“I don’t think he’d want to bother with boys.”
“We are not so very young. And both of us know how to rough it—and we are pretty good shots, too.”
“I guess you’ve been thinking about it pretty strongly.”
“Haven’t you?”
“Yes, I have. Mr. Dawson seems to be such a splendid man, the trip ought to be fine, even if the North Pole wasn’t reached.”
“Just my idea. We would do lots of hunting, and riding behind the Esquimaux dogs. Just think of being on a sledge with eight or ten dogs to pull you over the ice and snow!”
“And the thermometer 50° below zero! Don’t forget it is fearfully cold up there.”
“Well, it’s mighty cold here, sometimes. Anyway, I’d like to go—if he’d take me.”
“Same here—but he doesn’t want boys, he wants men, and tough ones, too.”
So the talk ran on, as the boys made their way to the clump of spruces where Chet had had his adventure. At a distance they saw the stick, with the handkerchief, deep in the snow.