“Cold!” exclaimed the lanky second officer. “Cold! Well, let me tell you a fellow doesn’t know what cold is ’til he’s spent a winter froze in up ’round the North Pole.”
“Have you ever been there?” asked Tom.
Mr. Kemp looked at Tom in surprise. “Of course,” he declared. “Wish I had as many dollars as I’ve put in days in the ice.”
“And did you ever shoot white bears, and walrus, and musk oxen, and see Eskimos?” cried Jim.
“Did I?” grinned the officer. “Didn’t do much else durin’ the winter ’cept have shenannigans with the Eskimos aboard.”
“Do they talk English?” asked Tom. “Or do you have to know how to speak Eskimo?”
“Well, some of ’em talk what they call English,” said Mr. Kemp. “Those are the fellows that’s been whalin’ long of Yankee and Scotch ships, but the most of ’em just palaver in their own lingo—and I can talk that. I was brung up with a Eskimo kid, and learnt it from him.”
“Why, how was that?” asked Jim, “I thought you came from right here on Cape Cod.”
“Nope, Noank, back in Connecticut,” said the other. “And there was a Eskimo there—Eskimo Joe they called him—what had a kid ’bout my age. We went to school together and was reg’lar chums.”
“I didn’t know there were any Eskimos in Connecticut,” exclaimed Tom. “I thought they always died when they came down here.”