The girl returned the look, but did not smile. She did not speak, but waited for more.
“The man who showed me these things was a good man,” continued Cheenbuk. “I do not know his name, but I liked him much. Yet I think he was not wise to fill his mouth with smoke and his inside with sickness.”
“Was he sick?” asked Adolay.
“No—he was not, but—I was.”
While he was speaking he drew a long piece of Canada twist tobacco out of the bag, and looked at it sagaciously for some time, nodding his head as if he knew all about it.
“Yes, that is the thing he put in the pipe, and, after making a small fire over it, drew the smoke into himself. At first I thought he would die, or catch fire and burst—but he—he didn’t, and he seemed to like it.”
“All our men like it,” said Adolay; “they smoke every day—sometimes all day. And some of our women like it too.”
“Do you like it?” asked the Eskimo, quickly.
“No, I don’t like it.”
“Good—that is well. Now, we will cook some of your dried meat for supper.”