Topmasts against the Sky
stayed and had a little talk with the old sailor. He says: "I usually go out o' port on Friday. Now, 'tain't commonly supposed to be lucky to leave port on a Friday, but I don't take no stock in superstition. I once sailed along of a captain that wouldn't leave port on a Friday, even when there was good wind, good tide, good weather—everything just right."
***
Mate, you can believe that I hardly slept a wink all that night. I was going down to see a real schooner. I was going aboard of her. I should see the crew, and be friendly with them. I should climb up in the rigging, if allowed. (That was a secret hope of mine, and I was almost more excited about that than anything.) I would show the family, and the crew, too, that if I got a chance to go up in those ratlines, I would go!
We must have made quite a sight, the whole Follett family going down the street under royals and skysails, headed straight for the schooner Norman D. It seemed an infinitely long way, but we saw the masts of her as soon as we got out of the trolley car, and I know I was like a bucking wild horse all the way down Brewery Street. When I saw those noble topmasts against the blue sky ahead of me, I wanted
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