There was Pestler the druggist in an up-to-date dress suit as good as anybody's--almost as good as the one Felix wore, and from which, for the first time since he landed, he had shaken the creases.
There was Tim Kelsey, in the suit of clothes he wore every day, the only difference being the high collar instead of the turned-down one, the change giving him the appearance of a man with a bandaged neck, so narrow were his poor shoulders and so big was the fine head overtopping it.

There were Mike and Bobby and the two Dutchies and Sanderson, who came with his hands full of roses for Masie, and a score of others whose names the scribe forgets, besides lots and lots of children of all sizes and ages.
And there were Kitty and John--and they were both magnificent--at least Kitty was--she being altogether resplendent in black alpaca finished off by a fichu of white lace, her big, full-bosomed, robust body filling it without a crease; and he in a new suit bought for the occasion, and which fitted him everywhere except around the waist--a defect which Kitty had made good by means of a well-concealed safety-pin in the back.
It was for Kitty that Felix had been on the lookout ever since the guests began to arrive, and no sooner did her rosy, beaming face appear behind that of her husband, than he pushed his way through the throng to reach her side.

"No, not out here, Mistress Kitty," he cried.

Had she been of royal blood he could not have treated her with more distinction.
"You are to stand alongside of Masie when she comes in; the child has no mother, and you must look after her." "No mother! Mr.O'Day! God rest your soul, she won't need to do without one long, she's that lovely.

There'll be plenty will want to mother, and brother her, too, for that matter.