Midst Arctic Perils: A Thrilling Story of Adventure in the Polar Regions

I MANAGED it all right, Guy, announced Leslie Ward excitedly. Old Runswick's a brick. Says he'll take us both for a week's cruise. The Laughing Lassie sails at high water this evening.
Leslie Ward, the fifteen-year-old son of a distinguished electrical engineer, and his chum, Guy Anderson, were spending a holiday at the small fishing village of Pilgrimswick, situated on a remote part of the Yorkshire coast.
The friendship between the two boys was of only few weeks' duration, but it was a friendship that was fated to be a life-long one, cemented by peril and adventure.
Both lads were of almost the same age. Leslie Ward was tall, broad-shouldered, and well set-up. He looked older than his actual years. He was apt to be a trifle impulsive, and, possessing an abundance of energy, was always ready to tackle any difficulty that presented itself. His knowledge of mechanics and physics was extensive, and even his father—a cool, calculating man, who never erred upon the side of exaggeration—was forced to admit that Leslie showed great promise of becoming a first-rate consulting engineer.
Guy Anderson was of a different build and disposition. A good three inches shorter than his chum, and slight of build, he lacked the physical strength that Leslie possessed. Nevertheless, he was well-knit and wiry, and capable of withstanding the strain of fatigue. Their parents' permission to undertake a trip in the Laughing Lassie had been obtained even before the matter had been broached to the gruff yet kind-hearted skipper of the ketch, and now, the latter business having been satisfactorily concluded, it only remained for the two lads to provide themselves with suitable clothing and a generous contribution in the way of eatables to the ship's stores.
By the time Leslie and Guy arrived at the tidal harbour, the Laughing Lassie was already afloat.
Evenin', young gents, was Skipper Runswick's curt greeting. Then, eyeing the big hamper that accompanied his guests, he added, with typical Yorkshire candour: An' what might you be? Dost tha' think tha'lt not be fed properly?