But she couldn’t “hurt his feelings,” she reflected.  He liked the lordliness of giving largess.

She tried to reduce the frequency of begging by opening accounts and having the bills sent to him.  She had found that staple groceries, sugar, flour, could be most cheaply purchased at Axel Egge’s rustic general store.  She said sweetly to Axel: 

“I think I’d better open a charge account here.”

“I don’t do no business except for cash,” grunted Axel.

She flared, “Do you know who I am?”

“Yuh, sure, I know.  The doc is good for it.  But that’s yoost a rule I made.  I make low prices.  I do business for cash.”

She stared at his red impassive face, and her fingers had the undignified desire to slap him, but her reason agreed with him.  “You’re quite right.  You shouldn’t break your rule for me.”

Her rage had not been lost.  It had been transferred to her husband.  She wanted ten pounds of sugar in a hurry, but she had no money.  She ran up the stairs to Kennicott’s office.  On the door was a sign advertising a headache cure and stating, “The doctor is out, back at——­” Naturally, the blank space was not filled out.  She stamped her foot.  She ran down to the drug store—­the doctor’s club.

As she entered she heard Mrs. Dyer demanding, “Dave, I’ve got to have some money.”

Carol saw that her husband was there, and two other men, all listening in amusement.

Dave Dyer snapped, “How much do you want?  Dollar be enough?”

“No, it won’t!  I’ve got to get some underclothes for the kids.”

“Why, good Lord, they got enough now to fill the closet so I couldn’t find my hunting boots, last time I wanted them.”

“I don’t care.  They’re all in rags.  You got to give me ten dollars——­”

Carol perceived that Mrs. Dyer was accustomed to this indignity.  She perceived that the men, particularly Dave, regarded it as an excellent jest.  She waited—­she knew what would come—­it did.  Dave yelped, “Where’s that ten dollars I gave you last year?” and he looked to the other men to laugh.  They laughed.

Cold and still, Carol walked up to Kennicott and commanded, “I want to see you upstairs.”

“Why—­something the matter?”

“Yes!”

He clumped after her, up the stairs, into his barren office.  Before he could get out a query she stated: 

“Yesterday, in front of a saloon, I heard a German farm-wife beg her husband for a quarter, to get a toy for the baby—­and he refused.  Just now I’ve heard Mrs. Dyer going through the same humiliation.  And I—­I’m in the same position!  I have to beg you for money.  Daily!  I have just been informed that I couldn’t have any sugar because I hadn’t the money to pay for it!”

“Who said that?  By God, I’ll kill any——­”

“Tut.  It wasn’t his fault.  It was yours.  And mine.  I now humbly beg you to give me the money with which to buy meals for you to eat.  And hereafter to remember it.  The next time, I sha’n’t beg.  I shall simply starve.  Do you understand?  I can’t go on being a slave——­”