There is a phase of that terrible vice drunkenness which is comic, and it is not of the slightest use to ignore that fact. There were probably few men who detested strong drink and grieved over its dire effects more than Red Rooney. He had been led, at a time when total abstinence was almost unknown, to hate the very name of drink and to become a total abstainer. Yet he could not for the life of him resist a hearty laugh when the befuddled Eskimo blinked up in his face with an imbecile smile, and said—“Wh–whash ’e matter, y–you st–stupid ole’ K–K–Kablunet?”
The difficulty and faulty nature of his pronunciation was such that slipshod English serves admirably to indicate his state of mind, although neither English nor Eskimo, Arabic nor Hebrew, will suffice to describe in adequate terms the tremendous solemnity of his gaze after the imbecile smile had passed away.
“You disreputable old seal,” said Rooney, “where did you get the drink?”
Words are wanting to express the dignified look of injured innocence with which the man replied—“I—I’ve had no d–drink. Nosh a d–drop!”
“Yes, truly you are a man and a brother,” muttered Rooney, as he noted this “touch of nature,” and felt that he was in the company of “kin.” “What’s your name, you walrus?”
“K–Kazho,” answered the man indignantly.
“What!”
“K–Ka–zho,” he repeated, with emphasis.
“I suppose you mean Kajo, you unnatural jellyfish.”
Kajo did not condescend to say what he meant, but continued to eye the Kablunet with lofty disdain, though the effect of his expression was marred by his attention being distracted by Pussi and Tumbler, whose faces were fiery red, owing to fits of suppressed laughter.