“It wasn’t easy. Some of our work lay quite near enough to the arctic circle.”
“But I expect you liked it a lot better van—” He paused, looked about, and felt gloom return upon him. If Mar was thinking so was Jack Galbraith. Again he dragged his rough sleeve across his hot, little face. “Ain’t it perferly awful sittin’ still?” he observed.
“Yes, it’s pretty awful,” agreed Mr. Mar, glancing out of the window.
“Was it up vere you found ve parlor bearskin and Mrs. Mar’s white fox?”
“Yes, it was up there.”
“You’re sure if I’m a engineer or a surveyor I’ll be able to go up vere where you found—”
“Certain to be able to go somewhere.”
“Why can’t I go where you did?” he asked, querulously. As Mr. Mar did not answer at once, “Isn’t vere any little fing left to be done up vere?”
“Oh, lots! But you see I went there in ’65—going on ten years ago, when people thought they’d like to have a telegraph line between Asia and America. So some of us went to survey the Alaskan part of the route (only it wasn’t called Alaska then) and decide the best course for the line that was to meet the one coming across from Siberia.” Again Nathaniel Mar studied the end of his pen.
“Yes,” said Jack, blowing his nose with an air of faintly reviving faith in life’s possibilities. “Yes, and vere you met ve bear, and Mrs. Mar’s white—”