Her first move was to buy a shirt waist, and in studying these she found how little her money would buy — how much, if she could only use all.
She forgot that if she were alone she would have to pay for a room and board, and imagined that every cent of her eighteen could be spent for clothes and things that she liked.
At last she picked upon something, which not only used up all her surplus above twelve, but invaded that sum.
She knew she was going too far, but her feminine love of finery prevailed.
The next day Hurstwood said:
“We owe the grocer five dollars and forty cents this week.”
“Do we?” said Carrie, frowning a little.
She looked in her purse to leave it.
“I’ve only got eight dollars and twenty cents altogether.”
“We owe the milkman sixty cents,” added Hurstwood.
“Yes, and there’s the coal man,” said Carrie.
Hurstwood said nothing.
He had seen the new things she was buying; the way she was neglecting household duties; the readiness with which she was slipping out afternoons and staying.
He felt that something was going to happen.
All at once she spoke:
“I don’t know,” she said;
“I can’t do it all.
I don’t earn enough.”
This was a direct challenge. Hurstwood had to take it up.
He tried to be calm.
“I don’t want you to do it all,” he said.
“I only want a little help until I can get something to do.”
“Oh, yes,” answered Carrie. “That’s always the way.
It takes more than I can earn to pay for things.
I don’t see what I’m going to do.
“Well, I’ve tried to get something,” he exclaimed.
What do you want me to do?”
“You couldn’t have tried so very hard,” said Carrie.
“I got something.”
“Well, I did,” he said, angered almost to harsh words.
“You needn’t throw up your success to me.
All I asked was a little help until I could get something.
I’m not down yet.
I’ll come up all right.”
He tried to speak steadily, but his voice trembled a little.
Carrie’s anger melted on the instant.
She felt ashamed.
“Well,” she said, “here’s the money,” and emptied it out on the table.
“I haven’t got quite enough to pay it all. If they can wait until Saturday, though, I’ll have some more.”
“You keep it,” said Hurstwood sadly.
“I only want enough to pay the grocer.”
She put it back, and proceeded to get dinner early and in good time.
Her little bravado made her feel as if she ought to make amends.
In a little while their old thoughts returned to both.
“She’s making more than she says,” thought Hurstwood.
“She says she’s making twelve, but that wouldn’t buy all those things.
I don’t care.
Let her keep her money.
I’ll get something again one of these days. Then she can go to the deuce.”
He only said this in his anger, but it prefigured a possible course of action and attitude well enough.