"Sure I am," declared the man, gazing into the happy face before him, and valiantly determining to be Mike now no matter what happened.
"An' ain't the table pretty!" exulted the little girl. "I found that chiny cup with the gold on it. 'Course it don't hold nothin', 'cause the bottom's fell out; but it looks pretty—an' looks counts when comp'ny's here!"
The boy lifted his head suddenly.
"Look a-here! I'll make it hold sumpin'," he cried, diving his hands into his pockets, and bringing out five coppers and a dime. "Youse jest wait. I 'll get a posy up ter de square. 'Course, we 'd ought ter have a posy, wid comp'ny here."
"Hold on!" The Millionaire's hand was in his pocket now. His fingers were on a gold piece, and his eyes—in fancy—were on a glorious riot of Jacqueminots that filled the little room to overflowing, and brought a wondrous light to three pairs of unbelieving eyes—then Mike remembered. "Here," he said a little huskily, "let me help." But the fingers, when he held them out, carried only the dime that Mike might give, not the gold piece of the Millionaire.
"Aw, g'wan," scoffed the boy, jubilantly. "As if we'd let comp'ny pay! Dis is our show!" And for the second time that day the Millionaire had found something that money could not buy.
And thus it happened that the table, a little later, held a centerpiece of flowers—four near-to-fading pinks in a bottomless, gold-banded china cup.
It was the man who heard the honk of a motor-car in the street outside. Instinctively he braced himself, and none too soon. There was a light knock, then in the doorway stood the dearest girl in the world, a large basket and a box in her hands.
"Oh, how lovely! You have the table all ready," she exclaimed, coming swiftly forward. "And what a fine—Billy!" she gasped, as she dropped the box and the basket on the table.
The boy turned sharply.