"And this is good!" she said, pleased that Mr. Kingley had not skimped the menu for the banquet in honor of her granddaughter.
At last the ice cream and cake had been eaten, the tables cleared, and every glass filled with sparkling ginger ale. The waitresses and the cooks gathered in a corner with glasses of ginger ale in their hands. Mr. Kingley rose to his feet and made a speech, in which he extolled Tessie and the Evergreen and the Sunshine Islands, and the Evergreen—; and when he was all tangled up in the Evergreen, and Mr. Bill reached behind Tessie and pulled his dinner coat, he asked every one to drink the toast to their former associate: "Our little queen, Her Majesty of the Sunshine Islands!"
The band broke into the stirring strains of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow." There were cheers and much hand-clapping as the toast was drunk with hearty good will.
"You'll have to respond," Mr. Kingley, flushed and important, told Tessie. "You'll have to say something!"
"A speech! I couldn't!" Tessie shrank back appalled at the mere thought of making a speech before Mr. Kingley and the department managers. She could not do it.
But the clamor on the floor would not subside, and at last she rose up and stood looking at them. How kind they were! How dear! Involuntarily she stretched out her arms as if she would embrace them all.
"You dear, dear folks!" she cried, and her voice quivered with emotion. "I love you every one!"
There was more applause, a perfect fury, and then suddenly the lights went out, and the room was plunged in darkness.
"What—what the devil's this?" spluttered Mr. Kingley. "Where's the electrician? I wouldn't have had this happen for a million dollars! What's the matter?" For there was the sound of a scuffle, a muttered curse behind him. He could not see a thing, but he could feel something brush by him. "Bring a light!" he shouted, pale with fright as he thought of what might happen if Ka-kee-ta should use his ax in the darkness. "Can't some one bring a light?"