"How could I marry you, dear? I have nothing—absolutely nothing. We couldn't have a home anywhere."
"We can make a home," pleaded Billy. She leaned toward him and laid her hand on his arm, smiling into his moody face with all the charm, the daring, the tenderness of a woman who loves and is fighting for her happiness with every weapon at her command.
"You can't make a home with nothing to make it on," said the Watermelon.
"Ah, but we have something to make it on," cried Billy. "We have you and me."
"But no money."
"Why, Jerry, I have money; hundreds, thousands, dear."
But the Watermelon shook his head. "Money wouldn't be any good when I'm rotten," said he.
"Dear," crooned Billy, and kissed him on the chin, for she could reach no higher.
"Billy," he groaned.
"Tell me you love me, Jerry."