“That’s quite naytr’l to suppose, Sir, but you see the bear kept him warm in the upper parts, by being so cloast to him, and breathen hard and hot on the old man whenever he growled at him. Them polar bears is wonderful hardy animals, and has a monstrous deal o’ heat into ’em, by means of their bein’ able to stand such cold climates, I expect. And so the captin knowed this, and whenever he felt chilly, he just tuk up his ramrod and stirred up the old rascal, and made him roar and squeal, and then the hot breath would come pouren out all over the captin, and made the air quite moderat and pleasant.” “Well, go on, Venus. Take another horn first.” “Well, there a’nt much more on’t. Off they went to sea, and sometimes the wind druv ’em nothe, and then agin it druv ’em southe, but they went southe mostly; and so it went on until they were out about three weeks. So at last, one afternoon—” “But, Venus, stop: tell us, in the name of wonder, how did the captain contrive to support life all this time?” “Why, Sir, to be sure, it was a hard kind o’ life to support, but a hardy man will get used to almost—” “No, no: what did he eat? what did he feed on?” “O—O—I’d liked to’ve skipped that ere. Why, Sir, I’ve heerd different accounts as to that. Uncle Obe Verity told me he reckoned the captin cut off one of the bear’s paws, when he lay stretched out asleep one day, with his jack-knife, and sucked that for fodder, and they say there’s a smart deal o’ nourishment in a white bear’s foot. But if I may be allowed to spend my ’pinion, I should say my old man’s account is the rightest, and that’s—what’s as follows. You see after they’d been out three days abouts, they begun to grow kind o’ hungry, and then they got friendly, for misery loves company, you know; and the captin said the bear looked at him several times, very sorrowful, as much as to say, ‘Captin, what the devil shall we do?’ Well, one day they was sitten looken at each other, with the tears ready to burst out o’ their eyes, when all of a hurry, somethin’ come floppen up out o’ the water onto the ice. The captin looked and see it was a seal. The bear’s eyes kindled up as he looked at it, and then, the captin said, he giv him a wink to keep still. So there they sot, still as starch, till the seal not thinken nothin’ o’ them no more nor if they was dead, walked right up between ’em. Then slump! went down old whitey’s nails into the fish’s flesh, and the captin run his jack-knife into the tender loin. The seal soon got his bitters, and the captin cut a big hunk off the tale eend, and put it behind him, out o’ the bear’s reach, and then he felt smart and comfortable, for he had stores enough for a long cruise, though the bear couldn’t say so much for himself.