“I’m sure you will，” said Delia， sweetly. “And now let’s bethankful for Gen. Pinkney and this veal roast.”
During all of the next week the Larrabees had an earlybreakfast. Joe was enthusiastic about some morningeffectsketches he was doing in Central Park， and Deliapacked him off breakfasted， coddled， praised and kissed at7 o’clock. Art is an engaging mistress. It was most times 7o’clock when he returned in the evening.
At the end of the week Delia， sweetly proud but languid，triumphantly tossed three five-dollar bills on the 8×10（inches） centre table of the 8×10 （feet） flat parlour.
“Sometimes，” she said， a little wearily， “Clementina triesme. I’m afraid she doesn’t practise enough， and I haveto tell her the same things so often. And then she alwaysdresses entirely in white， and that does get monotonous.
But Gen. Pinkney is the dearest old man！ I wish you couldknow him， Joe. He comes in sometimes when I am withClementina at the piano—he is a widower， you know—andstands there pulling his white goatee. ‘And how are thesemiquavers and the demisemiquavers progressing？’ healways asks.
“I wish you could see the wainscoting in that drawingroom，Joe！ And those Astrakhan rug portières. And
Clementina has such a funny little cough. I hope she isstronger than she looks. Oh， I really am getting attachedto her， she is so gentle and high bred. Gen. Pinkney’sbrother was once Minister to Bolivia.”
And then Joe， with the air of a Monte Cristo， drew fortha ten， a five， a two and a one—all legal tender notes—andlaid them beside Delia’s earnings.
“Sold that watercolour of the obelisk to a man fromPeoria，” he announced overwhelmingly.
“Don’t joke with me，” said Delia， “not from Peoria！”
“All the way. I wish you could see him， Dele. Fat manwith a woollen muffler and a quill toothpick. He saw thesketch in Tinkle’s window and thought it was a windmillat first. He was game， though， and bought it anyhow. Heordered another—an oil sketch of the Lackawanna freightdepot—to take back with him. Music lessons！ Oh， I guessArt is still in it.”
“I’m so glad you’ve kept on，” said Delia， heartily. “You’rebound to win， dear. Thirty-three dollars！ We never had somuch to spend before. We’ll have oysters to-night.”
“And filet mignon with champignons，” said Joe. “Whereis the olive fork？”
On the next Saturday evening Joe reached home first.
He spread his 18 on the parlour table and washed whatseemed to be a great deal of dark paint from his hands.
Half an hour later Delia arrived， her right hand tied upin a shapeless bundle of wraps and bandages.
“How is this？” asked Joe after the usual greetings. Delialaughed， but not very joyously.
“Clementina，” she explained， “insisted upon a Welshrabbit after her lesson. She is such a queer girl. Welshrabbits at 5 in the afternoon. The General was there.
You should have seen him run for the chafing dish， Joe，just as if there wasn’t a servant in the house. I knowClementina isn’t in good health； she is so nervous. Inserving the rabbit she spilled a great lot of it， boiling hot，over my hand and wrist. It hurt awfully， Joe. And the deargirl was so sorry！ But Gen. Pinkney！ —Joe， that old mannearly went distracted. He rushed downstairs and sentsomebody—they said the furnace man or somebody in thebasement—out to a drug store for some oil and things tobind it up with. It doesn’t hurt so much now.”
“What’s this？” asked Joe， taking the hand tenderly andpulling at some white strands beneath the bandages.
“It’s something soft，” said Delia， “that had oil on it. Oh，Joe， did you sell another sketch？” She had seen the moneyon the table.
“Did I？” said Joe； “just ask the man from Peoria. He gothis depot to-day， and he isn’t sure but he thinks he wantsanother parkscape and a view on the Hudson. What timethis afternoon did you burn your hand， Dele？”
“Five o’clock， I think，” said Dele， plaintively. “Theiron—I mean the rabbit came off the fire about that time.
You ought to have seen Gen. Pinkney， Joe， when—”
“Sit down here a moment， Dele，” said Joe. He drew herto the couch， sat beside her and put his arm across hershoulders.
“What have you been doing for the last two weeks，Dele？” he asked.
She braved it for a moment or two with an eye full oflove and stubbornness， and murmured a phrase or twovaguely of Gen. Pinkney； but at length down went herhead and out came the truth and tears.
“I couldn’t get any pupils，” she confessed. “And Icouldn’t bear to have you give up your lessons； and I gota place ironing shirts in that big Twenty-fourth streetlaundry. And I think I did very well to make up bothGeneral Pinkney and Clementina， don’t you， Joe？ Andwhen a girl in the laundry set down a hot iron on my handthis afternoon I was all the way home making up thatstory about the Welsh rabbit. You’re not angry， are you，Joe？ And if I hadn’t got the work you mightn’t have soldyour sketches to that man from Peoria.”
“He wasn’t from Peoria，” said Joe， slowly.
“Well， it doesn’t matter where he was from. How cleveryou are， Joe—and—kiss me， Joe—and what made you eversuspect that I wasn’t giving music lessons to Clementina？”
“I didn’t，” said Joe， “until to-night. And I wouldn’t havethen， only I sent up this cotton waste and oil from theengine-room this afternoon for a girl upstairs who had herhand burned with a smoothing-iron. I’ve been firing theengine in that laundry for the last two weeks.”
“And then you didn’t—”
“My purchaser from Peoria，” said Joe， “and Gen. Pinkneyare both creations of the same art—but you wouldn’t callit either painting or music.”
And then they both laughed， and Joe began：
“When one loves one’s Art no service seems—”
But Delia stopped him with her hand on his lips. “No，”
she said— “just ‘When one loves.’”