Order was not restored to the house, nor, indeed, any decent progress made, until this great man came: but where there was a revolt before, and a general disposition to strike work and to yell out defiance against Mrs. Gashleigh, who was sitting bewildered and furious in the drawing-room--where there was before commotion, at the appearance of the master-spirit, all was peace and unanimity: the cook went back to her pans, the housemaid busied herself with the china and glass, cleaning some articles and breaking others, Buttons sprang up and down the stairs, obedient to the orders of his chief, and all things went well and in their season. At six, the man with the wine came from Binney and Latham's. At a quarter past six, Timmins himself arrived. At half past six he might have been heard shouting out for his varnished boots but we know where THOSE had been hidden--and for his dressing things; but Mrs. Gashleigh had put them away. As in his vain inquiries for these articles he stood shouting, “Nurse! Buttons! Rosa my dear!” and the most fearful execrations up and down the stairs, Mr. Truncheon came out on him. “Egscuse me, sir,” says he, “but it's impawsable. We can't dine twenty at that table--not if you set 'em out awinder, we can't.” “What's to be done?” asked Fitzroy, in an agony; “they've all said they'd come.” “Can't do it,” said the other; “with two top and bottom--and your table is as narrow as a bench--we can't hold more than heighteen, and then each person's helbows will be into his neighbor's cheer.” “Rosa! Mrs. Gashleigh!” cried out Timmins, “come down and speak to this gentl--this--” “Truncheon, sir,” said the man. The women descended from the drawing-room. “Look and see, ladies,” he said, inducting them into the dining-room: “there's the room, there's the table laid for heighteen, and I defy you to squeege in more.” “One person in a party always fails,” said Mrs. Gashleigh, getting alarmed. “That's nineteen,” Mr. Truncheon remarked. “We must knock another hoff, Ma'm.” And he looked her hard in the face. Mrs. Gashleigh was very red and nervous, and paced, or rather squeezed round the table (it was as much as she could do). The chairs could not be put any closer than they were. It was impossible, unless the convive sat as a centre-piece in the middle, to put another guest at that table. “Look at that lady movin' round, sir. You see now the difficklty. If my men wasn't thinner, they couldn't hoperate at all,” Mr. Truncheon observed, who seemed to have a spite to Mrs. Gashleigh. “What is to be done?” she said, with purple accents. “My dearest mamma,” Rosa cried out, “you must stop at home--how sorry I am!” And she shot one glance at Fitzroy, who shot another at the great Truncheon, who held down his eyes. “We could manage with heighteen,” he said, mildly. Mrs. Gashleigh gave a hideous laugh. *****