“Yes, next Saturday; only four days off,” continued Felix, forging ahead to avoid any side-tracking of his main theme. “And what are you going to do for her? Not many more of them before she will be out of the window like a bird, and off with somebody else.”
Otto ruminated. He loved his daughter, even if he did sometimes forget her very existence. “Oh, I don't know. I guess ve buy her sometings putty—vot you like to have, Beesvings? Or maybe you like to go to de teater vid Auntie Gossburger. I get de tickets.”
The child disengaged her hand from O'Day's arm, pushed back her hair and tiptoed to her father. “I want a party, Popsy—a real party,” she whispered, tipping his chin back with her fingers, so he could look at her through his spectacles—not over them, like an ogre.
“Vere you have it?” This came in a bewildered way, as if the pair had the big ballroom at Delmonico's in the back of their heads.
“Here, in this very place,” broke in Felix, “after I get it in order.”
Kling, gently freeing himself from Masie's hold, stared at his clerk. “Dot vill cost a lot of money, don't it?”
“No, I do not think so.”
“Vell, who is coming? De childer all around?”
“Everybody is coming—big, little, and middle-sized,” answered Felix. The cat was all out of the bag now.
“Vell, dot's vot I said. You don't can get someting for nodding. You must have blenty to eat and drink.”