"You can hire a canoe, and live on the land, unless you have brought stores."
The man chuckled. "I've brought no stores. Here, I will show you something," he said. "You are a very good fellow." He opened his bag and took out a tight packet which looked like thin skins. There must have been two or three hundred of them. "That's my speciality," he said. He nipped the string that tied them together, stripped one off, and, putting his lips to one end, blew. The skin swelled up like a toy balloon. "Do you know what that is?"
"No, I cannot say I do," said Bones.
"You have heard of Soemmering's process?"
Bones shook his head.
"Do you know what decimal 1986 signifies?"
"You've got me guessing, my lad," said Bones admiringly.
The other chuckled, threw the skins into his bag, and closed it with a snap. "That's my little joke," he said. "All my friends tell me it will be the death of me one of these days. I like to puzzle people"—he smiled amiably and triumphantly in Bones's face—"I like to tell them the truth in such a way they don't understand it. If they understood it—Heavens, there'd be the devil to pay!"
"You are an ingenious fellow," said Bones, "but I don't like your face. You will forgive my frankness, dear old friend."
"Faces aren't fortunes," said the other complacently, "and I am going out of this country with money sticking to me."