"Where's the pilot?" came a stern voice, from the bridge, as Jack
Benson's head showed above the starboard rail.
"I am the pilot, sir," Jack replied.
"Why, you're a boy."
"Guilty," Jack responded.
"What does this fooling mean? You're not old enough to hold a pilot's license."
By this time Benson was on the deck, immediately under the bridge. A half dozen sailors, forward, were eyeing him curiously.
"I have no license, sir," Jack admitted. "Neither has anyone else at Dunhaven. For that matter, the harbor's a private one, belonging to the shipyard."
"Hasn't Mr. Farnum a man he can send out!"
"No one who knows the harbor better than I do, sir."
"Who are you? What are you?"