"At least, I have not returned empty- handed." Then they would
discover a magazine that neither they nor any one else knew
existed, and they would hurriedly readdress the manuscripts to that
periodical, and run to post them at the letter-box on the corner.

"Any one of them, if ACCEPTED," Carter would point out, "might
bring us in twenty-five dollars. A story of mine once sold for
forty; so to-night we can afford to dine at a restaurant where wine
is NOT 'included.'"

Fortunately, they never lost their sense of humor. Otherwise the
narrow confines of the flat, the evil smells that rose from the
baked streets, the greasy food of Italian and Hungarian
restaurants, and the ever-haunting need of money might have crushed
their youthful spirits. But in time even they found that one, still
less two, cannot exist exclusively on love and the power to see the
bright side of things-- especially when there is no bright side.
They had come to the point where they must borrow money from their
friends, and that, though there were many who would have opened
their safes to them, they had agreed was the one thing they would
not do, or they must starve. The alternative was equally
distasteful.

Carter had struggled earnestly to find a job. But his inexperience
and the season of the year were against him. No newspaper wanted a
dramatic critic when the only shows in town had been running three
months, and on roof gardens; nor did they want a "cub" reporter
when veterans were being "laid off" by the dozens. Nor were his
services desired as a private secretary, a taxicab driver, an agent
to sell real estate or automobiles or stocks. As no one gave him a