“Let me look.”

To recover herself she went into the front room while he searched.  Presently she returned.  He had a pencil, and was writing upon an envelope.

“Here’re three,” he said.

Carrie took it and found that one was Mrs. Bermudez, another Marcus Jenks, a third Percy Weil.  She paused only a moment, and then moved toward the door.

“I might as well go right away,” she said, without looking back.

Hurstwood saw her depart with some faint stirrings of shame, which were the expression of a manhood rapidly becoming stultified.  He sat a while, and then it became too much.  He got up and put on his hat.

“I guess I’ll go out,” he said to himself, and went, strolling nowhere in particular, but feeling somehow that he must go.

Carrie’s first call was upon Mrs. Bermudez, whose address was quite the nearest.  It was an old-fashioned residence turned into offices.  Mrs. Bermudez’s offices consisted of what formerly had been a back chamber and a hall bedroom, marked “Private.”

As Carrie entered she noticed several persons lounging about-men, who said nothing and did nothing.

While she was waiting to be noticed, the door of the hall bedroom opened and from it issued two very mannish-looking women, very tightly dressed, and wearing white collars and cuffs.  After them came a portly lady of about forty-five, light-haired, sharp-eyed, and evidently good-natured.  At least she was smiling.

“Now, don’t forget about that,” said one of the mannish women.

“I won’t,” said the portly woman.  “Let’s see,” she added, “where are you the first week in February?” “Pittsburgh,” said the woman.

“I’ll write you there.”

“All right,” said the other, and the two passed out.

Instantly the portly lady’s face became exceedingly sober and shrewd.  She turned about and fixed on Carrie a very searching eye.

“Well,” she said, “young woman, what can I do for you?”

“Are you Mrs. Bermudez?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” said Carrie, hesitating how to begin, “do you get places for persons upon the stage?”

“Yes.”

“Could you get me one?”

“Have you ever had any experience?”

“A very little,” said Carrie.

“Whom did you play with?”

“Oh, with no one,” said Carrie.  “It was just a show gotten——­”

“Oh, I see,” said the woman, interrupting her.  “No, I don’t know of anything now.”

Carrie’s countenance fell.

“You want to get some New York experience,” concluded the affable Mrs. Bermudez.  “We’ll take your name, though.”

Carrie stood looking while the lady retired to her office.

“What is your address?” inquired a young lady behind the counter, taking up the curtailed conversation.

“Mrs. George Wheeler,” said Carrie, moving over to where she was writing.  The woman wrote her address in full and then allowed her to depart at her leisure.