ing Antony for
Rome done up in tissue paper and delivered at residence, "I think
I would like a peach."

Kid McGarry arose and put on his coat and hat. He was serious,
shaven, sentimental, and spry.

"All right," said he, as coolly as though he were only agreeing to
sign articles to fight the champion of England. "I'll step down and
cop one out for you--see?"

"Don't be long," said the bride. "I'll be lonesome without my naughty
boy. Get a nice, ripe one."

After a series of farewells that would have befitted an imminent
voyage to foreign parts, the Kid went down to the street.

Here he not unreasonably hesitated, for the season was yet early
spring, and there seemed small chance of wresting anywhere from those
chill streets and stores the coveted luscious guerdon of summer's
golden prime.

At the Italian's fruit-stand on the corner he stopped and cast a
contemptuous eye over the display of papered oranges, highly polished
apples and wan, sun-hungry bananas.

"Gotta da peach?" asked the Kid in the tongue of Dante, the lover of
lovers.

"Ah, no,--" sighed the vender. "Not for one mont com-a da peach. Too
soon. Gotta da nice-a orange. Like-a da orange?"

Scornful, the Kid pursued his quest. He entered the all-night
chop-house, cafe, and bowling-alley of his friend and admirer, Justus
O'Callahan. The O'Callahan was about in his institution, looking for
leaks.

"I want it straight," said the Kid to him. "The old woman has got a
hunch that she wants a peach. Now, if you've got a peach, Cal, get it
out quick. I want it and others like it if you've got 'em in plural
quantities."

"The house is yours," said O'Callahan. "But there's no peach in it.
It's too soon. I don't suppose you could even find 'em at one of the
Broadway joints. That's too bad. When a lady fixes her mouth for a
certain kind of fruit nothing else won't do. It's too late now to
find any of the first-class fruiterers open. But if you think the
missis would like some nice oranges I've just got a box of fine ones
in that she might--"

"Much obliged, Cal. It's a peach proposition right from the ring of
the gong. I'll try further."

The time was nearly midnight as the Kid walked down the West-Side
avenue. Few stores were open, and such as were practically hooted at
the idea of a peach.

But in her moated flat the bride confidently awaited her Persian
fruit. A champion welter-weight not find a peach?--not stride
triumphantly over the seasons an