“It’s time to turn in,” said the Captain, glancing at the cabin clock and seeing that it was almost midnight. “To-morrow you must write home for whatever clothes you have. No matter what they are, they will be good enough when we are at sea. And you must ask your mother’s permission to go; I won’t take you without that, but as soon as you get it, I will let you sign the crew list; and you can begin your work to-morrow morning, while you’re waiting for it. We’ll not be away from here for a week yet, and there’s plenty of time. You can sleep on one of the cabin sofas to-night.”
With that the Captain turned the big lamp down low, picked up his overcoat, and disappeared through a door at the end of the cabin, leading, as Kit learned afterward, to his own stateroom.
Kit was a little dazed at first by the rapidity with which things were happening. Late in the afternoon he had concluded to go without any supper, because he was not very hungry and he could not afford to eat just because it was meal time. Then he had looked about for a place to sleep outdoors, having no idea how many thousand homeless people in New York are doing that same thing every night, nor how vigilant the police are to drive them away or arrest them. He had spent two nights in cheap lodging-houses in the Bowery, but everything was so foul and uncomfortable there that he preferred the open air. Then he had gone to sleep between the hemp bales, only to be poked with a club and shaken and put under arrest. And now here he was an hour later with as good a situation as he had hoped to find; and a chance to sleep in as snug and comfortable a cabin as he ever dreamed of; and a prospect of breakfast in the morning that would not have to be paid for out of his poor little eighty-two cents.
He went around the table to the longest of the three sofas in the cabin, and found it covered with soft leather cushions. There was even a leather pillow at the end. He lay down and tried to think things over. He had no doubt that his mother would consent to his going, for it had always been intended that he should go to sea with his father. Then he thought about Genevieve and her stamps, and about Turk, and in five minutes he was fishing in his dreams, in Bonnibrook, the stream that runs through Huntington.
A noise in the cabin awoke him. It was the steward giving the place its morning cleaning; and half asleep as he still was, Kit saw that the sun was streaming through the port-holes.
“Hello, there,” said the steward, “where did you come from?”
Kit sat up and looked around. He had to think a moment before he could tell where he did come from.
“I’m the new cabin boy, sir,” he said.
“Get up, then, and stir yourself,” said the steward.