Marse Warren?" The big whites of his eyes were rolling--an
indication that Rusty Snow's mind was not as much at ease as usual.
"You ain't gonta do nothin' dangerous, is you, Marse Warren? Remember
you-all is de oney one left in de fam'ly an' you's got to look after
yohself."

Warren placed a kindly hand on the negro's shoulder.

"Rusty, I remember that once when Meadow Green got too small for you,
years ago, you started out with a minstrel show--'The Darktown
Merrymakers,' they called it."

This leap over the chasm of years was too much for Rusty.

"Yassir," he agreed, after recovering from his surprise. "But, I had to
walk back home."

"The thing I want to know, Rusty, is whether you learned how to act
when you were with that troupe. Did you?"

"Did I? Marse Warren, dere wasn't no _amotion_ dat wasn't developed in
me on dat trip--I started off laughin' and came back like a weepin'
angel."

"Ha, ha!" laughed Jarvis. "That's splendid. Now, Rusty, I want to have
you do some more play-acting--only turn it around. This time I want you
to go away weeping, and we'll come back laughing!"

Rusty was actually offended.

"Ah, Marse Warren. You's pickin' on de ole nigger. Dat was w'en I was a
young an' sassy coon. No moh actin' fer mine."

"That's just what you've got to do, Rusty. Obey orders or walk back to
New York!"

Rusty blinked and grumbled to himself. Then, as usual, he acquiesced
with that famous grin.

"Oh, Marse Warren, I'm game fer anything dat you is. What is de play?"

"I think we can call this one 'Why Dukes Leave Home,' Rusty. Now, you
get busy with those clothes, and pack up the suitcases again, so they
won't be missed. I'm going on the boat deck, over us, for a little walk
and some thinking."

Jarvis was gone for about fifteen minutes. Rusty was beginning to get
nervous by the time he had returned. His hands and face were sooty.

"Where you-all been, Marse Warren? Climbin' up on de smokestack?"

"No, just investigating things. Now, after I write this note I will
tell you about your acting and give you a rehearsal. I haven't any time
to lose, Rusty."

Warren wrote very carefully, tearing the paper up several times and
throwing the fragments through the open porthole, for this was an
outside stateroom. At last he had finished it.

He smiled over it more than once, finally sealed it, and laid it
carefully in the center of the little folding writing-desk, where it
was in plain view from the d