The true meaning of money yet remains to be popularly explained andcomprehended. When each individual realises for himself that this thingprimarily stands for and should only be accepted as a moral due--that itshould be paid out as honestly stored energy, and not as a usurpedprivilege--many of our social, religious, and political troubles willhave permanently passed. As for Carrie, her understanding of the moralsignificance of money was the popular understanding, nothing more. Theold definition: "Money: something everybody else has and I must get,"would have expressed her understanding of it thoroughly. Some of it shenow held in her hand--two soft, green ten-dollar bills--and she feltthat she was immensely better off for the having of them. It wassomething that was power in itself. One of her order of mind would havebeen content to be cast away upon a desert island with a bundle ofmoney, and only the long strain of starvation would have taught her thatin some cases it could have no value. Even then she would have had noconception of the relative value of the thing; her one thought would,undoubtedly, have concerned the pity of having so much power and theinability to use it.

The poor girl thrilled as she walked away from Drouet. She felt ashamedin part because she had been weak enough to take it, but her need was sodire, she was still glad. Now she would have a nice new jacket! Now shewould buy a nice pair of pretty button shoes. She would get stockings,too, and a skirt, and, and--until already, as in the matter of herprospective salary, she had got beyond, in her desires, twice thepurchasing power of her bills.

She conceived a true estimate of Drouet. To her, and indeed to all theworld, he was a nice, good-hearted man. There was nothing evil in thefellow. He gave her the money out of a good heart--out of a realisationof her want. He would not have given the same amount to a poor youngman, but we must not forget that a poor young man could not, in thenature of things, have appealed to him like a poor young girl.Femininity affected his feelings. He was the creature of an inborndesire. Yet no beggar could have caught his eye and said, "My God,mister, I'm starving," but he would gladly have handed out what wasconsidered the proper portion to give beggars and thought no more aboutit. There would have been no speculation, no philosophising. He had nomental process in him worthy the dignity of either of those terms. Inhis good clothes and fine health, he was a merry, unthinking moth of thelamp. Deprived of his position, and struck by a few of the involved andbaffling forces which sometimes play upon man, he would have been ashelpless as Carrie--as helpless, as non-understanding, as pitiable, ifyou will, as she.

Now, in regard to his pursuit of women, he meant them no harm, becausehe did not conceive of the relation which he hoped to hold with them asbeing harmful. He loved to make advances to women, to have them succumbto his charms, not because he was a cold-blooded, dark, schemingvillain, but because his inborn desire urged him to that as a chiefdelight. He was vain, he was boastful, he was as deluded by fine clothesas any silly-headed girl. A truly deep-dyed villain could havehornswaggled him as readily as he could have flattered a prettyshop-girl. His fine success as a salesman lay in his geniality and thethoroughly reputable standing of his house. He bobbed about among men, averitable bundle of enthusiasm--no power worthy the name of intellect,no thoughts worthy the adjective noble, no feelings long continued inone strain. A Madame Sappho would have called him a pig; a Shakespearewould have said "my merry child;" old, drinking Caryoe thought him aclever, successful business man. In short, he was as good as hisintellect conceived.

The best proof that there was something open and commendable about theman was the fact that Carrie took the money. No deep, sinister soul withulterior motives could have given her fifteen cents under the guise offriendship. The unintellectual are not so helpless. Nature has taughtthe beasts of the field to fly when some unheralded danger threatens.She has put into the small, unwise head of the chipmunk the untutoredfear of poisons. "He keepeth His creatures whole," was not written ofbeasts alone. Carrie was unwise, and, therefore, like the sheep in itsunwisdom, strong in feeling. The instinct of self-protection, strong inall such natures, was roused but feebly, if at all, by the overtures ofDrouet.

When Carrie had gone, he felicitated himself upon her good opinion. ByGeorge, it was a shame young girls had to be knocked around like that.Cold weather coming on and no clothes. Tough. He would go around toFitzgerald and Moy's and get a cigar. It made him feel light of foot ashe thought about her.

Carrie reached home in high good spirits, which she could scarcelyconceal. The possession of the money involved a number of points whichperplexed her seriously. How should she buy any clothes when Minnie knewthat she had no money? She had no sooner entered the flat than thispoint was settled for her. It could not be done. She could think of noway of explaining.

"How did you come out?" asked Minnie, referring to the day.

Carrie had none of the small deception which could feel one thing andsay something directly opposed. She would prevaricate, but it would bein the line of her feelings at least. So instead of complaining when shefelt so good, she said:

"I have the promise of something."

