“Yes, sir.”
“What do you know about the place we’re going to—Sisal?”
“It is a small place on the coast of Yucatan, sir,” Kit answered promptly; “a seaport for the city of Merida, which lies about twenty miles inland. But I have learned most of that from your books here since I came aboard, sir,” he added, blushing a little.
“Well, I am glad to see you are honest about it,” the Captain said, with a smile. “I think you can stand there and read some of these manifests to me while I copy them. These things are the plague of my life. I have to make three copies of them before we reach Sisal, and I’d rather navigate a ship around the world than do it. Go ahead, now, and be very careful; for the least mistake will make no end of trouble.”
Kit began and read line by line with great care, while the Captain laboriously copied. After fifteen or twenty minutes of the work the Captain laid down the pen, and began to open and shut his hand and to rub it.
“Ah, my fingers are not as nimble as they once were,” he said. “It gives me cramp in the hand.”
For some time Kit had been revolving something in his mind while he read, but could not quite determine to speak it out. This pause of the Captain’s, however, decided him.
“I write a plain hand, sir,” he said; “if you could trust me, I think I could copy them for you.”
The Captain looked up at him with one of the piercing looks that seemed to go through him, and Kit was a little alarmed. Maybe it was presuming too much for the cabin boy to suggest such a thing. Even then, though, under that sharp gaze he thought it was worth the venture, for if he succeeded, it would show that he was good for something better than scouring the knives.
“Sit down here and let me see your handwriting,” the Captain said at length, laying a bit of plain paper on top of the manifests.