During all of the next week the Larrabees had an early breakfast.
Joe was enthusiastic about some morning-effect sketches he was doing
in Central Park, and Delia packed him off breakfasted, coddled,
praised and kissed at 7 o'clock. Art is an engaging mistress. It
was most times 7 o'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 8x10 (inches) centre table of
the 8x10 (feet) flat parlour.
Sometimes," she said, a little wearily, "Clementina tries me. I'm
afraid she doesn't practise enough, and I have to tell her the same
things so often. And then she always dresses entirely in white, and
that does get monotonous. But Gen. Pinkney is the dearest old man!
I wish you could know him, Joe. He comes in sometimes when I am with
Clementina at the piano--he is a widower, you know--and stands there
pulling his white goatee. 'And how are the semiquavers and the
demisemiquavers progressing?' he always asks.
"I wish you could see the wainscoting in that drawing-room, Joe!
And those Astrakhan rug portieres. And Clementina has such a funny
little cough. I hope she is stronger than she looks. Oh, I really
am getting attached to her, she is so gentle and high bred. Gen.
Pinkney's brother was once Minister to Bolivia."
And then Joe, with the air of a Monte Cristo, drew forth a ten, a
five, a two and a one--all legal tender notes--and laid them beside
Delia's earnings.
"Sold that watercolour of the obelisk to a man from Peoria," he
announced overwhelmingly.
"Don't joke with me," said Delia, "not from Peoria!"
"All the way. I wish you could see him, Dele. Fat man with a
woollen muffler and a quill toothpick. He saw the sketch in Tinkle's
window and thought it was a windmill at first, he was game, though,
and bought it anyhow. He ordered another--an oil sketch of the
Lackawanna freight depot--to take back with him. Music lessons! Oh,
I guess Art is still in it."
"I'm so glad you've kept on," said Delia, heartily. "You're bound to
win, dear. Thirty-three dollars! We never had so much to spend
before. We'll have oysters to-night."
"And filet mignon with champignons," said Joe. "Were is the olive
fork?"
On the next Saturday evening Joe reached home first. He spread his
$18 on the parlour table and washed what seemed to be a great deal of
dark paint from his hands.
Half an hour later Delia arrived, her right hand tied up in a
shapeless bundle of wraps and bandages.
"How is this?" asked Joe after the usual greetings. Delia laughed,
but not very joyously.
Clementina," she explained, "insisted upon a Welsh rabbit after her
lesson. She is such a queer girl. Welsh rabbits 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 know Clementina isn't in good health; she is so nervous.
In serving the rabbit she spilled a great lot of it, boiling hot,
over my hand and wrist. It hurt awfully, Joe. And the dear girl was
so sorry! But Gen. Pinkney!--Joe, that old man nearly went
distracted. He rushed downstairs and sent somebody--they said the
furnace man or somebody in the basement--out to a drug store for some
oil and things to bind it up with. It doesn't hurt so much now."
"What's this?" asked Joe, taking the hand tenderly and pulling 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 money on the table.
"Did I?" said Joe; "just ask the man from Peoria. He got his depot
to-day, and he isn't sure but he thinks he wants another parkscape
and a view on the Hudson. What time this afternoon did you burn your
hand, Dele?"
"Five o'clock, I think," said Dele, plaintively. "The iron--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 her to the couch,
sat beside her and put his arm across her shoulders.
"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 of love and
stubbornness, and murmured a phrase or two vaguely of Gen. Pinkney;
but at length down went her head and out came the truth and tears.
"I couldn't get any pupils," she confessed. "And I couldn't bear to
have you give up your lessons; and I got a place ironing shirts in
that big Twentyfourth street laundry. And I think I did very well to
make up both General Pinkney and Clementina, don't you, Joe? And
when a girl in the laundry set down a hot iron on my hand this
afternoon I was all the way home making up that story about the Welsh
rabbit. You're not angry, are you, Joe? And if I hadn't got the
work you mightn't have sold your sketches to that man from Peoria.
"He wasn't from Peoria," said Joe, slowly.
"Well, it doesn't matter where he was from. How clever you are, Joe
--and--kiss me, Joe--and what made you ever suspect that I wasn't
giving music lessons to Clementina?"
"I didn't," said Joe, "until to-night. And I wouldn't have then,
only I sent up this cotton waste and oil from the engine-room this
afternoon for a girl upstairs who had her hand burned with a
smoothing-iron. I've been firing the engine in that laundry for the
last two weeks."
"And then you didn't--"
"My purchaser from Peoria," said Joe, "and Gen. Pinkney are both
creations of the same art--but you wouldn't call it 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.'