"Where?"

"At the Boston Store."

"Is it sure promised?" questioned Minnie.

"Well, I'm to find out to-morrow," returned Carrie, disliking to drawout a lie any longer than was necessary.

Minnie felt the atmosphere of good feeling which Carrie brought withher. She felt now was the time to express to Carrie the state ofHanson's feeling about her entire Chicago venture.

"If you shouldn't get it--" she paused, troubled for an easy way.

"If I don't get something pretty soon, I think I'll go home."

Minnie saw her chance.

"Sven thinks it might be best for the winter, anyhow."

The situation flashed on Carrie at once. They were unwilling to keep herany longer, out of work. She did not blame Minnie, she did not blameHanson very much. Now, as she sat there digesting the remark, she wasglad she had Drouet's money.

"Yes," she said after a few moments, "I thought of doing that."

She did not explain that the thought, however, had aroused all theantagonism of her nature. Columbia City, what was there for her? Sheknew its dull, little round by heart. Here was the great, mysteriouscity which was still a magnet for her. What she had seen only suggestedits possibilities. Now to turn back on it and live the little old lifeout there--she almost exclaimed against the thought.

She had reached home early and went in the front room to think. Whatcould she do? She could not buy new shoes and wear them here. She wouldneed to save part of the twenty to pay her fare home. She did not wantto borrow of Minnie for that. And yet, how could she explain where sheeven got that money? If she could only get enough to let her out easy.

She went over the tangle again and again. Here, in the morning, Drouetwould expect to see her in a new jacket, and that couldn't be. TheHansons expected her to go home, and she wanted to get away, and yet shedid not want to go home. In the light of the way they would look on hergetting money without work, the taking of it now seemed dreadful. Shebegan to be ashamed. The whole situation depressed her. It was all soclear when she was with Drouet. Now it was all so tangled, sohopeless--much worse than it was before, because she had the semblanceof aid in her hand which she could not use.

Her spirits sank so that at supper Minnie felt that she must have hadanother hard day. Carrie finally decided that she would give the moneyback. It was wrong to take it. She would go down in the morning and huntfor work. At noon she would meet Drouet as agreed and tell him. At thisdecision her heart sank, until she was the old Carrie of distress.

Curiously, she could not hold the money in her hand without feeling somerelief. Even after all her depressing conclusions, she could sweep awayall thought about the matter and then the twenty dollars seemed awonderful and delightful thing. Ah, money, money, money! What a thingit was to have. How plenty of it would clear away all these troubles.

In the morning she got up and started out a little early. Her decisionto hunt for work was moderately strong, but the money in her pocket,after all her troubling over it, made the work question the least shadeless terrible. She walked into the wholesale district, but as thethought of applying came with each passing concern, her heart shrank.What a coward she was, she thought to herself. Yet she had applied sooften. It would be the same old story. She walked on and on, and finallydid go into one place, with the old result. She came out feeling thatluck was against her. It was no use.

Without much thinking, she reached Dearborn Street. Here was the greatFair store with its multitude of delivery wagons about, its long windowdisplay, its crowd of shoppers. It readily changed her thoughts, she whowas so weary of them. It was here that she had intended to come and gether new things. Now for relief from distress; she thought she would goin and see. She would look at the jackets.

There is nothing in this world more delightful than that middle state inwhich we mentally balance at times, possessed of the means, lured bydesire, and yet deterred by conscience or want of decision. When Carriebegan wandering around the store amid the fine displays she was in thismood. Her original experience in this same place had given her a highopinion of its merits. Now she paused at each individual bit of finery,where before she had hurried on. Her woman's heart was warm with desirefor them. How would she look in this, how charming that would make her!She came upon the corset counter and paused in rich reverie as she notedthe dainty concoctions of colour and lace there displayed. If she wouldonly make up her mind, she could have one of those now. She lingered inthe jewelry department. She saw the earrings, the bracelets, the pins,the chains. What would she not have given if she could have had themall! She would look fine too, if only she had some of these things.

The jackets were the greatest attraction. When she entered the store,she already had her heart fixed upon the peculiar little tan jacket withlarge mother-of-pearl buttons which was all the rage that fall. Stillshe delighted to convince herself that there was nothing she would likebetter. She went about among the glass cases and racks where thesethings were displayed, and satisfied herself that the one she thought ofwas the proper one. All the time she wavered in mind, now persuadingherself that she could buy it right away if she chose, now recalling toherself the actual condition. At last the noon hour was dangerouslynear, and she had done nothing. She must go now and return the money.

