It was Aunt Betty’s forethought which had advised this, saying:
“Let Chloe understand, in the beginning, that she is the helper—not the chief.”
Leaving them to examine and delight in the compact arrangements of the galley she sped up the crooked stair to old Captain Jack. To her surprise she found him anything but the sunny old fellow who had strutted aboard, and he greeted her with a sharp demand:
“Where’s them papers at?”
“Papers? What papers?”
“Ship’s papers, child alive? Where’s your gumption at?”
Dorothy laughed and seated herself on a camp-stool beside him.
“Reckon it must be ‘at’ the same place as the ‘papers.’ I certainly don’t understand you.”
“Land a sissy! ’Spect we’d be let to sail out o’ port ’ithout showin’ our licenses? Not likely; and the fust thing a ship’s owner ought to ’tend to is gettin’ a clean send off. For my part, I don’t want to hug this dock no longer. I want to take her out with the tide, I do.”