JOE. [Wondering.] You haven't looked?
MARY. No; I didn't dare.
JOE. [Sorrowfully.] I didn't think we'd come to this, Mary.
MARY. [Desperately.] We've got to do something. Before we can earn any money at making matchboxes we'll have to spend some weeks learning. And you've not had a decent meal for a month—nor have I. If there's money inside this purse you can get some clothes—and for me too—I need them! It's not as though the old lady would miss it—she's rich enough—her cloak was real sable—and no one can find us out—they can't tell one piece of money from the other. It's heavy, Joe—I think there's a lot inside.
JOE. [Weighing it mechanically.] Yes—it's heavy—
MARY. [Eagerly.] Open it, Joe.
JOE. [Turning to her again.] Why didn't you?
MARY. I just thought I'd wait—I'd an idea something might have happened; that some one might have stopped you in the street, some one with a heart—and that he'd have come in with you to-night—and seen us—seen Minnie—and said—"Well, here's money—I'll put you on your legs again"—And then we'd have given the purse back, Joe.
JOE. [As he still mechanically balances it in his hand.] Yes.
MARY. Can't go on like this, can we? You'll cough all night again, as you did yesterday—and the stuff they gave you at the Dispensary's no good. If you had clothes, you might get some sort of a job perhaps—you know you had to give up trying because you were so shabby.