With a sigh Bobby threw off his fur blanket and got up.
“I suppose I’m the goat, as usual,” he complained. “If I didn’t start something, you fellows would still be arguing to-morrow morning.”
And then, when all the lights were out and the blessed dark enveloped them, some one said they ought to have some ventilation.
“Say,” said Fred, raising himself belligerently on one elbow, “if anybody wants more air in this shebang he can go dig in the snow himself. I’m going to sleep.”
“Who says we need more air?” Bobby demanded sleepily. “Didn’t you see that four-inch hole in the roof of the igloo? That’s supposed to let in all the fresh air we need. Now, if anybody says another word, I’m going to pitch him out into the snow and let the polar bears get him. Goodnight!”
It is to be supposed that this threat silenced the boys. At any rate, no more suggestions of any sort were heard from them that night.
However, with the first feeble rays of daylight filtering through the ice that served as windows they were awake, feeling enormously refreshed by their good night’s sleep and healthily ready for anything that might happen.
“I feel as if I could tackle a polar bear right now,” boasted Fred, holding out his good right arm and feeling proudly of his muscle. “Boy, what I wouldn’t do to him!”
“Boy, what I wouldn’t do with his carcass,” added Billy, sniffing the air hungrily. “I wonder if there’s any of that stew left?”
He went over to the pot and peered in, giving a whoop of joy.