The Eskimo didn't understand the words, but he knew what the tone meant, and meekly turned a smiling face toward the sailor.
Then he jumped up from his seat on the top of a keg and put out his hand. Bill took the pudgy, greasy little fingers. The Eskimo brought from somewhere in his blouse a piece of ivory carved in the likeness of a boat with rowers.
"How much d'ye want for that?" asked Bill.
The Eskimo shook his head.
"Are ye deaf?" cried Bill. "How much d'ye want for the boat?"
"Aw shucks!" exclaimed Jim. "Hollerin' so loud don't do no good. He dunno what you're sayin'. He can't talk English. Show him your clasp-knife. That'll talk to him better'n you can. He wants to swop with ye."
Bill brought out the big knife. The little brown man nodded eagerly. Then he handed over the ivory boat. It was worth a great deal more than the knife. But not to the Eskimo. That knife would be a precious thing to help him carve meat and cut things out of sealskin and perhaps stab a polar bear.
"So everybody's happy?" laughed a clear and pleasant voice at Bill's shoulder. "You traded about even, did you?"
"Guess so, Doctor. He's got what he wants, and I'm goin' to send the boat to the kiddies in the old country."
That night as the men sat around the cabin lamp with their pipes and a big pail of steaming cocoa, Dr. Grenfell told them something about the strange people they had come among.