“Well, I do,” he answered. “If I were you I wouldn’t think of it. It’s not much of a profession for a woman.” “It’s better than going hungry,” said Carrie. “If you don’t want me to do that, why don’t you get work yourself?” There was no answer ready for this. He had got used to the suggestion. “Oh, let up,” he answered. The result of this was that she secretly resolved to try. It didn’t matter about him. She was not going to be dragged into poverty and something worse to suit him. She could act. She could get something and then work up. What would he say then? She pictured herself already appearing in some fine performance on Broadway; of going every evening to her dressing-room and making up. Then she would come out at eleven o’clock and see the carriages ranged about, waiting for the people. It did not matter whether she was the star or not. If she were only once in, getting a decent salary, wearing the kind of clothes she liked, having the money to do with, going here and there as she pleased, how delightful it would all be. Her mind ran over this picture all the day long. Hurstwood’s dreary state made its beauty become more and more vivid. Curiously this idea soon took hold of Hurstwood. His vanishing sum suggested that he would need sustenance. Why could not Carrie assist him a little until he could get something? He came in one day with something of this idea in his mind. “I met John B. Drake to-day,” he said. “He’s going to open a hotel here in the fall. He says that he can make a place for me then.” “Who is he?” asked Carrie. “He’s the man that runs the Grand Pacific in Chicago.” “Oh,” said Carrie. “I’d get about fourteen hundred a year out of that.” “That would be good, wouldn’t it?” she said, sympathetically. “If I can only get over this summer,” he added, “I think I’ll be all right. I’m hearing from some of my friends again.” Carrie swallowed this story in all its pristine beauty. She sincerely wished he could get through the summer. He looked so hopeless. “How much money have you left?” “Only fifty dollars.” “Oh, mercy,” she exclaimed, “what will we do? It’s only twenty days until the rent will be due again.” Hurstwood rested his head on his hands and looked blankly at the floor. “Maybe you could get something in the stage line?” he blandly suggested. “Maybe I could,” said Carrie, glad that some one approved of the idea. “I’ll lay my hand to whatever I can get,” he said, now that he saw her brighten up. “I can get something.” She cleaned up the things one morning after he had gone, dressed as neatly as her wardrobe permitted, and set out for Broadway. She did not know that thoroughfare very well. To her it was a wonderful conglomeration of everything great and mighty. The theatres were there—these agencies must be somewhere about.