After breakfast, Vickers with the assistance of two or three native boys, Ascencion’s grandchildren, who came and went about the house like stray dogs, hung the court and corridors with paper lanterns, and moved the furniture so as to leave the _sala_ free for dancing. These preparations occupied so much time that he was barely able to finish his report for the government before dinner, and almost immediately afterward his guests began to arrive. He had not had time to write the letter, and he could not now catch the mail unless he sent a boy down the trail to the coast. He actually thought of doing this in order to catch the steamer, for his conscience reproached him, but Ascencion absolutely refused to be deprived of any of her working staff on so great an occasion. Cortez was the first to arrive. He was carrying his talking-machine in his arms as he entered, and he and Vickers had a great many jokes to exchange as to the rolls fit for the ears of the señoritas. “It is going to be the making of the party,” Vickers exclaimed, “and I can’t thank you enough for bringing it.” Cortez replied politely that everything he had was equally at the disposition of his friend, but presently it appeared that it was within the power of Vickers to do a reciprocal favor. Cortez was going the very next day on a long shooting trip. But he feared he would be short of cartridges. Doubtless Don Luis knew the delays in the custom-house. Was it possible that he could borrow a hundred or so? Vickers asked the caliber, and noted that it was the same as the new government rifle. Cortez shrugged his shoulders. “It may be,” he said. “You forget that I am not in the confidence of the government. But we will say no more. If it is not convenient----” “My dear fellow,” cried Vickers, clapping him on the shoulder, “it is perfectly convenient; take as many as you want,” and summoning one of Ascencion’s descendants he gave orders that as many boxes as the señor might want should be carried out and put in his _coche_. Almost every one had come before the arrival of the Señorita Rosita and her papa, which partook of the nature of a rite. He was a little man, very erect, possessed, in Vickers’s eyes, of that inscrutability which even the remnant of an older civilization has for a new one. The girl was reputed a beauty, small, round, barely seventeen, with a pair of black eyes which languished so sweetly and so easily that one scarcely wondered that their owner never used them for anything else.