All day long boys in white aprons had sprung from canvas-covered wagons, dived in Arthur Breen's kitchen and dived out again after depositing various eatables, drinkables and cookables--among them six pair of redheads, two saddles of mutton, besides such uncanny things as mushrooms, truffles and the like, all of which had been turned over to the chef, who was expressly engaged for the occasion, and whose white cap--to quote Parkins--“Gives a hair to the scullery which reminded him more of 'ome than anything 'e 'ad seen since 'e left 'is lordship's service.” Upstairs more wonderful things had been done. The table of the sepulchral dining-room was transformed into a bed of tulips, the mantel a parterre of flowers, while the sideboard, its rear packed with the family silver, was guarded by a row of bottles of various sizes, shapes and colors; various degrees of cob webbed shabbiness, too--containing the priceless vintages which the senior member of the firm of Breen & Co. intended to set before his friends. Finally, as the dinner hour approached, all the gas jets were ablaze; not only the side lights in the main hall, and the overhead lantern which had shed its rays on Peter's bald head, but the huge glass chandelier hung in the middle of the satin-upholstered drawing room, as well as the candelabra on the mantel with their imitation wax candles and brass wicks--everything, in fact, that could add to the brilliancy of the occasion. All this, despite the orderly way in which the millionaire's house was run, had developed a certain nervous anxiety in the host himself, the effect of which had not yet worn off, although but a few minutes would elapse before the arrival of the guests. This was apparent in the rise and fall of Breen's heels, as he seesawed back and forth on the hearth-rug in the satin-lined drawing-room, with his coattails spread to the lifeless grate, and from the way he glanced nervously at the mirror to see that his cravat was properly tied and that his collar did not ride up in the back. The only calm person in the house was the ex-widow. With the eyes of a major-general sweeping the field on the eve of an important battle, she had taken in the disposition of the furniture, the hang of the curtains and the placing of the cushions and lesser comforts. She had also arranged with her own hands the masses of narcissus and jonquils on the mantels, and had selected the exact shade of yellow tulips which centred the dining-room table. It was to be a “Gold-Mine Dinner,” so Arthur had told her, “and everything must be in harmony.” Then seeing Parkins, who had entered unexpectedly and caught her in the act (it is bad form for a hostess to arrange flowers in some houses--the butler does that), she asked in an indifferent tone: “And how many are we to have for dinner, Parkins?” She knew, of course, having spent an hour over a diagram placing the guests. “Fourteen, my lady.”