"Well, I'm all here!"
He stumbled across the cabin, where he helped himself to a welcome drink of water. He tenderly caressed the bruised elbows, and breathed hard.
"I'm most all here!"
He looked down at his twisted, cracked patent-leather shoes.
"My feet are bent—they'll never get well!"
He sat limply down on the top of the trunk, and fumbling in his hip pocket drew forth a bent and battered cigarette case. As he struck a light to inhale a few welcome, cheering puffs, he looked about his strange surroundings with the old, unconquerable Jarvis spirit.
"A Princess—a Duke—a castle—a treasure! Well, well! But the problem is: Where the devil do I fit in?"
VII
THE ROMANCE OF THE CASTLE