Chapter XXXIII.
THE "TIMES" CORRESPONDENT.
As this skater approached, they could see that he was a tall young man, wearing cap and gloves of sealskin, and a fur-trimmed overcoat. He had skates of the newest patent, and, altogether, seemed to be what Tug pronounced him under his breath, "a swell."
He slackened his pace as he came up, and then, seeing the boat they were dragging, and the queer appearance of the whole outfit, stopped short, raising his hat to Katy.
"What kind of an expedition is this, pray tell?" he said pleasantly, but with his face full of curiosity.
"I'm 'fraid we ain't any too scrumptious," Tug replied, off-hand, "but you could hardly expect it, I s'pose, seein' we've been a month or more on the ice."
"A month on the ice! How? Where?"
So they told him, each one talking a little, but making a short story of it. He did not interrupt by any "I swannys!" as the old farmer had, but kept his eyes—Katy thought they were the sharpest eyes she had ever seen—upon each speaker's face, as if committing every word to memory.
"That's a mighty good story," he said. "What are you going to do now?"