“Well,” he said, as he counted it out, “that’s about the last of my money.  I’ll have to get something pretty soon.”

Carrie looked at him askance, half-suspicious of an appeal.

“If I could only hold out a little longer I think I could get something.  Drake is sure to open a hotel here in September.”

“Is he?” said Carrie, thinking of the short month that still remained until that time.

“Would you mind helping me out until then?” he said appealingly.  “I think I’ll be all right after that time.”

“No,” said Carrie, feeling sadly handicapped by fate.

“We can get along if we economies.  I’ll pay you back all right.”

“Oh, I’ll help you,” said Carrie, feeling quite hardhearted at thus forcing him to humbly appeal, and yet her desire for the benefit of her earnings wrung a faint protest from her.

“Why don’t you take anything, George, temporarily?” she said.  “What difference does it make?  Maybe, after a while, you’ll get something better.”

“I will take anything,” he said, relieved, and wincing under reproof.  “I’d just as leave dig on the streets.  Nobody knows me here.”

“Oh, you needn’t do that,” said Carrie, hurt by the pity of it.  “But there must be other things.”

“I’ll get something!” he said, assuming determination.

Then he went back to his paper.

Chapter XXXIX OF LIGHTS AND OF SHADOWS—­THE PARTING OF WORLDS

What Hurstwood got as the result of this determination was more self-assurance that each particular day was not the day.  At the same time, Carrie passed through thirty days of mental distress.

Her need of clothes—­to say nothing of her desire for ornaments-grew rapidly as the fact developed that for all her work she was not to have them.  The sympathy she felt for Hurstwood, at the time he asked her to tide him over, vanished with these newer urgings of decency.  He was not always renewing his request, but this love of good appearance was.  It insisted, and Carrie wished to satisfy it, wished more and more that Hurstwood was not in the way.

Hurstwood reasoned, when he neared the last ten dollars, that he had better keep a little pocket change and not become wholly dependent for car-fare, shaves, and the like; so when this sum was still in his hand he announced himself as penniless.

“I’m clear out,” he said to Carrie one afternoon.  “I paid for some coal this morning, and that took all but ten or fifteen cents.”

“I’ve got some money there in my purse.”

Hurstwood went to get it, starting for a can of tomatoes.  Carrie scarcely noticed that this was the beginning of the new order.  He took out fifteen cents and bought the can with it.  Thereafter it was dribs and drabs of this sort, until one morning Carrie suddenly remembered that she would not be back until close to dinner time.