Mr. Chester, however, was as much against the idea as Jim’s parent. “No, Tom,” he said, after Tom had explained matters. “It would mean a year from school at least, and while I realize the knowledge you boys would obtain would be of real value, still it’s too risky a trip. You’d be frozen in for six months or more, the ship might be stove—in which case you might be killed or might be marooned in the Arctic for months or years—or she might strike a berg or a floe and founder. Arctic whaling’s dangerous, and I don’t feel sure the Narwhal is seaworthy. Besides, I don’t know who Dixon is sending as ice pilot. It’s been years since a New Bedford whaler went to the Arctic and it takes men experienced in the ice to bring the ships through safely.”
“But Cap’n Pem was an ice pilot—on the Petrel,” argued Tom. “And you have faith in him.”
Mr. Chester laughed. “Yes, as far as looking after you boys to the best of his ability and being a good whaleman is concerned. But don’t for a moment think that Dixon will ship him or Mike. In the Arctic they need able-bodied young men—half the work is done ashore and there are long tramps over ice and snow. No, Tom, Cap’n Pem won’t go, that’s certain.”
“You said that about the Hector,” Tom reminded him. “And yet he went. Oh, Dad, if Cap’n Pem and Mike go, can’t I?”
“I suppose you want me to make another bargain,” chuckled his father, “and make a condition that seems impossible but may be fulfilled. No, Tom, even if Cap’n Pem went I would hesitate to consent. But I’ll tell you what. If the owners of the Narwhal invite you to go—remember you’re not to ask them—and if they guarantee that they’ll be personally responsible for your safety, then I’ll consent.”
“Well that’s poor comfort!” exclaimed the disappointed boy. “Just as if the owners are going to invite us without even knowing we want to go, and as if they’d be responsible for us! Gee, they’d have to double their insurance, I guess.”
“One’s as likely as the other, I admit,” laughed Mr. Chester. “But don’t be so disappointed, Tom. Maybe there’ll be a ship going to the West Indies or the Atlantic this summer that you can go on—some short cruise.”
“Bother the West Indies!” cried Tom petulantly. “I want to go to the Arctic, and maybe Mr. Dixon may take Cap’n Edwards and maybe he or Cap’n Pem or some one may tell him we can navigate, and if he wants mates perhaps he will ask us.”
“Well, if he does you can go—that is, of course, if Jim goes too,” smiled Tom’s father. “But remember you’re neither to ask, nor hint about it. And I don’t think you’ll need to get out your winter things this June.”