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 spoiling your good-for-nothing husband, but I told them that after you were married you wouldn't have to work and worry beyond the work and worry of producing your masterpieces."

"Oh, Joe, I do adore my painting, but I'd give it up in a second, I'd gladly, gladly work my fingers to the bone for you," said Kate, longing for poverty so that she could show Joe how she loved him.

Joe gave the fingers a squeeze, hidden between brown silk and gray cloth. "I know you would, darling, but, thank God, you'll never have to. Oh, Kate—only two more weeks!"

"Only two more weeks—oh, Joe!"

Their wedding was a tiny one. Uncle Henry and Aunt Alice were poor, and Kate was poorer. But Joe with his gardenia and his ways of a larger world shed a glamour, and nothing had ever been seen to equal Kate's bouquet, sent from New York City, as Aunt Alice's Hannah told the next door cook, the girl who was going to open the front door, and the man who brought the ice cream, taking them up on tiptoe for a look at it lying veiled by waxed paper in the bathtub. "Awnge blawsoms! An' de lilies of de valley all shootin' down on little ribbons, an' de maidenhair firm—oh, my! Jes' you smell, Mistah Lee! Stick yo' haid in de tub an' snuff it up. An' ain't it big? Doan see how Miss Kate gwine-a tote it!"

After the honeymoon at Saratoga Springs Joe took