Drouet was on the corner when she came up.

"Hello," he said, "where is the jacket and"--looking down--"the shoes?"

Carrie had thought to lead up to her decision in some intelligent way,but this swept the whole fore-schemed situation by the board.

"I came to tell you that--that I can't take the money."

"Oh, that's it, is it?" he returned. "Well, you come on with me. Let'sgo over here to Partridge's."

Carrie walked with him. Behold, the whole fabric of doubt andimpossibility had slipped from her mind. She could not get at the pointsthat were so serious, the things she was going to make plain to him.

"Have you had lunch yet? Of course you haven't. Let's go in here," andDrouet turned into one of the very nicely furnished restaurants offState Street, in Monroe.

"I mustn't take the money," said Carrie, after they were settled in acosey corner, and Drouet had ordered the lunch. "I can't wear thosethings out there. They--they wouldn't know where I got them."

"What do you want to do," he smiled, "go without them?"

"I think I'll go home," she said, wearily.

"Oh, come," he said, "you've been thinking it over too long. I'll tellyou what you do. You say you can't wear them out there. Why don't yourent a furnished room and leave them in that for a week?"

Carrie shook her head. Like all women, she was there to object and beconvinced. It was for him to brush the doubts away and clear the path ifhe could.

"Why are you going home?" he asked.

"Oh, I can't get anything here."

"They won't keep you?" he remarked, intuitively.

"They can't," said Carrie.

"I'll tell you what you do," he said. "You come with me. I'll take careof you."

Carrie heard this passively. The peculiar state which she was in made itsound like the welcome breath of an open door. Drouet seemed of her ownspirit and pleasing. He was clean, handsome, well-dressed, andsympathetic. His voice was the voice of a friend.

"What can you do back at Columbia City?" he went on, rousing by thewords in Carrie's mind a picture of the dull world she had left. "Thereisn't anything down there. Chicago's the place. You can get a nice roomhere and some clothes, and then you can do something."

Carrie looked out through the window into the busy street. There it was,the admirable, great city, so fine when you are not poor. An elegantcoach, with a prancing pair of bays, passed by, carrying in itsupholstered depths a young lady.

"What will you have if you go back?" asked Drouet. There was no subtleundercurrent to the question. He imagined that she would have nothing atall of the things he thought worth while.

Carrie sat still, looking out. She was wondering what she could do. Theywould be expecting her to go home this week.

Drouet turned to the subject of the clothes she was going to buy.

"Why not get yourself a nice little jacket? You've got to have it. I'llloan you the money. You needn't worry about taking it. You can getyourself a nice room by yourself. I won't hurt you."

Carrie saw the drift, but could not express her thoughts. She felt morethan ever the helplessness of her case.

"If I could only get something to do," she said.

"Maybe you can," went on Drouet, "if you stay here. You can't if you goaway. They won't let you stay out there. Now, why not let me get you anice room? I won't bother you--you needn't be afraid. Then, when you getfixed up, maybe you could get something."

He looked at her pretty face and it vivified his mental resources. Shewas a sweet little mortal to him--there was no doubt of that. She seemedto have some power back of her actions. She was not like the common runof store-girls. She wasn't silly.

In reality, Carrie had more imagination than he--more taste. It was afiner mental strain in her that made possible her depression andloneliness. Her poor clothes were neat, and she held her headunconsciously in a dainty way.

"Do you think I could get something?" she asked.

"Sure," he said, reaching over and filling her cup with tea. "I'll helpyou."

She looked at him, and he laughed reassuringly.

"Now I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll go over here to Partridge's andyou pick out what you want. Then we'll look around for a room for you.You can leave the things there. Then we'll go to the show to-night."

Carrie shook her head.

"Well, you can go out to the flat then, that's all right. You don't needto stay in the room. Just take it and leave your things there."

She hung in doubt about this until the dinner was over.

"Let's go over and look at the jackets," he said.

Together they went. In the store they found that shine and rustle of newthings which immediately laid hold of Carrie's heart. Under theinfluence of a good dinner and Drouet's radiating presence, the schemeproposed seemed feasible. She looked about and picked a jacket like theone which she had admired at The Fair. When she got it in her hand itseemed so much nicer. The saleswoman helped her on with it, and, byaccident, it fitted perfectly. Drouet's face lightened as he saw theimprovement. She looked quite smart.

