“They’ll soon get tired of playing tricks on you, as you don’t get mad. Just keep your eyes open and your mouth shut, and you’ll soon know as much about the ship as any of them.”
“Oh, I don’t intend to let them make me mad,” Kit answered, “no matter how many tricks they play on me. A new boy has to expect that sort of thing, I suppose.”
Before he reached the cabin companionway he was stopped by “Chocolate” Cheevers, the engineer’s mess-room boy, whose nickname was generally abbreviated to “Chock.” This boy had already played more tricks upon Kit than all the rest of the crew combined, and the new cabin boy felt sure that he would not be a pleasant companion on the voyage. The curious nickname that the sailors had given him came, it was easy to see, from the brown hue of his skin; and this and his tight-curled black hair and velvety brown eyes marked him for a light West Indian mulatto. He was about a year older than Kit, tall and slender.
“Say, farmer,” he said, laying a hand on Kit’s shoulder (disliking his own nickname, he was anxious to attach one to Kit), “don’t you want to go ashore with me and have a look at the town to-night? This will be our last night in port.”
“Why, we’re going to sail at eight o’clock,” Kit answered.
“Well, you are a green one!” Chock laughed. “How can we sail before we get our crew on board? We’ll not leave the wharf before midnight, and then she’ll anchor out in the harbor till morning.”
“But I can’t go on shore without leave,” Kit protested, “nor you either.”
“We can get leave fast enough, on the last night. Come along, and we’ll take in some of the shows on the Bowery. It’s a gay old place, that Bowery.”
“Oh, that’s what you mean by taking a look at the town, is it?” Kit laughed. “I don’t care about that kind of a look, thank you. I saw a little of the Bowery when I was looking for a job, and I’m not fond of it; and I have no money to throw away on such things. We’d better both stay on board and attend to our business.”
“Ah, the cabin boy is a preacher as well as a farmer, is he?” Chock sneered. “Service of song every Sunday morning.”