"Some of the chunks are big ones," remarked Put. "That's the way the icebergs get away from the north pole. They break away in the spring, and they float down south and melt."
"'Dade," exclaimed Pat Farrel, "an' don't I wish owld Myers was on wan of thim icebergs!" But Put went right along in spite of the interruption:
"And if a white bear gets caught on an iceberg, he gets floated away with and drowned, unless the menagerie men send out an expedition and save him."
"Those icebergs out there wouldn't float a dog," said Bill Thatcher. But Pat Farrel came to Put's help:
"Wouldn't they, now? That big wan, close inshore, would carry any wan of us."
"No, it wouldn't."
"Yes, it would."
They were right in the middle of the argument about that cake of ice, when Put Giddings, who had gone to the edge of the solid strip to study the matter, gave a little run and a sliding jump. He hardly knew why he did it, but it landed him right in the middle of that cake of ice, and the shove he gave it sent it several feet away from its moorings.
"Here I am, boys! What do you think of this for an iceberg?"
"Wid a young bear on it," said Pat.