ther.

Grenfell found that the white man, green to the business of
dog-driving or whale-hunting, had to win the respect of the Eskimo.

The Eskimo knows that most of his paleface brethren from the south are
wholly unable to paddle their own canoes.

The white man, as a rule, cannot slay the seal, nor catch the cod, nor
catch anything else except a cold.

He cannot stand up to a polar bear with a knife in fair fight.

He cannot sit out on a rock in a rain-storm all day without an
umbrella and seem to enjoy it.

He cannot stand hunger, thirst and frost, and he chokes when the fumes
and the black smoke of oil lamps get into his throat.

Then he is so funny about food! He doesn't care for stinking fish: he
doesn't like his meat crawling with maggots after it has been buried
in the ground; he doesn't know how much better molasses tastes when
mice have fallen into it and expired.

The white man washes. How silly! He takes a brush made of little white
bristles and rubs his teeth with it. Well, if the white man's mouth,
which is full of water, isn't clean, then what part of him can be
clean? And why does he turn up his nose at the Eskimo for being dirty?

As for smells, what is a bad smell? The Eskimo doesn't seem to know.
In Kipling's wonderful address on "Travel," before the Royal
Geographical Society, he had much to say about smells, and how they
suggest places. Eskimo taken to the World's Fair in Chicago were
homesick for the smell of decaying blubber, rancid whale-meat,
steaming bodies in the igloo, the rich perfume of the dogs, and all
the other aromatic comforts of home. As smells are their special
delight, so dirt is their peculiar glory. A bath in warm water would
make them as unhappy as it makes a cat.

Fond of eating as they are, they like a change of food, and if
bear-meat is all they find to eat in a certain spot, they hitch up and
hike on to a better meal at a distance. They always want to be on the
go. They rarely stay in one place more than a year or two.

Even the rifle does not seem, in the long run, to be helping them
much. When the sealer used a harpoon, he hardly ever missed the seal,
for he always struck at close range. But with the rifle, shooting from
afar, the sea often swallows up his prey ere he can reach it. The
walrus has gone to the farthest North and the seal is becoming gun-shy
very fast.

As a hunter, the Eskimo is not wanting in nerve. A mighty hunter north
of Nain was out gunnin