Here Okiok interposed with an earnest petition that he would not go out to the people that night, explaining that if he were to sit with them during supper none except the gluttons would be able to eat. The rest would only wonder and stare.
Of course our seaman was amenable to reason.
“But,” he said, with a humorous glance, “would it not be good for them—especially for the gluttons—to be prevented from eating too much?”
It was evident from the blank look of his visage that Okiok did not understand his guest. The idea of an Eskimo eating too much had never before entered his imagination.
“How can a man eat too much?” he asked. “Until a man is quite full he is not satisfied. When he is quite full, he wants no more; he can hold no more!”
“That says a good deal for Eskimo digestion,” thought our hero, but as he knew no native word for digestion, he only laughed and expressed his readiness to act as his host wished.
Just then the noise of cracking whips and yelping dogs was heard outside.
“Remain here,” said Okiok; “I will come again.”
Not long after the hospitable man’s exit all the noise ceased, but the seaman could hear murmuring voices and stealthy footsteps gathering round the hut. In a few minutes Okiok returned.
“Angut is now ready,” he said, “to receive you. The people will look at you as you pass, but they will not disturb you.”