"See that berg, Jimmy?" he asked.
"The little one close in?"
"Yes. Do you know, I've got an idea. That bear meat won't keep long unless we pack it in ice or salt it, and I'd rather have it fresh than salted, wouldn't you?"
"Of course I would!" said Jimmy.
"Then let's take your skiff—it's bigger than ours—and go for a load of ice."
"It's dangerous to go digging on icebergs. They're like to turn over," suggested Jimmy.
"Oh, don't be afraid, now. Come on. There isn't any danger," said Bobby, with impelling enthusiasm. "We can get enough ice to keep the meat fresh until it's all used up. Come on."
And Jimmy, as was his custom when Bobby urged, agreed. Skipper Ed's skiff lay at the landing, and arming themselves with an ax the two pulled away unobserved.
It was a small iceberg, perhaps sixty feet in diameter, and rising not more than twenty feet above the water. Its surface was irregular, and there were several places where excellent footing could be had. The boat was directed toward one of these.
"You stay in the boat," said Bobby, seizing the ax, "and I'll go aboard her and cut the ice."