n, concerning the lay of
Chicago. "You'd better look in those big manufacturing houses along
Franklin Street and just the other side of the river," he concluded.
"Lots of girls work there. You could get home easy, too. It isn't very
far."

Carrie nodded and asked her sister about the neighbourhood. The latter
talked in a subdued tone, telling the little she knew about it, while
Hanson concerned himself with the baby. Finally he jumped up and handed
the child to his wife.

"I've got to get up early in the morning, so I'll go to bed," and off
he went, disappearing into the dark little bedroom off the hall, for the
night.

"He works way down at the stock-yards," explained Minnie, "so he's got
to get up at half-past five."

"What time do you get up to get breakfast?" asked Carrie.

"At about twenty minutes of five."

Together they finished the labour of the day, Carrie washing the dishes
while Minnie undressed the baby and put it to bed. Minnie's manner was
one of trained industry, and Carrie could see that it was a steady round
of toil with her.

She began to see that her relations with Drouet would have to be
abandoned. He could not come here. She read from the manner of Hanson,
in the subdued air of Minnie, and, indeed, the whole atmosphere of the
flat, a settled opposition to anything save a conservative round of
toil. If Hanson sat every evening in the front room and read his paper,
if he went to bed at nine, and Minnie a little later, what would
they expect of her? She saw that she would first need to get work and
establish herself on a paying basis before she could think of having
company of any sort. Her little flirtation with Drouet seemed now an
extraordinary thing.

"No," she said to herself, "he can't come here."

She asked Minnie for ink and paper, which were upon the mantel in
the dining-room, and when the latter had gone to bed at ten, got out
Drouet's card and wrote him.

"I cannot have you call on me here. You will have to wait until you hear
from me again. My sister's place is so small."

She troubled herself over what else to put in the letter. She wanted
to make some reference to their relations upon the train, but was too
timid. She concluded by thanking him for his kindness in a crude way,
then puzzled over the formality of signing her name, and finally decided
upon the severe, winding up with a "Very truly," which she subsequently
changed to "Sincerely." She scaled and addressed the let