A good-looking young Aleut, who was the possessor of such a tremendously long and mysterious name that neither Phil nor Serge dared try to pronounce it, was introduced to them as the school-teacher, and as there was no school at that season he at once offered to act as their guide.
“There is a drive going on now,” he said, in such perfect English as to surprise them; “and if you care to see it we must go at once.”
Agreeing to this, the visitors started off with their guide in the direction indicated.
“The one thing that gets me!” exclaimed Phil, holding his nose and making a wry face, “is, how you people can stand this awful smell. It is enough to breed sickness and cause death.”
“Smell?” repeated the guide. “Is there a smell? I suppose there must be, for I have heard other strangers complain of it; but I don’t notice it.”
“And yet you have a nose.”
“Certainly I have; but then I was born here, you know. You would get so used to it in two or three weeks that you would not be troubled by it any more than I am.”
“Would I?” asked Phil, incredulously.
“Yes. When I first returned from the East I must confess that I noticed it a little for a day or two, but I quickly forgot it.”
“What part of the East did you visit?” inquired Serge, thinking that he meant eastern Alaska, and perhaps Sitka.