AN UNEXPECTED WELCOME
"It's an exact reproduction of an igloo!" exclaimed Lucile.
The three girls, following the example of their hostess, had dropped
through a hole some three feet square, had poised for an instant upon a
board landing, to drop a second three feet and find themselves in a small
square room. Leaving this room, they had gone scooting along a narrow
passageway, to drop on their knees and crawl through a circular opening
into a room some twenty feet square.
"Why!" exclaimed their hostess, "have you seen an igloo somewhere?"
Lucile smiled. "Marian and I spent a year on the Arctic coast of Alaska
and Marian has lived most of her life in Nome on Behring Sea."
"Why then," Marie Neighbor's face was a study, "then I'm just a--a--what
do you call it? a chechecko, I guess--beside you."
"Oh, no, nothing like that," smiled Marian.
"Anyway you'll help me with my book, won't you? I have it only a third
finished. After dinner I'll read that to you and you may tell me frankly
whether it's any good or not."
"I tried a story once myself," said Lucile with a laugh.
"How did you come out with it?"
"Haven't come out yet, but I'm really crazy to get back to the city and
find out about it. I mailed it to the editor of 'Seaside Tales'."
The igloo was heated by genuine seal-oil lamps and over these Marie
cooked her food. The pots and kettles were of the antique copper type
traded to Eskimos by Russians long before the white man reached the
Arctic shore of Alaska. The food cooked in this manner over a slow fire
was declared to be delicious.
"And now," said their hostess, when the dishes had been washed and put
away, "I'll introduce you to my alcove bedroom."
Drawing aside a pair of heavy deerskin curtains she revealed a platform
some six by eight feet. This was piled high with skin rugs of all
descriptions. White bearskin, Russian squirrel, red fox and beaver
rivaled one another in softness and richness of coloring.
"You see," she explained, "it's sort of a compromise between the narrow
shelf of the Eskimo igloo and the broader sleeping room of the Chukches
of Siberia."
Lucile and Marian were fascinated. It took them back to the old days of
Cape Prince of Wales, of East Cape and Siberia.
"Tell you what," exclaimed Lucile. "We'll all get fixed nice and comfy
for going to sleep, then we'll spread ourselves out in the midst of all
those wonderful rugs and you may read your book to us."
"Yes, and you'll be asleep in ten minutes," laughed Marie.
"No, no! No we won't," they all exclaimed.
"Then it's a bargain."
A few moments later filmy pink and white garments vied in color and
softness with the rugs of Arctic furs while Marie in a well modulated
tone read the beginning of the story of Nowadluk, the belle of Alaska.
The three companions were quite content to listen. The ways of life
seemed once more very good to them. Their friends had been notified by
radiophone of their safety. They were to return to-morrow or the day
after. The wind had changed. The ice was already beginning to scatter.
Now and then Lucile or Marian would interrupt the reader to make a
suggestion. When the end had been reached they were unanimous in their
assurance that it promised to be a wonderful story. Their only regrets
were that more of it was not completed.
A half hour later Lucile and Marian were asleep. Florence and Marie were
talking in whispers. Florence had been relating their strange and weird
experiences while living aboard the O Moo.
"So that's why you thought I was held captive by the Negontisks?" Marie
chuckled.
"But really," she said presently, "there _were_ some of those people in
Chicago. May be yet, but no one knows."
"Tell me about it," Florence breathed excitedly.
"I don't know a great deal about it, only they were brought over from
Siberia for exhibition purposes during a fair in Seattle. From there they
were brought to Chicago by a show company. The company ran out of money
and disbanded. The Negontisks were thrown upon their own resources.
"They were getting along one way or another when it was discovered that
they were worshipping some kind of idol."
"A blue face," whispered Florence breathlessly.
"Something like that. It was believed that in their religious rites they
resorted to inhuman practices. The government looked into the matter and
decided to deport them. But just when the officials were preparing to
round them up, they found that the last one of them had
vanished--vanished as completely as they might had the earth opened up
and swallowed them.
"That was two or three years ago. The papers were full of it. I think
there was a reward offered for their capture. But I believe they never
found a trace of them or their blue god."
