Hitkoak gathered up spear and bodkin and commenced to run.
Oh, the happy thrill of it as their neighbor gazed on the monster and heard Kak’s tale; and the thrill when they arrived home, men and dogs dragging the seal. Guninana’s wild laughter, the girls’ bulging eyes, and Noashak’s awe, were all items to be noted and remembered, and gloated over, and told and retold all his life long till Kak should be an old, old man. Hitkoak’s wife, who was fat and lazy, came waddling over to hear the story. She clapped soft hands, smiling at the big supply of blubber; and they all took turns patting Kak’s shoulders and asking him innumerable questions. Then they had a feast. Guninana made blood soup for a second course at dinner. The boy liked it exceedingly and drank a great deal, partly to hide his embarrassment, for they all kept on exclaiming and telling him he was the bravest son imaginable. Such unstinted praise nearly turned his head.
They all sat in a circle talking, admiring, marveling. The lamp shone brightly; the house grew hotter and hotter; Kak’s ears burned with glory and bashfulness. He had pulled off his fur shirt on coming inside, according to Eskimo custom, and the red mark where that cruel thong had bound his body stood out like a ribbon of honor.
“It is my son who is the hero,” chuckled Guninana, gently touching the scar with her plump fingers. “But half grown—and he has already slain his ugrug. The little man!”
Kak did not care much about that little man business. It made him look like a baby. Moreover, his mother was shedding tears of pride and happiness down his back as she gazed at Hitkoak’s wife, who had no son. Very quietly he moved around beside his father.
He thought they would never have done with their questions. Honor had thrilled him at first but now he felt sleepy. He was weary of praise—the worst weariness in the world—and terribly tired. The sandman and the warm soup worked together, undermining his dignity. The boyish head nodded. He straightened up blinking fiercely once—twice. No, it was no use. Kak felt more tired than he had ever felt before—just exhausted. Suddenly he gave up, and right in the middle of Hitkoak’s song toppled over fast asleep.
Taptuna made room for him to lie, Guninana drew up a fur blanket, and the excited company continued praising him far into the night, their words of wonder and admiration mingling with our hero’s gentle snores.
CHAPTER III
Strangers
It is an unfortunate fact that we can gain nothing in this world without having to make some return. Kak paid the price of his glory in killing the ugrug when it came time to fill the family larder and the lamp. He was now expected to lend a hand in all hunting expeditions. Not that they needed more seals than Taptuna had always provided; but with the boy along to guard a second hole the Eskimo could set a double trap for his hidden victim, and sometimes save hours of watchful waiting on the wind-swept ice.
Kak no longer felt enthusiastic about the hunt. He had done his noblest—had landed on the tiptop of achievement at one bound, and lesser triumphs rather bored him. Hauling in the little fellows seemed tame. He maintained a lofty attitude toward hunting in general and small seals in particular. But of course he went with Taptuna. Kak was above all things an ambitious boy, eager to be a man; and a real man’s first concern is to hold up his end in duty as well as pleasure. So off they would trudge together, father and son, shoulder to shoulder, with one of the dogs trotting in front; search out their holes and squat on the ice, a little way apart yet companionable in the silence, till one or other of them saw his bodkin pop up, and speared his seal. Then they would get together to land it, and the day’s work was done.