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ness stuffed olives and cheese sand-1
wiches at 11 p. m.
But after a while Art flagged. It
sometimes does, even if some switch
man doesn't flag it. Everything go
ing out and nothing coming in, as
the vulgarians say."-Money was lack
ing to pay Mr. MagistTer and Herr
Rosenstock their prices. When one
loves one's Art no service seems too
hard. So Delia said she must give
music lessons to keep the chafing dish
For two qr, three days she went out
canvassing for pupils. One evening
she came home elated.
"Joe, dear," she said, gleefully,
"I've a pupil. And, oh, the loveliest
people! General General A. B.
Pinkney's daughter on 71st street.
Such a pleasant house, Joe you
ought to see the front door! Byzan
tine I think you would call it. And
inside! Oh, Joe, I never saw any
thing like it before. '
"My pupil is his daughter Clemen
tina. I dearly love her already. She's
a delicate thing dresses always in
white; and the sweetest, simplest
manners! Only eighteen years old.
I'm to give three lessons a week; and,
just thmk, Joe! $5 a lesson. I don't
mind it a bit; for when I get two or
three more pupils I can resume my
lessons with Herr Rosenstock. Now,
smooth out that wrinkle between
your brows, dear, and let's have a
"That's all right for you, Dele,"
said Joe, attacking a can of peas with
a carving knife and a hatchet, "but
how about me? Do you think I'm
going to let you hustle for wages
while I philander in the regions of
high art? Not by the bones of Ben
venuto Cellini! I guess I can sell
papers or lay cobblestones, and bring
in a dollar or two."
Delia came and hung about his
"Joe, dear, you are silly. You must
keep on at your studies. It is not as
if I had quit my music and gone to
work at something else. While I
teach T learn. I am always with my
music. And we can live as happily as
millionaires on $15 a week. You
mustn't think of leaving Mr. Magis
ter." "All right," said Joe, reaching for
the blue scalloped vegetable dish.
"But I hate for you to be giving lea
sbns. It isn't Art. But you're a trump
and a dear one to do it."
"When one loves one's Art no ser
vice seems too hard," said Delia.
"Magister praised the sky in the
sketeh I made in the park," said Joe.
"And Tinkle gave me permission to
hang two of them in his window. I
may sell one if the right kind of
moneyed idiot sees them."
"I'm sure you will," said Delia,
sweetly. "And now let's be thankful
for Gen. 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 do
ing in Central Park, and Delia packed
him off breakfasted, coddled, praised -and
kissed at 7 o'clock. Art is an en
gaging mistress. It was most times
7 o'clock when he returned in the
At the end of the week Delia,
sweetly proud but languid, triumph
antly tossed three five-dollar bills on
the 8x10 (inches) center table of the
8x10 (feet) flat parlor.
"Sometimes," she said, a little
wearily, "Clementina tries me. I'm
afraid she doesn't practice 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. Rinkney is
the dearest old..nian! I wish you
could know him, Joe. He comes in
sometimes when I am with Clemen
tina at the piano he is a widower,
you know and stands there pulling
his white goatee. 'And how are the
semiquavers andthe demisemiquav
ers progressing?" he always asks.
"I wish you could see the wains
coting in that drawing-room, JoeL
And those Astrakhan rug portieres.