The ancient mariner scratched his head reflectively before replying. "Seals."

"Right!" I cried. "Go to the seal, thou sluggard! Triplett, it's an idea! We'll make the Kawa as easy to handle as a greased hot water bottle."

For many days we worked over the plans and eventually began actual operations on the Kawa herself, hauling her out for the purpose at Tutbury's shipyard. She was completely eviscerated. Her oak ribs and keel were removed and replaced by Austrian bent-wood, of the finest temper. A thin layer of yew-planking was laid over her sides with lapped, sliding joints, filled with elastic roofing-cement. Outside of this came a second layer of slippery elm (3/8" × 2½") laid diagonally so that the joints crossed those of the yew. The entire hull was then covered with seal-skin, fur side out. When she slid from the ways on her re-launching the Kawa took the water as noiselessly as a musk-rat, and it was with the greatest difficulty that we made her fast as she slipped from the ship-wright's grasp at the slightest pressure.[3]

"Gosh-t-a'mighty," grinned Triplett. "She's a seal!"

You may be sure I utilized Whinney's scientific ingenuity and it is to him I owe two innovations which contributed greatly to our success. One of these was the magnetic bowsprit, highly sensitized by induction-coils run from the exhaust of our 20 h.p. Tutbury engine; the other was the thermal water-line, the temperature of which could be raised to 180 degrees by turning a switch which connected with our storage batteries. Both of these inventions worked perfectly.

Thanks to the bowsprit the problem of steering our svelte craft, about which Triplett had expressed some doubts, became a simple matter. Left to herself she invariably came up into the north and as that was the direction we wished to go all was well. The thermal water-line made passage through all but the thickest ice comfortable and easy. For many years the Kawa had had no water-line whatever so that we were uncertain how she would behave. The new one consisted of a thin layer of copper fastened to the elm siding, underneath the seal skin. I like to think that the little Kawa behaved so nobly because she knew her water-line was not visible.

Thus we arrived at a type of construction which gave us the strength and elasticity of a water-tight basket. What we had lost in rigidity we gained in feather-like lightness. Before her engines were installed the Kawa floated on the surface like a toy balloon. When loaded, as she usually was, she drew two-feet-six. The installation of the engine and stowing of stores also had a tendency to stabilize the hull and keep her masts pointing upward which was a distinct advantage.

In addition to these marine features it was necessary to consider the eventuality of encountering solid, impenetrable ice in the region of the pole, ice through which even the thermal water-line would not make it possible for us to melt our way. Authorities agree that such ice may be expected north of eighty-six, even though we planned to time our arrival in that vicinity for mid-summer when, as is well known, the weather is extremely hot. This is the fascination of Arctic travel; one never knows what to expect. Our problem, then, was to make the Kawa equally at home on the floe or in the open leads, a glorified sea-sled. My previous experience with the various types of sledges convinced me that for my purpose they were useless. My object was to take the Kawa to the Pole. Then why not make the Kawa herself a sled?

I recognized instantly the feasibility of my scheme, which consisted of folding guide-runners framed of carefully selected greenheart. When not in use these runners extended horizontally along the counter, giving my little craft a singularly bird-like appearance. Incidentally they formed convenient luggage carriers similar to those attached to the running boards of automobiles and, in fair weather, could be used as piazzas or sleeping porches covered with a high pile of bear-skins to make occupancy easy.

WHAT THE WELL-DRESSED EXPLORER WILL WEAR

Fine feathers do not make fine birds, but aigrettes are still forty dollars a stalk. Something of this thought evidently dominated the mind of Warburton Plock in the selection of his wardrobe. Plock, who is shown against a typically iglootinous background, was the only member of the expedition who paid no heed to his leader's advice in this regard, namely, to dress off-the-Eskimos. Instead of so doing he ordered his outfit built for him by Buskwa, the leading tailor of Nome. The garments were taken aboard at St. John's and formed a large part of Plock's luggage. They varied in design from a simple going-away suit to the most elaborate mufti, sports costume and evening dress.

In the attached fashion-plate the fastidious explorer is clad in the well-known "Buskwa-model" morning suit, which is made from the pelts of unborn teddy bears. This, according to the wearer, is the super-correct thing for the Young-Man-About-the-Pole. The accessory cane and cigarette are personal touches calculated to attract the attention of whomsoever he may meet north of Eighty-six. Vanity, in the Great White Spaces as elsewhere, precedes a fall, but usually only by a step or so. To be fair to the house of Buskwa it should be stated that Plock's garments were invariably tastefully designed and well-made. No detail of findings or linings was slighted. They were, however, entirely unsuited to the rigors of Polar climate.

The Buskwa trade is chiefly derived from the wealthier Chicoutimi families living along the Mad River and points South. To single out a single defect, the self-drawing fish-pockets are doubtless useful features to a people who spend many hours in the salmon streams. In the icy polar region the cold air naturally forced its way through the sartorial scuppers with the result that the wearer was soon forced to don another suit to avoid freezing. At the time of his attempted escape Plock was wearing his entire wardrobe, seven suits in all, which were recovered with the body of the fugitive. The clothes were later eaten by members of the return-party, who more than once had occasion to pay tribute to the tailor who had selected such delicious materials.