"But you might get drownded," Granny said awesomely.
"Tell you what I'll do, Granny. Tie a rope to my leg, and fasten it to the mast. Then you know, if I fall overboard, I can haul in. There isn't a bit of danger. Why, Capt. Burton's been all his life. There, don't cry. You are the dearest old grandmother that ever was; but we can't stay under your wing forever."
"You have not made your bargain?" asked Hal, surprised that another dream should come true.
"Well,--almost. He's coming down here in the morning to have a talk with Granny. He will give me ten dollars a month and found, which mean, tea and fish and baccy."
"Oh!" said Hal, "you won't chew tobacco?"
"Sailors always do. But ten dollars a month _is_ better than eight, and my board thrown in. I'm going, Granny."
Granny sighed. It was useless to endeavor to talk Joe out of his project; and so she might as well keep silence.
Capt. Burton came the next morning. He had taken a wonderful fancy to Joe, and was very anxious to engage him.
"He's just the kind of lad that I need," exclaimed the captain. "I want some one who is handy, and quick in figgers; who can keep my accounts for me, as my eyes are getting rather poor; and do arrants; and I've taken a 'mazing liking to him. I'll keep a good watch over him; and he can come home once in a while."
"To Albany, mostly. Now and then I take a trip around Long Island, or up the Sound. Your boy has taken a 'mazing fancy to the sea; and he will never be satisfied until he's had a taste of salt water, in my 'pinion."
"No, that I won't!" declared Joe stoutly.
"We haul off in the winter 'bout three months; which'll give him a holiday. Sence he hankers after it so, you better consent, I think. Cousin Terry will tell you that I ain't a hard master."
What could Granny say? Nothing but cry a little, look up Joe's clothes, and kiss him a hundred times, or more, after the fashion of Mrs. Malloy and her dear Pat. Joe was so delighted, that he could hardly "hold in his skin," as he said to Kit, who sagely advised him not to get into a cast-iron sweat,--Kit's chronic fear on remarkable occasions.
There was not much time for consideration. In two days Joe was off, bag and baggage, whistling, "The girl I left behind me."