"Oh!" whispered Florence, suddenly sitting up among the robes. "Oh, I do
hope the ice is gone by morning!"
"Why? Aren't you happy here?"
"Yes, but I want to get back to the city--want to awfully. You see, I
think I know where the blue god is and I want to go and find it."
It was the afternoon of the second day following the night spent in the
igloo before they were able to leave the island. Ice still blocked their
path, that first day, so they had spent the whole day piling the deck of
the O Moo high with Christmas trees. Since fate had been kind to them in
landing them on the hospitable shores of this island they had been glad
to do this much toward the happiness of others.
The lake could never have appeared more lovely. Its surface, smooth as a
mirror, reflected the white clouds which drifted lazily overhead. The
sun, sending its rosy reflections over all, made each tiny wavelet seem a
saddle on the back of a fairy horse of dreamland. Across this dreamland
the O Moo cut her way.
Now they were nearing the city. For some time they had been seeing the
jagged line of sky scrapers. Now they could catch the outline of the
beach by the dry dock. Toward this they pointed the prow of the O Moo. A
wireless telephone message had made known to Dr. Holmes the probable hour
of their arrival. Old Timmie would doubtless be prepared to get the O Moo
back upon her trestle.
"But what makes the shore all around the dock look so black?" puzzled
Lucile.
Just then there came a succession of faint and distant pop-pop-pops.
"Someone coming to meet us," Lucile decided, pleased at the thought.
Then there came another set of poppings, another and another, all in
slightly different keys.
Now they could see the gasoline launches coming toward them. Seeming but
sea gulls for size at first, they grew rapidly larger.
"Six of them," murmured Marian. "I didn't know we had that many friends."
Their amazement grew as three other boats put out from shore. Then
Lucile, who had been studying the beach exclaimed:
"I do believe that black spot about the dry dock moves. It seems to
contract and expand, to waver backward and forward. You don't think it
could be--be people?"
"Why no, of course--yes! I do believe it is!" cried Marian.
"It's the newspapers," exclaimed Florence. "They've published a lot of
nonsense about our silly adventure and all those people have come down to
see us come in."
"And the people in those motorboats are reporters," groaned Marian. "It's
the last of our life on the O Moo."
"That's over anyway," said Lucile. Her face was very sober. "By the time
we've paid for having this yacht put back in order, I figure we'll have
about enough money left to buy soup and crackers for examination week and
a ticket home. Good-bye old university!"
"Ho! Well," laughed Florence, "no use being gloomy about it. No use being
gloomy about anything. Life's too long for that. Let's make up what we'll
tell the reporters. They won't print the truth anyway, so we might as
well tell them plenty."
"Tell them what you like," said Marie Neighbor, "only please don't give
them the location of my island. I don't want them to come out there
bothering me."
"We'll guard your secret, never worry," smiled Lucile.
When the reporters' boats swarmed about them, the girls told as little as
they could, but when later Dr. Holmes came on board with three official
reporters, they gave them the true story of their adventures.
They were shown their own pictures on the front pages of all the papers
and were assured that nothing but their adventure had been talked of
since their disappearance.
A woman had come on board with the reporters, a trim, matronly woman in a
tailored suit. At her first opportunity she drew Florence to one side to
talk with her long and earnestly.
"The cabin of the O Moo is a wreck," Marian said to Dr. Holmes. "But
really, Mr. Holmes, you may trust us to put it back into perfect shape if
it takes our last penny. You may send upholsterers and decorators over as
soon as the O Moo is in dry dock."
"Tut--tut!" exclaimed the good doctor. "Don't let that trouble you.
That's all provided for."
"Oh, no! Really you must let us pay for all that."
"Did it ever occur to you," his eyes were twinkling, "that the O Moo
might be insured?"
"In--insured!" Marian's knees gave way. The news was too good to seem
true.
"Then, then we can stay?"
"In school, yes, but on the O Moo, probably not. Too much publicity, you
see. University people would object and all that, don't you know. But
then, cheer up. I fancy the lady dean is telling Florence of something
which will interest you all."
"In the meantime," he exclaimed, "we are not getting ashore. Yo-ho,
Timmie," he cupped his hands and shouted, "bring on the rowboats and
tackle. Let's get her brought in."