“Now, Paul,” advised Remington, “shoot!” The bear was less than twenty feet from the boat, but Paul was still in so high a state of excitement that he missed two shots, and it was only at the third attempt that he struck the animal in the head, and it collapsed. “It’s a stunning big fellow!” Remington declared, while he slipped a rope over the animal’s neck to tow it to the ship. “That was a splendid shot from the ship--I doubt if I could have made it,” said Ainsworth. “And you’ve got the first game of the trip, Paul.” “’Twere a rare fine shot,” put in Dan. “I were standin’ by, an’ I’ve missed many a better.” When the bear was at length hoisted on deck it proved indeed to be a monster polar bear, and Captain Bluntt declared it one of the largest he had ever seen. Paul’s pleasure was beyond bounds. His face, which was already losing its sallow, yellow appearance, glowed with delight. He was in a fair way to have his head turned by the unstinted praise of his companions. The fine smoking roast which came on the supper table that evening certainly had an appetizing appearance, but when Paul received a helping he fancied he detected a fishy odor, and when he tasted the meat he made a wry face and exclaimed: “Ugh! Why, it’s strong with fish!” “A bit fishy in flavor, lad. A bit fishy,” agreed Captain Bluntt. “But a man o’ the sea _and_ a sportsman shouldn’t mind that.” “Well I don’t like it,” asserted Paul, “but I killed it and I’m going to eat some of it anyway.” “That’s the right spirit,” said Remington, “but I think I’ll pass it by. I never could bring myself to eat polar bear or seal. Perhaps because I never had to.” “I can’t say that I care for it,” admitted Ainsworth. “’Tis fine meat, I thinks,” declared Captain Bluntt, helping himself liberally. “I finds it fine. Bear’s meat is rare strong meat.” “I don’t think I can go it,” said Paul, who had tried another mouthful. “It’s strong, all right--too strong of fish for me.” “I weren’t meanin’ that kind o’ strong. No, no! ’Tis good, wholesome, strengthenin’ meat. ’Tis not so high flavored of fish, either, as old swile, an’ swile is good.” “Swile? What’s that?” asked Paul. “Seal, lad, seal. We calls un swile in Newfoundland and down on the Labrador. Swile an’ ice bears live on fish, lad, and ’tis but natural they should carry a bit of the flavor of fish. That rascal the cook should have given un an extra parboil.” “I didn’t suppose any one but Eskimos ate seal.” “Only Eskimos eat seal! No, no, lad! We all eats un an’ likes un. Old seal is a bit high flavored, but white coats I finds as sweet an’ fine as mutton or fowl.” “What are white coats?” “Never heard of white coats? Well! Well! You sure _has_ some things to learn of the North. White coats is young seals--very young uns.” “I never heard them called that.” Paul felt some resentment at the implication that he was not well informed.