He was a little embarrassed to find that he was to be seated at the right hand of Mr. Ysnard, the agent, near the head of the table; for he was bright enough to see that the seats were arranged according to rank in the firm, with the proprietor at the top of the table, the cashier and chief clerks next, then the minor clerks, and the porters and boys near the foot.
“Hadn’t I better go lower down, sir?” he asked. “I don’t think I belong up here.”
“Oh, yes, you do!” Mr. Ysnard laughed; “you are my guest to-day, and my guests always belong in the seat of honor.”
While the many courses were brought on, soup, fish, roasts, dessert, and fruits, Mr. Ysnard asked Kit enough questions to keep him busy answering—how long he had been on the North Cape, how he liked it, where he lived, and all about himself. But when, after the meal was finished, they all sat talking, and most of them smoking, he began to grow uneasy.
“I shall have to ask you to excuse me, sir,” he said to Mr. Ysnard. “I am afraid some of the lighters will be coming in, and I must not miss anything.”
“Very true, my boy, you must attend to business,” Mr. Ysnard answered. “And you can safely follow the example, Michel,” he called down the table to Kit’s fellow-clerk on the wharf, who sat about the middle.
Together they returned to their work, and up to dark they had little chance for conversation, for eight lighters were now busy bringing cargo. When it was too dark to see longer, the gig was sent to take Kit on board.
“Make way for the supercargo!” Chock Cheevers cried, as he stepped on board. “Clear a gangway there. Don’t you see who’s come aboard?”
But the second mate had something more important to say.
“Bring your list into the chart-room,” he ordered, “and compare it with my tally.” The second mate had been keeping the tally of everything that left the ship; and when the comparison was made they corresponded exactly, showing that on his first day, at any rate, Kit had made no mistakes.