opened.  Then a shout went up which set the candles winking—­ a shout only surpassed in volume and good cheer when Felix began handing up the little packages from Masie’s basket.  And dainty little packages they were, filled with all sorts of inexpensive souvenirs that she and Felix (not much money between the two of them) had picked up at Baxter’s Toy Shop on Third Avenue, all suggested by some peculiarity of the recipient, all kindly and good-natured, and each one enlivened by a quotation or some original line in Felix’s own handwriting.

During the whole delightful ceremony Otto had stood on the left of his daughter, his heart thumping away, his face growing redder every minute, his eyes intent on each guest elbowing a way through the crowd as Masie handed them their gifts, noting the general happiness and the laughter that followed the reading of the lines, wondering all the time why no one was offended at the size and, to him, worthlessness of the several offerings.

When it was all over and the basket empty, he jumped down from the platform, his fat back bent in excitement, tossed aside the rug, lifted the big box, placed it beside the gilt throne, and raised his puffy hands to command attention:  “Now listen, everybody!  I got someting to say.  Beesvings don’t have all dis to herselluf.  Now it is my turn.  Come up closer so I get hold of you.  Vait, and I git back on de platform.  Here, you olt frent of mine, Dan Porterfield, here is a new butcher-knife sharpener for you, to sharpen your knives on ven you cuts dem bifsteaks.  And, Heffern, come close; here is a silver-plated skimmer for dot cream you make, and a pig fan for your daughter.  And Polly Codman—­git out of de way dere, and let Polly Codman come up!—­here, Polly, is a pair of gloves for you and a muffler for Codman, and here is more gloves and neckties and—­I got a lot more; I didn’t got much time and I bought dem all in a hurry—­and dey are all from me and Masie and don’t you forgit dot.  I ain’t never been so happy as I am to-night, and you vas awful good to come and see my little girl dot don’t got no mudder.  And you must all tank Mr. O’Day for de great help he vas.  Now dot’s all I got to say.”

He drew his hand across his eyes, made an awkward bow, and sat down.  Everybody gasped in amazement.  Many of them had known him for years, ever since he moved into “The Avenue”—­twenty years, at least—­ but nobody had ever seen him as he was to-night.  That he had in his intended generosity overlooked half of his friends made no difference.  Those who received something showed it for weeks afterward to everybody who came.  Those who had nothing forgave him in their delight over the good-will he had shown to the others.  Even Felix, who had been watching him soften and thaw out under the warmth of the child’s happiness, and who thought he knew the man and his nature, was astounded, and showed it by grasping for the first time his employer’s hand, looking him in the eyes as he said, “I owe you an apology, sir,” a proceeding Otto often pondered over, its meaning wholly escaping him.