“I’m on no paper, Mr. Gale; I’m a man with a scheme.”
“Good enough! What is it?”
“To go to the South Pole.”
We both laughed. There had been no suggestion of annoyance or even brusqueness in Mr. Gale’s manner, which was as encouraging as possible, and as buoyant. But half unconsciously I had adopted its directness, and perhaps this pleased him.
“Say, but that’s a cool proposition,” he commented. “We might get snowed up on that speculation, don’t you think so?”
“Well, of course it might be a cold day before we got there, but when we did——”
Mr. Gale interrupted.
“Look here,” he broke in, “I’m glad you ain’t on a paper, anyway. I’ve not much use for them, to tell the truth. I’ve paid ’em more’n a million dollars for advertising, and when I built this yacht they all turned in and abused me. They got what they thought was a tip from some sea-captain, who said she wouldn’t steer, or float, or anything else, and that I’d never get out of the harbor. Well, she floats all right, doesn’t she?”
I looked properly indignant and said that she did.
“I’ve been around the world twice in her,” he continued, “me and my daughter. She isn’t fast, that’s a fact, but she’s fast enough for us, and she suits us first-rate. I don’t know whether she’d do to go to the South Pole in or not. I’ll tell you how she’s built, and what I built her for, and you can see for yourself.”