“Nothing wrong with your discharge, I suppose?”
“Nothing whatever,” I answered, whipping the document out of my pocket and handing it to her.
She read it carefully and handed it back.
“Thank you!” she said. “I guess that looks all right. How old are you, Mr Leigh?”
“I shall be eighteen on the ninth of next December,” I replied, beginning now to wonder whether this questioning was likely to lead to anything, or whether it was merely the result of kindly curiosity on the part of my hostess.
“Eighteen!” she exclaimed. “Well, I declare to goodness I’d have said you were at least three years older, if I’d been asked to guess. Only eighteen! And what kind of a berth have you been looking for, may I ask?”
“Well,” I said, “I had it in my mind to get into some big craft as third mate, if I could find an opening. It would afford me a chance to work up for my ticket, which I am naturally anxious to obtain as soon as possible.”
“Sure,” she agreed. “And do you know anything about navigation? But I guess you do, by the way that you looked at those charts and instruments just now.”
“Oh, yes!” I said; “I rather fancy myself as a navigator. Navigation is quite a hobby of mine.”
“Tell me how much you know,” she said. “I’m something of a navigator myself. In fact, Mr Leigh, I am one of the few women who hold a master’s certificate and are qualified to take command of a ship sailing to any part of the world. I am captain of this yacht, in fact as well as in name; I brought her across from New York to the Nore without the ghost of a hitch, and I guess I can take her the rest of the trip round the world, upon which we are bound. Now, go ahead and tell me what you know about navigation.”