“Then it won’t be a birthday cake at all,” objected Delight.
“Well, I can’t help it,” said Marjorie, sighing; “it’ll have to be a Jack Homer Pie, then. I can’t be impolite to a lady on her own birthday!”
“I’ll tell you what,” said Kitty, slowly; and they all listened, for Kitty had a way of cutting Gordian knots for them. “You see, as we’re all going to get presents, it’s sort of our birthdays, too; not really, but just pretend. So let’s add up all our ages—that’ll make a lot, and then have that many candles. We can explain to Miss Larkin that we don’t mean she’s that old.”
“Be sure to explain that to her, Kit,” said her brother, gravely, after he had made a rapid calculation with the aid of his fingers and thumbs, “for it comes to about seventy!”
“Add in Rosy Posy,” reminded Marjorie. “She can’t be left out of a Maynard celebration.”
“All right; call it seventy-five. Got that many candles, Mops?”
“Yes, more’n that.”
“Well, put on seventy-five, and call it square.”
“But the cake is round,” said Delight, dimpling with fun.
“Oh, Flossy Flouncy, what a wit you are!” cried King. “All right, Mops, let’s bang the seventy-five candle-holders into place, immejit. My, it’s a lot, isn’t it?”