rush. Say, she had
me sittin' with my chin up and my arms draped in one position until I
had a neck-ache that ran clear to my heels.

"Hal-lup!" says I, when both feet was sound asleep and my spine felt
ossified. "Couldn't I put on a sub while I drew a long breath?"

At that she lets me off, and after a fifth-innin' stretch I'm called
round to pass on the result.

"Hm-m-m!" says I, starin' at what she's done to a perfectly good piece
of stretched canvas.

"Well, what does it look like?" demands Vee.

"Why," says I, "I should call it sort of a cross between the Kaiser and
Billy Sunday."

"Torchy!" says Vee. "I--I think you're just horrid!"

For a whole week she sticks to it industrious, jottin' down studies of
various parts of my map while I'm eatin' breakfast, and workin' over 'em
until I come back from the office in the afternoon. Did I throw out any
more comic cracks? Never a one--not even when the picture showed that
my eyes toed in. All I did was pat her on the back and say she was a
wonder. But say, I got so I dreaded to look at the thing.

"You know your hair isn't really red," says Vee; "it--it's such an odd
shade."

"Sort of triple pink, eh?" says I.

She squeezes out some more paints, stirs 'em vigorous, and makes another
stab. This time she gets a bilious lavender with streaks of fire-box red
in it.

"Bother!" says she, chuckin' away the brushes. "What's the use
pretending I'm an artist when I'm not? Look at that hideous mess! It's
too awful for words. Take away that fire-screen, will you, Torchy?"

And, with the help of a few matches and a sportin' extra, we made quite
a cheerful little blaze in the coal grate.

"There!" says Vee, as we watches the bonfire. "So that's over. And it's
rather a relief to find out that I haven't got to be a lady artist,
after all. What is more, I am positive I couldn't write a book. I'm
afraid, Torchy, that I am a most every-day sort of person."

"Maybe," says I, "you're one of the scarce ones that believes in home
and hubby."

"We-e-e-ell," says Vee, lockin' her fingers and restin' her chin on 'em
thoughtful, "not precisely that type, either. My mind may not be
particularly advanced, but the modified harem existence for women
doesn't appeal to me. And I must confess that, with kitchenette
breakfasts, dinners out, and one maid, I can't get wildly excited over a
wholly domestic career. Torchy, I simply must have something to do."

Me, I just sits there gawpin'