"That's the thing," he said.

Carrie turned before the glass. She could not help feeling pleased asshe looked at herself. A warm glow crept into her cheeks.

"That's the thing," said Drouet. "Now pay for it."

"It's nine dollars," said Carrie.

"That's all right--take it," said Drouet.

She reached in her purse and took out one of the bills. The woman askedif she would wear the coat and went off. In a few minutes she was backand the purchase was closed.

From Partridge's they went to a shoe store, where Carrie was fitted forshoes. Drouet stood by, and when he saw how nice they looked, said,"Wear them." Carrie shook her head, however. She was thinking ofreturning to the flat. He bought her a purse for one thing, and a pairof gloves for another, and let her buy the stockings.

"To-morrow," he said, "you come down here and buy yourself a skirt."

In all of Carrie's actions there was a touch of misgiving. The deepershe sank into the entanglement, the more she imagined that the thinghung upon the few remaining things she had not done. Since she had notdone these, there was a way out.

Drouet knew a place in Wabash Avenue where there were rooms. He showedCarrie the outside of these, and said: "Now, you're my sister." Hecarried the arrangement off with an easy hand when it came to theselection, looking around, criticising, opining. "Her trunk will be herein a day or so," he observed to the landlady, who was very pleased.

When they were alone, Drouet did not change in the least. He talked inthe same general way as if they were out in the street. Carrie left herthings.

"Now," said Drouet, "why don't you move to-night?"

"Oh, I can't," said Carrie.

"Why not?"

"I don't want to leave them so."

He took that up as they walked along the avenue. It was a warmafternoon. The sun had come out and the wind had died down. As he talkedwith Carrie, he secured an accurate detail of the atmosphere of theflat.

"Come out of it," he said, "they won't care. I'll help you get along."

She listened until her misgivings vanished. He would show her about alittle and then help her get something. He really imagined that hewould. He would be out on the road and she could be working.

"Now, I'll tell you what you do," he said, "you go out there and getwhatever you want and come away."

She thought a long time about this. Finally she agreed. He would comeout as far as Peoria Street and wait for her. She was to meet him athalf-past eight. At half-past five she reached home, and at six herdetermination was hardened.

"So you didn't get it?" said Minnie, referring to Carrie's story of theBoston Store.

Carrie looked at her out of the corner of her eye. "No," she answered.

"I don't think you'd better try any more this fall," said Minnie.

Carrie said nothing.

When Hanson came home he wore the same inscrutable demeanour. He washedin silence and went off to read his paper. At dinner Carrie felt alittle nervous. The strain of her own plans was considerable, and thefeeling that she was not welcome here was strong.

"Didn't find anything, eh?" said Hanson.

"No."

He turned to his eating again, the thought that it was a burden to haveher here dwelling in his mind. She would have to go home, that was all.Once she was away, there would be no more coming back in the spring.

Carrie was afraid of what she was going to do, but she was relieved toknow that this condition was ending. They would not care. Hansonparticularly would be glad when she went. He would not care what becameof her.

After dinner she went into the bathroom, where they could not disturbher, and wrote a little note.

"Good-bye, Minnie," it read. "I'm not going home. I'm going to stay inChicago a little while and look for work. Don't worry. I'll be allright."

In the front room Hanson was reading his paper. As usual, she helpedMinnie clear away the dishes and straighten up. Then she said:

"I guess I'll stand down at the door a little while." She could scarcelyprevent her voice from trembling.

Minnie remembered Hanson's remonstrance.

"Sven doesn't think it looks good to stand down there," she said.

"Doesn't he?" said Carrie. "I won't do it any more after this."

She put on her hat and fidgeted around the table in the little bedroom,wondering where to slip the note. Finally she put it under Minnie'shair-brush.

When she had closed the hall-door, she paused a moment and wondered whatthey would think. Some thought of the queerness of her deed affectedher. She went slowly down the stairs. She looked back up the lightedstep, and then affected to stroll up the street. When she reached thecorner she quickened her pace.

As she was hurrying away, Hanson came back to his wife.

"Is Carrie down at the door again?" he asked.

"Yes," said Minnie; "she said she wasn't going to do it any more."

He went over to the baby where it was playing on the floor and began topoke his finger at it.

Drouet was on the corner waiting, in good spirits.

"Hello, Carrie," he said, as a sprightly figure of a girl drew near him."Got here safe, did you? Well, we'll take a car."