Masie slipped her arm through O’Day’s and began a joyous tattoo with her foot.  She knew now that Felix had carried the day.

“And now for Masie’s idea, Mr. Kling.”

“Oh, dere is someting else, eh?  I tought dere vould be ven you puts your two noddles togedder—­ Vell, vot is dot all about, eh?”

“She is to have a birthday.  She will be eleven years old next Saturday.”

“By Jeminy, yes, dot’s so!  I forgot dot, Masie.  Yes, it comes on de tventy-fust.  Vy you don’t tell me before, little Beesvings?”

“Yes, next Saturday; only four days off,” continued Felix, forging ahead to avoid any side-tracking of his main theme.  “And what are you going to do for her?  Not many more of them before she will be out of the window like a bird, and off with somebody else.”

Otto ruminated.  He loved his daughter, even if he did sometimes forget her very existence.  “Oh, I don’t know.  I guess ve buy her sometings putty—­vot you like to have, Beesvings?  Or maybe you like to go to de teater vid Auntie Gossburger.  I get de tickets.”

The child disengaged her hand from O’Day’s arm, pushed back her hair and tiptoed to her father.  “I want a party, Popsy—­a real party,” she whispered, tipping his chin back with her fingers, so he could look at her through his spectacles—­not over them, like an ogre.

“Vere you have it?” This came in a bewildered way, as if the pair had the big ballroom at Delmonico’s in the back of their heads.

“Here, in this very place,” broke in Felix, “after I get it in order.”

Kling, gently freeing himself from Masie’s hold, stared at his clerk.  “Dot vill cost a lot of money, don’t it?”

“No, I do not think so.”

“Vell, who is coming?  De childer all around?”

“Everybody is coming—­big, little, and middle-sized,” answered Felix.  The cat was all out of the bag now.

“Vell, dot’s vot I said.  You don’t can get someting for nodding.  You must have blenty to eat and drink.”

“No.  Some simple refreshment will do—­sandwiches, cake, and some ice-cream.  I’ll take care of that myself, if you’ll permit me.”

“Vell, now stop a minute vunce—­here is anudder idea.  Suppose ve make it a Dutch treat—­everybody bring sometings.  Ve had vun last vinter at Budvick’s, de upholsterer, ven he vas married tventy-five years.  I give de apples—­more as half a peck.”

Felix broke into a hearty, ringing laugh—­one of the few either Masie or his employer had ever heard escape his lips.

“We will let you off without even the apples this time,” he said, when he recovered himself.  “They are not coming to get something to eat this time.  I will give them something better.”

“And you say everybody is comin’.  Who is dot everybody?”