‘I'm sure you will，’said Delia sweetly.‘And now let's be thankful for General Pinkney and this veal roast.’
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 seven o'clock.Art is an engaging mistress.It was most times seven 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 8by 10(inches)centre table of the 8by 10(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 General 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 demi-semiquavers progressing？”he always asks.
‘I wish you could see the wainscoting in that drawing-room，Joe！And those Astrakhan rug portières.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.General 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 water-colour 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.‘Where is the olive fork？’
On the next Saturday evening Joe reached home first.He spread his $18on 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 five 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 General 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 General Pinkney，Joe，when-’
‘Sit down here a moment，Dele，’said Joe.He drew her to the couch，sat down 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 General 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 Twenty-fourth 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 General 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.”’