“See! paint’s wet yet. That’s why I didn’t want y’ to come. Spoil y’ clo’es, sure ’s a gun.” Apparently to-morrow the paint would be dry as a bone. Past the strangely few decent, though cramped, state-rooms of the first saloon, each ticketed with the names of prospective occupants, down into the dim region of the second saloon, down into the intermediate, further down, clinging on to ladders, down, down, into the bowels of the ship, Hildegarde and the ferret-faced agent went, looking for Mr. Blumpitty’s quarters. And lo! though that gentleman had paid for first-class accommodation—as the agent admitted—he’d been “glad to get the only accommodation left,” and that was in the hold! The twenty-nine berths were twenty-nine sections of deal shelves, ranged in tiers five deep, and set so close one on top of the other you could not believe it possible for a good-sized man to insert his body between the unsheeted ticking of his chuck-mattress and the board above his head. Hildegarde stood stooping in the awful hole and staring as one not crediting her eyes. “It’ll look better,” says the agent, a little shamefaced, “when the beds are made. The company supplies a piller each, and a pair o’ blankets.” No ventilation. No light of day. One electric burner to illumine the horror of the gloom. “You don’t mean to say—” began Hildegarde, turning such a look upon the agent that he said hurriedly: “No, no. This won’t do for a noos—fur a lady.” And they climbed the ladders back to day. He found the lady up-stairs quarters on the saloon deck. “But there are only five berths here.” “Best cabin on the ship,” said he, spitting with decision through the port. “But on this card on the door there are five names already.” “One’s comin’ out,” and he saw to that by the simple process of drawing an indelible pencil across “Miss Tillie Jump,” and substituting “Miss H. Mar.” Still the young lady studied the card. “Look at this.” He looked. “Here, at the very top.” “Don’t see nothin’.” “You don’t see _Mr._ and Mrs. David M. Jones.” “Oh, yes, I see them.” “Surely that’s a mistake.” “Mistake? No. I ’tended to them folks myself.” As the young lady stared incredulous, he reassured her. “They’re comin’ all right. Tip-top folks. He wus governor of—” “They’re not coming in here?” “Why not?” “_Mr._ Jones?” “Yes, David M. He wus governor of—” “In here, with all these—ladies!” “Well, one’s his wife. Don’t you be afraid. _He’s_ all right.” “He can’t possibly come in here.” “He’s got to. No other place. Him an’ his wife wus almost the first passengers on the list.” “Well, give them a cabin to themselves.” “Oh, see here! There ain’t room fur no style like that on _this_ trip.” “Then put back Miss Jump and take out Mr. Jones.” She saw the agent blink at such cool juggling. “Mr. Jones must go in a man’s cabin,” she explained. “Don’t you know they’re all full?” “He can’t come in here,” said the young lady inflexibly.