NORTH POLE OF THE WINDS 



The Ivigtut Club House into which we were 

 ushered would have done credit to an American 

 city of the first rank. The members of the Club 

 all appeared in dinner coats exposing immaculate 

 shirt fronts. The food and the wines were the 

 choicest, and the napery, the flowers, and the fa- 

 vors were those of a fashionable banquet hall. A 

 few ladies were present to grace the occasion, and 

 as I looked down the line of well starched shirt 

 fronts with the members of our own party sand- 

 wiched in among them, I was inclined to rub my 

 eyes so as to make sure that I was not dreaming. 

 After all, our people in their rough costumes repre- 

 sented the Greenland that we knew, and the men 

 around this board — engineers, architects, and min- 

 ing experts, obviously drawn from the best pro- 

 fessional classes of Europe — constituted an enclave 

 set in the ruder ensemble of the country. 



Mr. Jagt had insisted that I be his personal 

 guest in his beautiful home, where I could luxuriate 

 in a warm bath and sleep in a comfortable bed. 

 To once more array myself in the clothes of civili- 

 zation, was to feel that I had already in some 

 measure entered upon the outer world beyond the 

 sea, and this was not disagreeable after our recent 

 experiences. The second day of our stay we were 

 taken down into the mine, and in the evening the 



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