"Every night when I get home from working here in the flat I say to
myself in the looking-glass, I say, 'Gertie Slayback, what if you're only
dreamin'?'"

"Me too."

"I say to myself, 'Are you sure that darling flat up there, with the new
pink-and-white wall-paper and the furniture arriving every day, is going to
be yours in a few days when you're Mrs. Jimmie Batch?'"

"Mrs. Jimmie Batch--say, that's immense."

"I keep saying it to myself every night, 'One day less.' Last night it was
two days. To-night it'll be--one day, Jimmie, till I'm--her."

She closed her eyes and let her hand linger up at his cheek, head still
back against him, so that, inclining his head, he could rest his lips in
the ash-blond fluff of her hair.

"Talk about can't wait! If to-morrow was any farther off they'd have to
sweep out a padded cell for me."

She turned to rumple the smooth light thatch of his hair. "Bad boy! Can't
wait! And here we are getting married all of a sudden, just like that. Up
to the time of this draft business, Jimmie Batch, 'pretty soon' was the
only date I could ever get out of you, and now here you are crying over one
day's wait. Bad honey boy!"

He reached back for the pink newspaper so habitually protruding from
his hip pocket. "You ought to see the way they're neck-breaking for the