"I wouldn't exchange it wid the Lord Mayor o' London and his coach
an' six--so I wouldn't.--Arrah! have a care, Meetuck, ye baste, or ye'll
have us kilt."
This, last exclamation was caused by the reckless driver dashing over a
piece of rough ice that nearly capsized the sledge. Meetuck did not
answer, but he looked over his shoulder with a quiet smile on his oily
countenance.
"Ah, then, ye may laugh," said O'Riley with menacing look, "but av ye
break a bone o' me body I'll--"
Down went the dogs into a crack in the ice as he spoke, over went the
sledge and hurled them all out upon the ice.
"Musha! but ye've done it!"
"Hallo, West! are you hurt?" cried Fred anxiously, as he observed the
sailor fall heavily on the ice.
"Oh no, sir; all right, thank you," replied the man, rising alertly and
limping to the sledge. "Only knocked the skin off my shin, sir."
West was a quiet, serious, polite man, an American by birth, who was
much liked by the crew in consequence of a union of politeness and
modesty with a disposition to work far beyond his strength. He was not
very robust, however, and in powers of physical endurance scarcely
fitted to engage in an Arctic expedition.
"An' don't ye think it's worth makin' inquiries about _me_?" cried
O'Riley, who had been tossed into a crevice in the hummock, where he lay
jammed and utterly unable to move.
Fred and the Esquimau laughed heartily while O'Riley extricated himself
from his awkward position.
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