During all of the next week the Larrabees had an early breakfast.
Joe was enthusiastic about some morning-effect sketches he was doing
in Central Park, and Delia packed him off breakfasted, coddled,
praised and kissed at 7 o'clock. Art is an engaging mistress. It
was most times 7 o'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 8x10 (inches) centre table of
the 8x10 (feet) flat parlour.
Sometimes," she said, a little wearily, "Clementina tries me. I'm
afraid she doesn't practise enough, and I have to tell her the same
things so often. And then she always dresses entirely in white, and
that does get monotonous. But Gen. Pinkney is the dearest old man!
I wish you could know him, Joe. He comes in sometimes when I am with
Clementina at the piano--he is a widower, you know--and stands there
pulling his white goatee. 'And how are the semiquavers and the
demisemiquavers progressing?' he always asks.
"I wish you could see the wainscoting in that drawing-room, Joe!
And those Astrakhan rug portieres. And Clementina has such a funny
little cough. I hope she is stronger than she looks. Oh, I really
am getting attached to her, she is so gentle and high bred. Gen.
Pinkney's brother was once Minister to Bolivia."
And then Joe, with the air of a Monte Cristo, drew forth a ten, a
five, a two and a one--all legal tender notes--and laid them beside
Delia's earnings.
"Sold that watercolour of the obelisk to a man from Peoria," he
announced overwhelmingly.
"Don't joke with me," said Delia, "not from Peoria!"
"All the way. I wish you could see him, Dele. Fat man with a
woollen muffler and a quill toothpick. He saw the sketch in Tinkle's
window and thought it was a windmill at first, he was game, though,
and bought it anyhow. He ordered another--an oil sketch of the
Lackawanna freight depot--to take back with him. Music lessons! Oh,
I guess Art is still in it."
"I'm so glad you've kept on," said Delia, heartily. "You're bound to
win, dear. Thirty-three dollars! We never had so much to spend
before. We'll have oysters to-night."
"And filet mignon with champignons," said Joe. "Were is the olive
fork?"
On the next Saturday evening Joe reached home first. He spread his
$18 on the parlour table and washed what seemed to be a great deal of
dark paint from his hands.
Half an hour later Delia arrived, her right hand tied up in a
shapeless bundle of wraps and bandages.
"How is this?" asked Joe after the usual greetings. Delia laughed,
but not very joyously.
Clementina," she explained, "insisted upon a Welsh rabbit after her
lesson. She is such a queer girl. Welsh rabbits 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 know Clementina isn't in good health; she is so nervous.
In serving the rabbit she spilled a great lot of it, boiling hot,
over my hand and wrist. It hurt awfully, Joe. And the dear girl was
so sorry! But Gen. Pinkney!--Joe, that old man nearly went
distracted. He rushed downstairs and sent somebody--they said the
furnace man or somebody in the basement--out to a drug store for some
oil and things to bind it up with. It doesn't hurt so much now."
"What's this?" asked Joe, taking the hand tenderly and pulling 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 money on the table.
"Did I?" said Joe; "just ask the man from Peoria. He got his depot
to-day, and he isn't sure but he thinks he wants another parkscape
and a view on the Hudson. What time this afternoon did you burn your
hand, Dele?"
"Five o'clock, I think," said Dele, plaintively. "The iron--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 her to the couch,
sat beside her and put his arm across her shoulders.
"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 of love and
stubbornness, and murmured a phrase or two vaguely of Gen. Pinkney;
but at length down went her head and out came the truth and tears.
"I couldn't get any pupils," she confessed. "And I couldn't bear to
have you give up your lessons; and I got a place ironing shirts in
that big Twentyfourth street laundry. And I think I did very well to
make up both General Pinkney and Clementina, don't you, Joe? And
when a girl in the laundry set down a hot iron on my hand this
afternoon I was all the way home making up that story about the Welsh
rabbit. You're not angry, are you, Joe? And if I hadn't got the
work you mightn't have sold your sketches to that man from Peoria.
"He wasn't from Peoria," said Joe, slowly.
"Well, it doesn't matter where he was from. How clever you are, Joe
--and--kiss me, Joe--and what made you ever suspect that I wasn't
giving music lessons to Clementina?"
"I didn't," said Joe, "until to-night. And I wouldn't have then,
only I sent up this cotton waste and oil from the engine-room this
afternoon for a girl upstairs who had her hand burned with a
smoothing-iron. I've been firing the engine in that laundry for the
last two weeks."
"And then you didn't--"
"My purchaser from Peoria," said Joe, "and Gen. Pinkney are both
creations of the same art--but you wouldn't call it 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.'
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