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A Service Of Love, by O. Henry, When one loves one's Art no service seems too hard., That is our premise. This story shall draw a conclusion, from it, and show at the same time that the premise is, incorrect. That will be a new thing in logic, and a feat in, story-telling somewhat older than the great wall of China., Joe Larrabee came out of the post-oak flats of the Middle, West pulsing with a genius for pictorial art. At six he, drew a picture of the town pump with a prominent citizen, passing it hastily. This effort was framed and hung in the, drug store window by the side of the ear of corn with an, uneven number of rows. At twenty he left for New York, with a flowing necktie and a capital tied up somewhat, closer., Delia Caruthers did things in six octaves so promisingly, in a pine-tree village in the South that her relatives, chipped in enough in her chip hat for her to go "North", and "finish." They could not see her f--, but that is our, story., Joe and Delia met in an atelier where a number of art and, music students had gathered to discuss chiaroscuro,, Wagner, music, Rembrandt's works, pictures, Waldteufel,, wall paper, Chopin and Oolong., Joe and Delia became enamoured one of the other, or, each of the other, as you please, and in a short time were, married--for (see above), when one loves one's Art no, service seems too hard., Mr. and Mrs. Larrabee began housekeeping in a flat. It, was a lonesome flat--something like the A sharp way, down at the left-hand end of the keyboard. And they were, happy; for they had their Art, and they had each other., And my advice to the rich young man would be--sell all, thou hast, and give it to the poor--janitor for the privilege, of living in a flat with your Art and your Delia., Flat-dwellers shall indorse my dictum that theirs is the, only true happiness. If a home is happy it cannot fit too, close--let the dresser collapse and become a billiard table;, let the mantel turn to a rowing machine, the escritoire to a, spare bedchamber, the washstand to an upright piano; let, the four walls come together, if they will, so you and, your Delia are between. But if home be the other kind, let, it be wide and long--enter you at the Golden Gate, hang, your hat on Hatteras, your cape on Cape Horn and go out, by the Labrador., 1, , Joe was painting in the class of the great Magister--you, know his fame. His fees are high; his lessons are light-his high-lights have brought him renown. Delia was, studying under Rosenstock--you know his repute as a, disturber of the piano keys., They were mighty happy as long as their money lasted., So is every--but I will not be cynical. Their aims were, very clear and defined. Joe was to become capable very, soon of turning out pictures that old gentlemen with thin, side-whiskers and thick pocketbooks would sandbag one, another in his studio for the privilege of buying. Delia, was to become familiar and then contemptuous with, Music, so that when she saw the orchestra seats and, boxes unsold she could have sore throat and lobster in a, private dining-room and refuse to go on the stage., But the best, in my opinion, was the home life in the little, flat--the ardent, voluble chats after the day's study; the, cozy dinners and fresh, light breakfasts; the interchange, of ambitions--ambitions interwoven each with the other's, or else inconsiderable--the mutual help and inspiration;, and--overlook my artlessness--stuffed olives and cheese, sandwiches at 11 p.m., But after a while Art flagged. It sometimes does, even if, some switchman doesn't flag it. Everything going out and, nothing coming in, as the vulgarians say. Money was, lacking to pay Mr. Magister 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 bubbling., For two or 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 Seventy-first street. Such a splendid house,, Joe--you ought to see the front door! Byzantine I think, you would call it. And inside! Oh, Joe, I never saw, anything like it before., "My pupil is his daughter Clementina. 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 think, 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 nice supper.", "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

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wages while I philander in the regions of high art? Not by, the bones of Benvenuto Cellini! I guess I can sell papers, or lay cobblestones, and bring in a dollar or two.", Delia came and hung about his neck., "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 I 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. Magister.", "All right," said Joe, reaching for the blue scalloped, vegetable dish. "But I hate for you to be giving lessons. It, isn't Art. But you're a trump and a dear to do it.", "When one loves one's Art no service seems too hard,", said Delia., "Magister praised the sky in that sketch 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 a 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 morningeffect 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 drawingroom, 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, 2, , 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. "Where, 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.

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"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., , And then they both laughed, and Joe began:, , "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?", , But Delia stopped him with her hand on his lips. "No,", she said--"just 'When one loves.'", , "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 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 Gen. Pinkney, are both creations of the same art--but you wouldn't call it, either painting or music.", 3, , "When one loves one's Art no service seems--"