“Oh, but I think that’s just too sweet for anything,” cried Harry. “It’s--it’s perfectly dandy! And I think it’s too bad he can’t be here.” The others echoed both sentiments. Then Harry deposited her presents in a place of safety and the feast began, much to Chub’s satisfaction, for that youth declared that he was rapidly starving to death. I’m not going to even attempt to do justice to that banquet, but you may rest assured that the five persons around the table did. The sun sank lower and lower, and the golden glow faded from the quiet surface of the river. Lamps were lighted and the shades pulled across the little windows. The cake was cut, Harry declaring that never had she dreamed of having two birthday cakes in one day, and Chub convulsed the table by surreptitiously concealing a pink candle in Roy’s slice and causing his chum to leave the room precipitately. “Aren’t mad, are you?” asked Chub when Roy returned. “Not if I get another piece of cake without any filling,” was the answer. “I was afraid you’d wax wroth,” said Chub. For that he was captured by Roy and Dick and made to apologize to the assemblage, Mr. Cole encouraging them to administer any punishment they saw fit. The dessert finished--there was ice-cream in two flavors, cake, fruit, and candy--the table was hurriedly cleared and moved back to the studio and Mr. Cole started the talking-machine. The first selection was, as Mr. Cole announced, Handel’s “Sweet Bird,” sung by Madame Melba. The audience listened very closely and politely, the artist watching them with twinkling eyes. When it was finished he asked them how they liked it. Harry was quite enthusiastic, Roy said it was splendid, Dick said it was very pretty, and Chub merely strove to look appreciative and didn’t succeed. “Well,” said Mr. Cole, “since you like classic music we’ll have some more. I was afraid you wouldn’t care for it.” Chub winked soberly at Roy, their host having turned his back to select a new record, and Dick fidgeted in his chair.