“Yes, it would,” said King, so meekly, that they all laughed. “And on whom do I bestow a diamond necklace, or some such little trinket?”
“On me,” said Dorothy, promptly; “Kitty said so.”
“All right,” said King, “your scheme, fair maidens, is a winner. Into the pie our gifts we’ll throw—ha, ha, ha, and ho, ho, ho!”
“King, you’re a lovely poet,” said Marjorie, “but won’t you come here now and help me fasten this pie on its wheels?”
“Certingly, certingly, my liege lady; hast any tackerinos?”
“No; but here’s a hammerino. Can’t you find some nails?”
“Ay, ay, in just a jiff!”
And sure enough, in a few moments Marjorie’s big birthday cake sat proudly on a board across an express wagon, which, though a toy, was a good-sized affair.
“Now for the fiddle-de-dees!” cried King, as he picked up a pile of paper roses and strewed them on the cake.
“Oh, King, stop! You’ll spoil it!” cried Marjorie, rescuing her treasures from her teasing brother. “But I wish you would help me put the candle-holders on.”