I bowed politely. “At your service. Black Bart—my visiting cards are mislaid, but I intend ordering some new ones. The ship’s cook, John, will soon be here with tea. These events may have been wearying. Meantime, allow me to present my friend Partial.”
Partial certainly understood human speech. He now approached Helena slowly and stood looking up into her face in adoration. Then, without any command, he lay down deliberately and rolled over; sat up, barked; and so, having done all his repertory for her whom he now—as had his master before him—loved at first sight, he stood again and worshiped.
“Nice doggie!” said Helena courteously.
“Have a care, Helena!” said I. “Love my dog, love me! And all the world loves Partial.”
The color heightened in her cheeks. I had never spoken so boldly to her before, but had rather dealt in argument than in assertion; which I, later, was to learn is no way to make love to any woman.
“When do we get back to Natchez?” she demanded.
“We do not get back to Natchez.”
“Oh? Then I suppose Mr. Davidson picks us up at Baton Rouge?”
“Yon varlet,” said I, “does not pick us up at Baton Rouge.”
“New Orleans?”