The days flew by for Saxon. She worked on at the laundry, even doing more than usual, and all her free waking hours were to preparations for the great change and to Billy. He had proved himself God's own impetuous lover by insisting on getting married the next day after the proposal, and then by refusing to compromise on more than a week's delay.  
“Why wait?” he demanded. “We're not gettin' any younger so far as I can notice, an' think of all we lose every day we wait.”
 
In the end, he gave in to a month, which was well, for in two weeks he was transferred, with half a dozen other drivers, to work from the big stables of Corberly and Morrison in West Oakland. House-hunting in the other end of town ceased, and on Pine Street, between Fifth and Fourth, and in to the great Southern Pacific railroad yards, Billy and Saxon rented a neat cottage of four small rooms for ten dollars a month.
 
“Dog-cheap is what I call it, when I think of the small rooms I've ben soaked for,” was Billy's . “Look at the one I got now, not as big as the smallest here, an' me payin' six dollars a month for it.”
 
“But it's furnished,” Saxon reminded him. “You see, that makes a difference.”
 
But Billy didn't see.
 
“I ain't much of a scholar, Saxon, but I know simple arithmetic; I've soaked my watch when I was hard up, and I can calculate interest. How much do you figure it will cost to furnish the house, carpets on the floor, on the kitchen, and all?”
 
“We can do it nicely for three hundred dollars,” she answered. “I've been thinking it over and I'm sure we can do it for that.”
 
“Three hundred,” he muttered, wrinkling his brows with concentration. “Three hundred, say at six per cent.—that'd be six cents on the dollar, sixty cents on ten dollars, six dollars on the hundred, on three hundred eighteen dollars. Say—I'm a bear at multiplyin' by ten. Now divide eighteen by twelve, that'd be a dollar an' a half a month interest.” He stopped, satisfied that he had proved his . Then his face quickened with a fresh thought. “Hold on! That ain't all. That'd be the interest on the furniture for four rooms. Divide by four. What's a dollar an' a half divided by four?”
 
“Four into fifteen, three times and three to carry,” Saxon recited . “Four into thirty is seven, twenty-eight, two to carry; and two-fourths is one-half. There you are.”
 
“Gee! You're the real bear at figures.” He hesitated. “I didn't follow you. How much did you say it was?”
 
“Thirty-seven and a half cents.”
 
“Ah, ha! Now we'll see how much I've ben for my one room. Ten dollars a month for four rooms is two an' a half for one. Add thirty-seven an' a half cents interest on furniture, an' that makes two dollars an' eighty-seven an' a half cents. Subtract from six dollars....”
 
“Three dollars and twelve and a half cents,” she supplied quickly.
 
“There we are! Three dollars an' twelve an' a half cents I'm jiggered out of on the room I'm rentin'. Say! Bein' married is like savin' money, ain't it?”
 
“But furniture wears out, Billy.”
 
“By golly, I never thought of that. It ought to be figured, too. Anyway, we've got a snap here, and next Saturday afternoon you've gotta get off from the laundry so as we can go an' buy our furniture. I saw Salinger's last night. I give'm fifty down, and the rest plan, ten dollars a month. In twenty-five months the furniture's ourn. An' remember, Saxon, you wanta buy everything you want, no matter how much it costs. No scrimpin' on what's for you an' me. Get me?”
 
She nodded, with no betrayal on her face of the secret economies that filled her mind. A hint of moisture in her eyes.
 
“You're so good to me, Billy,” she murmured, as she came to him and was met inside his arms.
 
“So you've gone an' done it,” Mary commented, one morning in the laundry. They had not been at work ten minutes ere her eye had glimpsed the topaz ring on the third finger of Saxon's left hand. “Who's the lucky one? Charley Long or Billy Roberts?”
 
“Billy,” was the answer.
 
“Huh! Takin' a young boy to raise, eh?”
 
Saxon showed that the stab had gone home, and Mary was all .
 
“Can't you take a josh? I'm glad to death at the news. Billy's a awful good man, and I'm glad to see you get him. There ain't many like him knockin' 'round, an' they ain't to be had for the askin'. An' you're both lucky. You was just made for each other, an' you'll make him a better wife than any girl I know. When is it to be?”
 
Going home from............