Dandy chose the salad. But where was the knife with which to shovel the delicious compounds into his capacious mouth? Clearly the waiter had neglected his duty in providing a knife, for there was nothing beside his plate but a silver instrument with four fine prongs. In despair he looked in the direction of his model, the colonel, and saw that gentleman eating with the silver thing, holding it in his right hand. All the others round the table were doing the same thing! Old Dandy shook his head, saying within himself: “Sure, and I don’t like these newfangled ways; they ain’t Irish, nor ’Merican, nor they ain’t natural, nuther! But it’s a baste I am to be finding fault at Ran’s wedding, so it is.” And then Dandy ate his salad as well as he could with his unaccustomed instrument. The fest went on, and delicacy after delicacy was served. Plates were often changed, dishes were changed. Tea, coffee and chocolate gave place to tokay, champagne and johanisberg. Dandy, following what he considered a safe rule, but which was soon proved to be anything else but safe, did as he saw other people do, and got through the feast very creditably until at length Col. Moseley arose in his place and called the attention of the company in a neat little speech, which he concluded with: “And now, ladies and gentlemen, I have the honor to propose the health of the bride and groom.” Up jumped Dandy to do as other people—notably his model colonel did, and exclaimed: “Me, too, ladies and gintlemin! I purpose the good health of the bride and groom!” Consternation fell for a moment on the company, but the colonel had suffered more than one “surprise” in the course of his military life, and he was equal to the occasion. “Thank you, sir, in the name of our friends,” he said gravely, bowing to Dandy. “Then, gentlemen, fill up your glasses.” The toast was honored. And no one felt more satisfied with himself and with all the world than did Dandy Quin. Other toasts were offered and equally honored, Dandy taking a conspicuous part in every one. It was twelve o’clock when the guests sat down to the table. It was two when they arose and withdrew to the drawing-room. Then Judy went upstairs to change her light bridal dress for the heavy green cloth suit that was to defend her from the wintry winds of the open sea. At her earnest request no one was to go down to the steamer to see them off. “Because I shall behave badly. I know I shall. I shall cry. And it is so awful to cry in public!” said Judy. All her effects had been packed and sent on the steamer, except the one little trunk into which her last belongings were to go, and which was to be put into the carriage with her.