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Smith, Francis Hopkinson, 1838-1915

"Peter: a novel of which he is not the hero"

This
he intended saying to his uncle in so many plain words; and so
leaving our hero with his soul on fire, his mind bent on
inflammables, explosives, high-pressures--anything in fact that
once inserted under the solid body of the senior Breen would blow
that gentleman into space--we will betake ourselves to his
palatial home. The dinner being an important one, no expense had
been spared.
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 trans formed 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.


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