“It’s quite easy when you understand it, and know how to do it,” continued Rooney; “nothing easier.”
A humorous look chased away the Eskimo’s perplexity as he replied—
“Everything is easy when you understand it.”
“Ha! you have me there, Angut,” laughed the sailor; “you’re a ’cute fellow, as the Yankees say. But come, I’ll try to show you how easy it is. See here.” He pulled a small note-book from his pocket, and drew thereon the picture of a walrus. “Now, you understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes; we draw like that, and understand each other.”
“Well, then, we put down for that w-a-l-r-u-s; and there you have it—walrus; nothing simpler!”
The perplexed look returned, and Angut said—
“That is not very easy to understand. Yet I see something—always the same marks for the same beast; other marks for other beasts?”
“Just so. You’ve hit it!” exclaimed Rooney, quite pleased with the intelligence of his pupil.
“But how if it is not a beast?” asked the Eskimo. “How if you cannot see him at all, yet want to tell of him in—in—what did you say—writing? I want to send marks to my mother to say that I have talked with my torngak. How do you mark torngak? I never saw him. No man ever saw a torngak. And how do you make marks for cold, for wind, for all our thoughts, and for the light?”