That made Kommana jump. He shot a keen glance at his companion, asking: “Who?”
“One of my friends—he’s a Kabluna.”
Kak sounded so magnificent the other lad was suddenly faced with a dilemma; whether to let his new friend score over him and brag, or confess his own duplicity. As he had already reaped the pleasure of the morning’s display he decided it would be most fun to prick Kak’s lofty attitude, so he cried:
“Hoh! The explorer—he’s been here! That’s where we got the fish nets. I knew no more about fishing with nets a few days ago than you did last night. He taught me how to make ’em, too.”
Kak felt considerably dashed, but tried to recover his form by telling how he intended to go to Herschel Island and learn to shoot.
“It’s too far for me,” sighed Fatty. “Too much effort. The rest of the village does all my hunting and keeps me in meat because of the bowls and pails and plates I can chop from this very driftwood.”
“Oh, can you!” said the younger boy, getting a new line on his companion and more impressed than ever.
“Yes, I can make the chips fly—but I won’t ever be anything of a traveler myself. Still, I like to hear you talk. Tell me about that ugrug you killed.”
This request tickled Kak’s vanity and made his heart skip a beat. He was going to tell about it anyway, but being asked so unexpectedly gave him a thrill.
“How did you know?” he managed to stammer.