " came distinctly back.

What sort of an actress was she?

" What are you thinking about, Miss Madenda? " inquired her merry

companion. " Come, now, let's see if I can guess. "

" Oh, no, " said Carrie. " Don't try. "

She shook it off and ate. She forgot, in part, and was merry. When it

came to the after-theatre proposition, however, she shook her head.

" No, " she said, " I can't. I have a previous engagement. "

" Oh, now, Miss Madenda, " pleaded the youth.

" No, " said Carrie, " I can't. You've been so kind, but you'll have to

excuse me. "

The youth looked exceedingly crestfallen.

" Cheer up, old man, " whispered his companion. " We'll go around,

anyhow. She may change her mind. "

Chapter XL

A PUBLIC DISSENSION--A FINAL APPEAL

There was no after-theatre lark, however, so far as Carrie was

concerned. She made her way homeward, thinking about her absence.

Hurstwood was asleep, but roused up to look as she passed through to

her own bed.

" Is that you? " he said.

" Yes, " she answered.

The next morning at breakfast she felt like apologizing.

" I couldn't get home last evening, " she said.

" Ah, Carrie, " he answered, " what's the use saying that? I don't care.

You needn't tell me that, though. "

" I couldn't, " said Carrie, her color rising. Then, seeing that he

looked as if he said " I know, " she exclaimed: " Oh, all right. I don't

care. "

> From now on, her indifference to the flat was even greater. There

seemed no common ground on which they could talk to one another. She

let herself be asked for expenses. It became so with him that he hated

to do it. He preferred standing off the butcher and baker. He ran up

a grocery bill of sixteen dollars with Oeslogge, laying in a supply of

staple articles, so that they would not have to buy any of those things

for some time to come. Then he changed his grocery. It was the same

with the butcher and several others. Carrie never heard anything of

this directly from him. He asked for such as he could expect, drifting

farther and farther into a situation which could have but one ending.

In this fashion, September went by.

" Isn't Mr. Drake going to open his hotel? " Carrie asked several times.

" Yes. He won't do it before October, though, now. "

Carrie became disgusted. " Such a man, " she said to herself frequently.

More and more she visited. She put most of her spare money in clothes,

which, after all, was not an astonishing amount. At last the opera she

was with announced its departure within four weeks. " Last two weeks of

the Great Comic Opera success ----The--------, " etc., was upon all

billboards and in the newspapers, before she acted.

" I'm not going out on the road, " said Miss Osborne.

Carrie went with her to apply to another manager.

" Ever had any experience? " was one of his questions.

" I'm with the company at the Casino now. "

" Oh, you are? " he said.

The end of this was another engagement at twenty per week.

Carrie was delighted. She began to feel that she had a place in the

world. People recognized ability.

So changed was her state that the home atmosphere became intolerable.

It was all poverty and trouble there, or seemed to be, because it was a

load to bear. It became a place to keep away from. Still she slept

there, and did a fair amount of work, keeping it in order. It was a

sitting place for Hurstwood. He sat and rocked, rocked and read,

enveloped in the gloom of his own fate. October went by, and November.

It was the dead of winter almost before he knew it, and there he sat.

Carrie was doing better, that he knew. Her clothes were improved now,

even fine. He saw her coming and going, sometimes picturing to himself

her rise. Little eating had thinned him somewhat. He had no appetite.

His clothes, too, were a poor man's clothes. Talk about getting

something had become even too threadbare and ridiculous for him. So he

folded his hands and waited--for what, he could not anticipate.

At last, however, troubles became too thick. The hounding of

creditors, the indifference of Carrie, the silence of the flat, and

presence of winter, all joined to produce a climax. It was effected by

the arrival of Oeslogge, personally, when Carrie was there.

" I call about my bill, " said Mr. Oeslogge.

Carrie was only faintly surprised.

" How much is it? " she asked.

" Sixteen dollars, " he replied.

" Oh, that much? " said Carrie. " Is this right? " she asked, turning to

Hurstwood.

" Yes, " he said.

" Well, I never heard anything about it. "

She looked as if she thought he had been contracting some needless

expense.

" Well, we had it all right, " he answered. Then he went to the door.

" I can't pay you anything on that to-day, " he said, mildly.

" Well, when can you? " said the grocer.

" Not before Saturday, anyhow, " said Hurstwood.

" Huh! " returned the grocer. " This is fine. I must have that. I need

the money. "

Carrie was standing farther back in the room, hearing it all. She was

greatly distressed. It was so bad and commonplace. Hurstwood was

annoyed also.

" Well, " he said, " there's no use talking about it now. If you'll come

in Saturday, I'll pay you something on it. "

The grocery man went away.

" How are we going to pay it? " asked Carrie, astonished by the bill. " I

can't do it. "

" Well, you don't have to, " he said. " He can't get what he can't get.

He'll have to wait. "

" I don't see how we ran up such a bill as that, " said Carrie.

" Well, we ate it, " said Hurstwood.

" It's funny, " she replied, still doubting.

" What's the use of your standing there and talking like that, now? " he

asked. " Do you think I've had it alone? You talk as if I'd taken

something. "

" Well, it's too much, anyhow, " said Carrie. " I oughtn't to be made to

pay for it. I've got more than I can pay for now. "

" All right, " replied Hurstwood, sitting down in silence. He was sick

of the grind of this thing.

Carrie went out and there he sat, determining to do something.

There had been appearing in the papers about this time rumors and

notices of an approaching strike on the trolley lines in Brooklyn.

There was general dissatisfaction as to the hours of labor required and

the wages paid. As usual--and for some inexplicable reason--the men

chose the winter for the forcing of the hand of their employers and the

settlement of their difficulties.

Hurstwood had been reading of this thing, and wondering concerning the

huge tie-up which would follow. A day or two before this trouble with

Carrie, it came. On a cold afternoon, when everything was gray and it

threatened to snow, the papers announced that the men had been called

out on all the lines. Being so utterly idle, and his mind filled with

the numerous predictions which had been made concerning the scarcity of

labor this winter and the panicky state of the financial market,

Hurstwood read this with interest. He noted the claims of the striking

motormen and conductors, who said that they had been wont to receive

two dollars a day in times past, but that for a year or more " trippers"

had been introduced, which cut down their chance of livelihood one-

half, and increased their hours of servitude from ten to twelve, and

even fourteen. These " trippers" were men put on during the busy and

rush hours, to take a car out for one trip. The compensation paid for

such a trip was only twenty-five cents. When the rush or busy hours

were over, they were laid off. Worst of all, no man might know when he

was going to get a car. He must come to the barns in the morning and

wait around in fair and foul weather until such time as he was needed.

Two trips were an average reward for so much waiting--a little over

three hours' work for fifty cents. The work of waiting was not

counted.

The men complained that this system was extending, and that the time

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