The Story of Jennie- or the Abandoned by Paul Gallico

safe.
    He started to ask Jennie, 'It will be dark soon. Where will we go for the night …?' but she wasn't listening to him. She had a rapt expression on her face and a far-away look in her eyes. And then she said to him in a most momentous tone of voice
    `Peter … how would you like to go off on a little trip with me?'
    At once Peter was interested, nay more, captivated, for he loved going places and was happiest when he was travelling.
    'A trip? Oh, I'd love it! Where to? When?'
    `Now. At once, To-night, I mean, or whenever it goes. But we can look for it to-night. To Scotland. I'd love to go back and visit Glasgow, the city where I was born. And all the relatives I have at Balloch and Gaerlochhead and Balmaha. Oh, Peter, Peter, wouldn't it be the most fun . . .'
    Peter's eyes were now quite as wide with excitement as were
    Jennie's as he listened to the names of the places that sounded so far off and so fascinating, for Nanny had often told him all about Glasgow, and he cried, `But, Jennie, how can we? We haven't any money, or tickets …'
    'Oh, that part, that's simple,' said Jennie. 'We'll take a job and work our way north to Glasgow …'
    'A job,' Peter repeated, bewildered. `But what can we do?’
    'Plenty,' Jennie replied. 'We'll find a ship bound for Glasgow and sign on as ship's cats—after they discover that we're aboard. It's easy.'
    It was now Peter's turn to look with wonder and admiration at his companion. 'Jennie!' he said, 'do you mean to say you've done it already, you've been away to sea?'
    'Oh, yes, several times,' she replied, falling into that careless nonchalance that she could not seem to help adopting whenever Peter admired her, `but the trouble was I could never tell where I was going. I wanted very much to go to Egypt to visit the tombs of my ancestors, and instead I landed up in Oslo. Did I ever get tired of eating dried fish! And once I went all the way to New Orleans and back. I thought that one would never end. Twenty-eight days at sea. Such a bore…. But now that I know you can read the names of ships and where they are going. ..'
    A sudden thought struck Peter. `But, Jennie,' he said, 'being on ships—isn't that being with people, after all, I mean, you know what you said about not caring to—'
    `Not at all,' Jennie replied coolly. `It's quite different. You're working for your living, and believe me, you work. Anything you get you earn, keeping down the mice and rats, forecasting the weather, locating leaks and bad smells, and bringing good luck and what not you're called upon to do. It's all on a strictly business basis. The sailors and mates and masters have their work to do, and precious little time over it leaves them to try to get sentimental with you. And you have yours, and that keeps you occupied, and there's an end to it. The food isn't too bad, and what's important, it's regular—no worries about it, and plenty of it. You get your sea legs after a day or so, and outside of a certain monotony if you stay out of sight of land too long, it isn't a bad life. What say, friend?' And the look that she threw him was both eager and pleading as well as challenging.
    'Right-ho!' Peter cried. 'I'm for going.'
    'Bravo, Peter!' Jennie called, giving a little croon of delight. 'I knew you would. We'll search these docks back here in the basin first. Your job will be to read off the names. I'll pick the one we want to go on.'
    They set off immediately from Wapping Wall to the London Docks. At each ship they passed berthed in the Old or New Basin and the seemingly endless Dock area, Peter would gaze up at the wondrous, alluring names lettered in gold beneath the taffrail, with their home ports, and read them off to Jennie.
    'Raimona—Lisbon,' he read.
    `Lisbon is full of cats—my type,' Jennie commented.
    `Vilhialmar—Helsinki …'
    'No more dried fish, thank you,' Jennie remarked, a little acidly.
    `Isis—Alexandria …'
    Jennie went all dreamy, and even appeared to hesitate for a moment