s next remark, as he helped on with the coat
over the painful shoulders.

"I came in the trunk--and it was almost as good traveling as some of
those mountain railroads back in Kentucky. Quick, hand me that
towel--my face is bleeding."

A few quick movements, the use of the comb, and he looked more
presentable, resembling Jarvis the clubman once again.

"Did you see any signs of the police, Rusty?"

"No, sir. Nary a sign."

"Are you sure?"

"Dead sartin, Marse Warren."

"Did you look?"

"No, sir. I cain't say as I did. I wasn't anxious to look."

The door opened, with a suddenness which caused both men to jump. It
was the Princess. She smiled with relief as she saw the rehabilitation.

"How de do, Mrs. Princess?" was Rusty's polite greeting, with a bow.
His formality was growing more impressive, as the acquaintance
extended. Here was "quality" indeed--Rusty was a judge of "breed"!

"How do you do, Rusty?" and she laughed girlishly.

Then she turned toward her vassal. He wore a quizzical, friendly, and
amusingly pathetic look. The bruises of his trip were evident upon the
clear-cut features.

"I am so glad that you made it all right. But how they must have bumped
and banged and wabbled and whirled you!"

"I believe I could go over Niagara Falls in a barrel now, without
turning a hair."

She saw the hand--with its red wound. She winced, and reached for the
hand, womanlike.

"Oh, that's dreadful. You must have it attended at once. Let me get
something."

Warren stoically drew it away from the gentle touch of the white
fingers.

"Oh, it's all right. The ship's surgeon will welcome a little
professional exercise. I'll be the first patient, as we're not out far
enough for the seasickness practice yet."

He turned toward Rusty, who was making a mental comparison of the room
with the steamboat cabins back on the Ohio River. Rusty decided that
even the old _Gallia Queen_, in her palmiest days, could not have been
much more resplendent than this "foreign" boat!

"You can go back and rest yourself, Rusty," suggested Jarvis. "And,
listen--what's the number of the stateroom?"

"Seven-twenty-nine, sir."

"How did you get the tickets, in my name? I was registered differently
at the other hotel."

"Oh, I jest told 'em dey was for Mr. R. Snow, a rich Southern
gentleman. When I gits down here, I tells Mr. Snow has decided to send
his repersentative! Den I had de name changed--dat's all, Marse
Warren."

M