What each was to do on the other side of the ocean was not very clear, even to themselves. Each had a little money saved up. Dandy thought he would sink his savings in a life annuity. Longman hoped to get a gamekeeper’s place on some estate. Mike wanted to go to school for a little while. He was really nineteen years old, but so small and slender that he might easily have passed for a schoolboy. But he meant to keep near his mining “pards,” so as not to “inthrude” on Ran and Judy and their fine friends. Vainly had faithful Ran combated this resolution. Mike had been firm, and Ran had to yield the point. Now, as Ran sat at table with Stuart and Palma, the latter said to him: “You and Judy will be married as Cleve and myself were—without bridesmaid or groomsman.” “Yes,” said Ran; “but it is not my fault or Judy’s. I wanted Judy’s brother, my old partner, Mike Man, to be my groomsman, which would have been right enough; but Mike stoutly refused. If Mike had consented to stand up with me, then Judy might have had a bridesmaid in one of the Moseley young ladies. But, no; Mike was as stubborn as a mule. To be sure, I know that Mr. Jim Moseley and Miss Betty Moseley would have kindly stood up with us, but Judy said no; and so we must stand up alone.” “It is just as well. And now, my dear,” said Palma, rising from her seat with a pretty little matronly air of authority, “as you have finished your breakfast, you had better go and dress yourself. Your carriage was ordered at half-past nine, I think. When you have finished, come to me that I may put the last touches on your toilet—twirl the curls and mustache, and pin the boutonnière, as you have no valet. Though, I suppose, you will set up some Monsieur Frangipanni as your personal attendant and dresser.” “Thank you, Cousin Palma. Never! Never! I should be too much in awe of such a grand dignitary,” said Ran, laughing, as he left the room. “What a happy dog he is, my dear,” exclaimed Stuart to his wife as they also retired to dress for the wedding. Meanwhile, at this same hour, in an upper room at Markiss’ Hotel on Water Street, another scene of preparation was going on. Samson Longman, Andrew Quin, and Michael Man were dressing for the wedding. The three men were fresh from the bath and the barber. Longman had his hair cut and his fine, flowing beard dressed, and, with his strong, regular features and his clear, blue eyes, looked a very handsome colossus, indeed. He wore a fashionable dress suit of black cloth, with a vest of black satin, a small white tie, a tea rose in his buttonhole, white kid gloves and patent leather boots. He looked every inch a gentleman, as he really was. Dandy had had his red hair and side whiskers trimmed and dressed. He also wore a dress suit of exactly the same style of Longman’s, even to the little details of the white tie, tea rose, kid gloves and patent leathers.