Some danced with their own wives; some with anybody's wife or daughter or child--a grand hullabaloo, down the middle, across, back, and up again, until everybody was exhausted and fell in a heap into Felix's Spanish chairs, or on his Venetian wedding-chests, or wherever else they could find resting-places in which to catch their breaths.
And now comes the crowning touch of all--the last of the evening's surprises, and one remembered the longest because of its simplicity and its beauty! When everybody was resting, out stepped Felix, the light of the overhead candles falling on his pale, thoughtful face, white shirt-front, and faultless suit of black which fitted his well-knit, handsome frame like a glove, and with him the Grande Duchesse Masie de Kling, the child bowing and smiling as she passed, the wide leghorn hat shading her face from the light of the lanterns above, her long train caught, woman-fashion, over her arm.

Then, with a low word to the pin-headed young man, followed by a downward wave of his palm to denote the time, and the child's fingers firm in his own, Felix led her through an old-fashioned, stately minuet, telling her in an undertone just what steps to take.
It was Sunday morning before the merry party broke up and streamed out through Kling's lower shop, and so on into the street.

Everybody had had the time of their lives.

Such remarks as "Would ye have believed it of Otto ?" or, "Wasn't Masie the sweetest thing ye ever saw ?" or, "Just think of Mr.O'Day fixing up that old junk room the way he did--ye can't beat him nowheres!" or, "Oh, I tell ye, Otto struck it rich when he took him on!", were heard on all sides.
So loud were the laughter and chatter, the good nights and good-bys, that big Tom McGinniss moved over from the opposite curb.
"Halloo, John!" cried the policeman.

"I thought I couldn't be mistaken.
And Kitty, that you with your coffee-pot?
I just come up from Lexington Avenue and heard the row, wondering what was up.