He looked at a section of sky above a distant volcano. Slowly he counted. At the count of two a gull flew across his patch of sky. The Major frowned. He had a way, however, of dealing with this sort of thing. He would use the best two counts out of three. Quickly he counted. No gull appeared. The trip would not be bad. In his mind, though, he wondered if it might not be cheating to take the best two out of three. One had to play fair. Not that he was superstitious, of course.
The Major began to feel the cold of the wind. The cold came gradually. He did not realize it until he found himself shivering. Carefully, holding onto the railing, he walked aft to the galley.
Inside he stood by the range and warmed himself. He shivered as the cold left. Steam came up from his hands.
Hodges and the Chaplain were sitting at the galley table drinking coffee. The Indian cook was arranging some canned rations in a cupboard. Major Barkison took off his parka and sat down at the galley table.
“Pretty cold, isn’t it?” remarked the Chaplain.
“Yes, it is. Very penetrating, this cold. Goes right through to the bone.”
“I suppose so. Actually this isn’t half so cold as Anchorage or Nome. The Chain isn’t much worse than Seattle.”
“I’ll take Seattle,” said Hodges. “Who was it who said this place was the chamber pot of the gods?” The Major laughed.
“I hear,” said the Chaplain, “that you are going to be promoted, Major.”
“How did you hear that?”