“Have you anything in your berth, Frank, that you set a value on?”
“Nothing that I set the smallest value on—when I am out of it,” he replied. “What does your question mean?”
“We are almost as short of fuel as we are of provisions,” Crayford proceeded. “Your berth will make good firing. I have directed Bateson to be here in ten minutes with his ax.”
“Very attentive and considerate on your part,” said Frank. “What is to become of me, if you please, when Bateson has chopped my bed into fire-wood?”
“Can’t you guess?”
“I suppose the cold has stupefied me. The riddle is beyond my reading. Suppose you give me a hint?”
“Certainly. There will be beds to spare soon—there is to be a change at last in our wretched lives here. Do you see it now?”
Frank’s eyes sparkled. He sprang out of his berth, and waved his fur cap in triumph.
“See it?” he exclaimed; “of course I do! The exploring party is to start at last. Do I go with the expedition?”
“It is not very long since you were in the doctor’s hands, Frank,” said Crayford, kindly. “I doubt if you are strong enough yet to make one of the exploring party.”