“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.

She decided to stop in at the Madison Square Theatre and ask how to find the theatrical agents.  This seemed the sensible way.  Accordingly, when she reached that theatre she applied to the clerk at the box office.

“Eh?” he said, looking out.  “Dramatic agents?  I don’t know.  You’ll find them in the ‘Clipper,’ though.  They all advertise in that.”

“Is that a paper?” said Carrie.

“Yes,” said the clerk, marveling at such ignorance of a common fact.  “You can get it at the news-stands,” he added politely, seeing how pretty the inquirer was.

Carrie proceeded to get the “Clipper,” and tried to find the agents by looking over it as she stood beside the stand.  This could not be done so easily.  Thirteenth Street was a number of blocks off, but she went back, carrying the precious paper and regretting the waste of time.

Hurstwood was already there, sitting in his place.

“Where were you?” he asked.

“I’ve been trying to find some dramatic agents.”

He felt a little diffident about asking concerning her success.  The paper she began to scan attracted his attention.

“What have you got there?” he asked.

“The ‘Clipper.’  The man said I’d find their addresses in here.”

“Have you been all the way over to Broadway to find that out?  I could have told you.”

“Why didn’t you?” she asked, without looking up.

“You never asked me,” he returned.

She went hunting aimlessly through the crowded columns.  Her mind was distracted by this man’s indifference.  The difficulty of the situation she was facing was only added to by all he did.  Self commiseration brewed in her heart.  Tears trembled along her eyelids but did not fall.  Hurstwood noticed something.