“What induced you to keep on sketching all night?” asked Leo, after the first explanations were over.
“All night?” repeated Alf in surprise, “have I been away all night? What time is it?”
“Three o’clock in the morning at the very least,” said Leo. “The sun is pretty high, as you might have seen if you had looked at it.”
“But he never looked at it,” said Benjy, whose eyes were not yet quite dry, “he never looks at anything, or thinks of anything, when he goes sketching.”
“Surely you must allow that at least I look at and think of my work,” said Alf, rising from the ground and sitting down on the rock from which he had been so rudely roused; “but you are half right, Benjy. The sun was at my back, you see, hid from me by the cliff over which the bear tumbled, and I had no thoughts for time, or eyes for nature, except the portion I was busy with—by the way, where is it?”
“What, your sketch?”
“Ay, and the colours. I wouldn’t lose these for a sight of the Pole itself. Look for them, Ben, my boy, I still feel somewhat giddy.”
In a few minutes the sketch and drawing-materials were collected, undamaged, and the three returned to camp, Alf leaning on Leo’s arm. On the way thither they met the Captain’s party, and afterwards the band led by Chingatok. The latter was mightily amused by the adventure, and continued for a considerable time afterwards to upheave his huge shoulders with suppressed laughter.
When the whole party was re-assembled the hour was so late, and they had all been so thoroughly excited, that no one felt inclined to sleep again. It was resolved, therefore, at once to commence the operations of a new day. Butterface was set to prepare coffee, and the Eskimos began breakfast with strips of raw blubber, while steaks of Leo’s bear were being cooked.
Meanwhile Chingatok expressed a wish to see the drawing which had so nearly cost the artist his life.