"Are you left-handed, my man?" asked the officer.
"Faith, my mother used to say I was whiniver she gev me annything to do," answered Paddy, with a grin; "but this is my right hand, properly spaking, ounly it's got on the left side by mistake. 'Twas my ould uncle Dan (rest his sowl!) taught me that thrick. 'Dinnis, me bhoy,' he'd be always sayin', 'ye should aiven l'arn to clip yer finger-nails wid the left hand, for fear ye'd some day lose the right.'"
This "bull" drew a shout of laughter from all who heard it, and the officer, turning his head to conceal a smile, caught sight of our hero.
"Hallo! another landsman! Boatswain, hold that gang-plank a moment, or we'll be taking this youngster to sea with us."
"That's just what I want," cried the boy, vehemently. "Will you take me, sir?"
"Run away from home, of course," muttered the officer. "That's what comes of reading Robinson Crusoe—they all do it. Well, my lad, as I see it's too late to put you ashore now, what do you want to ship as? Ever at sea before?"
"No, sir; but I'll take any place you like to give me."
"Sign here, then."
And down went the name of "Frank Austin," under the printed heading of "Working Passenger." The officer went off with the paper, the sailors dispersed, and Frank was left alone.
Gradually the countless lights of New York, Brooklyn, and Jersey City sank behind, as the vessel neared the great gulf of darkness beyond the Narrows. Tompkins Light, Fort Lafayette, Sandy Hook, slipped by one by one. The bar was crossed, the light-ship passed, and now no sound broke the dreary silence but the rush of the steamer through the dark waters, with the "Highland Lights" watching her like two steadfast eyes.