“More than that,” said Rooney, with decision; “he must be stultified.”
The seaman’s rendering of the word “stultified” into Eskimo was curious, and cannot easily be explained, but it was well understood by Angut, and apparently by Kannoa, for another chuckle came just then from the culinary department. Again the two men glanced at the old woman inquiringly, and again were they baffled by that look of owlish intensity at the stewing meat.
“She hears,” whispered Rooney.
“Impossible,” replied Angut; “a dead seal is not much deafer.”
Continuing the conversation, the seaman explained how he thought it possible to stultify the wizard, by discrediting him in the eyes of his own people—by foiling him with his own weapons,—and himself undertook to accomplish the task of stultification.
He was in the act of concluding his explanation when another chuckle burst upon them from the region of the lamp. This time there was no attempt at concealment, for there stood old Kannoa, partly enveloped in savoury steam, her head thrown back, and her mouth wide-open.
With a laugh Rooney leaped up, and caught her by the arm.
“You’ve heard what I’ve been saying, mother?”
“Ye–yes. I’ve heard,” she replied, trying to smother the laughter.
“Now, look here. You must promise me not to tell anybody,” said the seaman earnestly, almost sternly.