streamers and Japanese lanterns, and here and there were
orange-trees and palms and artificial streams and fountains. Every
table was crowded, it seemed; one was half-deafened by the clatter
of plates, the voices and laughter, and the uproar of a negro
orchestra of banjos, mandolins, and guitars. Negro waiters flew here
and there, and a huge, stout head-waiter, who was pirouetting and
strutting, suddenly espied Oliver, and made for him with smiles of
welcome.

"Yes, sir--just come in, sir," he said, and led the way down the
room, to where, in a corner, a table had been set for sixteen or
eighteen people. There was a shout, "Here's Ollie!"--and a pounding
of glasses and a chorus of welcome--"Hello, Ollie! You're late,
Ollie! What's the matter--car broke down?"

Of the party, about half were men and half women. Montague braced
himself for the painful ordeal of being introduced to sixteen people
in succession, but this was considerately spared him. He shook hands
with Robbie Walling, a tall and rather hollow-chested young man,
with slight yellow moustaches; and with Mrs. Robbie, who bade him
welcome, and presented him with the freedom of the company.

Then he found himself seated between two young ladies, with a waiter
leaning over him to take his order for the drinks. He said, a little
hesitatingly, that he would like some whisky, as he was about
frozen, upon which the girl on his right, remarked, "You'd better
try a champagne cocktail--you'll get your results quicker." She
added, to the waiter, "Bring a couple of them, and be quick about
it."