To accomplish these results, all the unsalable, useless, and ugly furniture taking up valuable space must be carted away to some auction room and sold for what it would bring.  Light, air, and much-needed room would then follow, and prices advanced to make up for the loss on the “rattletrap” and the “rickety.”  Stuffs which had been poked away in worthless bureau drawers for years, as being too ragged even to show, were next to be hauled out, patched, and darned, and then hung on the bare white walls, concealing the dirt and the cracks.

And these improvements, strange to say—­Kling being as obstinate as the usual Dutch cabinetmaker, and as set in his ways—­were finally carried out; slowly at first, and with a rush later when every customer who entered the door began by complimenting Otto on the improvement.  Soon the sales increased to such an extent and the stock became so depleted that Kling was obliged to look around for articles of a better and higher grade to take its place.

At this juncture a happy and unforeseen accident came to his aid.  A bric-a-brac dealer with a shop in Jersey City filled with some very good English and Italian patterns and a fine assortment of European gatherings—­most of them rare, and all of them good—­ fell ill and was ordered to Colorado for his health.  His wife had insisted on going with him, and thus the whole concern, including its good-will—­worthless to Kling—­ was offered to him at half its value.

O’Day spent the entire morning crawling in and out of the interstices of the choked-up Jersey City shop; Masie, as his valuable assistant, propped up with Fudge on a big table until he had finished.  The next day the bargain was made.  Mike, Bobby, the two Dutchies, and both Kitty’s teams were then called in and the transfer began.

It was when this collection of things really worth having were being moved into their new home under Felix’s personal direction that Masie announced to him an important event.  They were on the second floor at the time, overlooking Hans and Mike, who had just brought up-stairs the first of the purchase, a huge, high-backed gilt chair, stately in its proportions—­ Spanish, Felix thought—­with a few renovations about the arms and back, but a good specimen withal.  The chair had evidently excited her imagination, reminding her, perhaps, of some of the pictures in Tim Kelsey’s fairy books, for after looking at it for a moment she began clapping her hands and whirling about the room.

“I’ve thought of such a lovely thing, Uncle Felix!  Let’s play kings and queens!  I will sit in this chair and will dress Fudge up like a page and everybody will come up and courtesy, or I will be the fairy princess and you will be my beauty prince, and—­”

Felix, who was holding up the heavy end of a piece of tapestry while the two men were clearing a place for it behind the chair, called out, “When’s all this to happen, Tootcoms?”—­one of his pet names; he had a dozen of them.