"Then I'll see about it to-morrow."
"What d'ye want another bed for?" asked Bert. "Ain't one bed enough for the two of you?"
"You shut up, Bert!" Mary cried. "Don't get raw."
"Whoa, Mary!" Bert grinned. "Back up. You're in the wrong stall as usual."
"We don't need that room," Saxon was saying to Billy. "And so I didn't plan any furniture. That money went to buy better carpets and a better stove."
Billy came over to her, lifted her from the chair, and seated himself with her on his knees.
"That's right, little girl. I'm glad you did. The best for us every time. And to-morrow night I want you to run up with me to Salinger's an' pick out a good bedroom set an' carpet for that room. And it must be good. Nothin' snide."
"It will cost fifty dollars," she objected.
"That's right," he nodded. "Make it cost fifty dollars and not a cent less. We're goin' to have the best. And what's the good of an empty room? It'd make the house look cheap. Why, I go around now, seein' this little nest just as it grows an' softens, day by day, from the day we paid the cash money down an' nailed the keys. Why, almost every moment I'm drivin' the horses, all day long, I just keep on seein' this nest. And when we're married, I'll go on seein' it. And I want to see it complete. If that room'd he bare-floored an' empty, I'd see nothin' but it and its bare floor all day long. I'd be cheated. The house'd be a lie.
Look at them curtains you put up in it, Saxon. That's to make believe to the neighbors that it's furnished. Saxon, them curtains are lyin' about that room, makin' a noise for every one to hear that that room's furnished. Nitsky for us. I'm goin' to see that them curtains tell the truth."
"You might rent it," Bert suggested. "You're close to the railroad yards, and it's only two blocks to a restaurant."
"Not on your life. I ain't marryin' Saxon to take in lodgers. If I can't take care of her, d'ye know what I'll do ? Go down to Long Wharf, say 'Here goes nothin',' an' jump into the bay with a stone tied to my neck. Ain't I right, Saxon?"
It was contrary to her prudent judgment, but it fanned her pride.
She threw her arms around her lover's neck, and said, ere she kissed him:
"You're the boss, Billy. What you say goes, and always will go."
"Listen to that!" Bert gibed to Mary. "That's the stuff. Saxon's onto her job."
"I guess we'll talk things over together first before ever I do anything," Billy was saying to Saxon.
"Listen to that," Mary triumphed. "You bet the man that marries me'll have to talk things over first."
"Billy's only givin' her hot air," Bert plagued. "They all do it before they're married."
Mary sniffed contemptuously.
"I'll bet Saxon leads him around by the nose. And I'm goin' to say, loud an' strong, that I'll lead the man around by the nose that marries me."
"Not if you love him," Saxon interposed.
"All the more reason," Mary pursued.
Bert assumed an expression and attitude of mournful dejection.
"Now you see why me an' Mary don't get married," he said. "I'm some big Indian myself, an' I'll be everlastingly jiggerooed if I put up for a wigwam I can't be boss of."
"And I'm no squaw," Mary retaliated, "an' I wouldn't marry a big buck Indian if all the rest of the men in the world was dead."
"Well this big buck Indian ain't asked you yet."
"He knows what he'd get if he did."
"And after that maybe he'll think twice before he does ask you."
Saxon, intent on diverting the conversation into pleasanter channels, clapped her hands as if with sudden recollection.
"Oh! I forgot! I want to show you something." From her purse she drew a slender ring of plain gold and passed it around. "My mother's wedding ring. I've worn it around my neck always, like a locket. I cried for it so in the orphan asylum that the matron gave it back for me to wear. And now, just to think, after next Tuesday I'll be wearing it on my finger. Look, Billy, see the engraving on the inside."
"C to D, 1879," he read.
"Carlton to Daisy--Carlton was my father's first name. And now, Billy, you've got to get it engraved for you and me."
Mary was all eagerness and delight.
"Oh, it's fine," she cried. "W to S, 1907."
Billy considered a moment.
"No, that wouldn't be right, because I'm not giving it to Saxon."
"I'll tell you what," Saxon said. "W and S."
"Nope." Billy shook his head. "S and W, because you come first with me."
"If I come first with you, you come first with us. Billy, dear, I insist on W and S."
"You see," Mary said to Bert. "Having her own way and leading him by the nose already."
Saxon acknowledged the sting.
"Anyway you want, Billy," she surrendered. His arms tightened about her.
"We'll talk it over first, I guess."
