CHAPTER IX
Cold and Heat
Hatteras and Johnson had been getting somewhat uneasy at the prolonged absence of their companions, and were delighted to see them back safe and sound. The hunters were no less glad to find themselves once more in a warm shelter, for the temperature had fallen considerably as night drew on, and the thermometer outside was far below zero.
The poor hunters were half frozen, and so worn out that they could hardly drag their limbs along; but the stoves were roaring and crackling cheerily, and the big kitchen fire waiting to cook such game as might be brought in. Clawbonny donned his official apron again, and soon had his seal cutlets dressed and smoking on the table. By nine o'clock the whole party were enjoying a good supper, and Bell couldn't help exclaiming: "Well, even at the risk of being taken for an Esquimaux, I must confess eating is the most important business if one has to winter in these regions. A good meal isn't to be sneezed at."
They all had their mouths crammed too full to speak, but the Doctor signified his agreement with Bell's views by an approving nod.
The cutlets were pronounced first-rate, and it seemed as if they were, for they were all eaten, to the very last morsel. For dessert they had coffee, which the Doctor brewed himself in a French coffee-pot over the spirits-of-wine. He never allowed anybody but himself to concoct this precious beverage; for he made a point of serving it boiling hot, always declaring it was not fit to drink unless it burned his tongue. This evening he took it so scalding that Altamont exclaimed:
"You'll skin your throat!"
"Not a bit of it," was the Doctor's reply.
"Then your palate must be copper-sheathed," said Johnson.
"Not at all, friends. I advise you to copy my example. Many persons, and I am one, can drink coffee at a temperature of 131o.
"131o?" said Altamont; "why, that is hotter than the hand could bear!"
"Of course it is, Altamont, for the hand could not bear
48
