It was just as I thought. She has demanded her money--and I have but fifteen cents! I helped a man up with a trunk and got ten.--She told me that I would have to get out. It is clear to-night. I shall sleep somewhere in the Park. I can not write any more. * * * * * May 31st. I got some work to do after all--at the height of my despair. I am giving out samples of a hitherto unequaled brand of soap. It was yesterday morning, I met one of the men and asked him where he got the job. He said they wanted more men, so I got on a car and rode down there in haste. I made fifty cents yesterday, for half a day, and a dollar to-day. Thank God! I spent the night before last in the Park, and last night in the room where I am writing. It is in a tenement-house. I paid fifty cents a week for it, and there is a drunken man snoring on the other side of a board partition. I sha'n't go back to the other place, of course, until I get more money. Besides, she has probably rented the room. * * * * * I am so relieved at having gotten something to do. I believe I am even proud of the soap. I am getting used to walking all day; anything so long as one doesn't have the agonizing worry about starvation. I am ill, but I shall keep at it, and answer advertisements meanwhile by mail, till I get something better. I am going out to sit by the river. I can not stand the heat and stench in this room. To-morrow is Sunday. I shall have a long rest. * * * * * June 2d. I did not go back to distribute soap to-day. I have given up the work. I have just seventy cents left in my pocket. The rent of this room is up on June 6th, and the money will last me until then. On June 6th I am going to die. * * * * * --To-day I went to the publisher's. I said: “On June 6th I am going out of town. (Grim humor, that!) On June 6th you will have had the manuscript three weeks and more. I shall have to ask you to have a report by that date, or to return it to me now.” He said: “You shall have the report.” If they will publish the poem, I shall wait. If not, I shall die on June 6th. That is settled. PART III. THE END Listen to me now. I must soon get to the end of this. I mean to tell you about it. I have spent yesterday and to-day going over this journal, explaining things that I had written too briefly, putting in things that ought to be there. I mean to tell everything. When I began this journal it was with the idea that I should be famous, and that then it would be published. Of late I have written it from habit, mainly, never expecting that any one would see it. Now I write again for a reader, _to_ a reader. I know that it will be published. * * * * * The night before last I went down by the river. As well as I can remember, these were the thoughts that came to me. * * * * *