The young walrus could not understand the remarks made about its personal appearance, or else in all probability it would have swum away; for the shapeless creature was dubbed “bladder of lard,” “skin of oil,” “prize pig,” and the like, though Steve stuck to the notion of its being like a short india-rubber sack, blown full of wind, so little did head or flippers project from the blubber-distended body.
“Oh, I say, Johannes, couldn’t you catch it?” cried Steve. “The poor thing believes that is its mother.”
“Yes, sir, and will not go away till we begin to row.”
“Couldn’t you catch it?”
“Oh yes, sir, I could catch it, I daresay,” replied the Norseman, “if the captain wishes.”
“But I do not wish,” said Captain Marsham. “What do you want with a young walrus?”
“To bring up and tame,” replied Steve, with the impression the while that he was saying something rather absurd.
“Have a big one,” cried the doctor, “and let’s form a zoological garden!”
“I don’t see anything to laugh at,” said Steve. “It would be very interesting to watch the habits of the curious animal, and we’ve driven its mother away. What would become of it, Johannes, if it is left?”
“Bear,” said the Norseman laconically.