But the door opened slowly, and the plump physiognomy of Rusty Snow appeared. Rusty stumbled awkwardly over the elevated threshold, dropping the large bundle, landing prone on the deck. "Wha'f-f-foh they want to build a dern fool door like that?" complained Rusty, scrambling up with a bruised shin, the tenderest spot of a negro. His master worked feverishly, untying the trays and fitting them into the trunk from which he had tardily removed his dress coat, and the revolver. Then he smiled at Rusty. "How in de name of Moses did you-all git on de steamboat, Marse Warren?" was his servant'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."