118 PEARY'S FINAL DASH 



overcoat fluttered from his shoulders, and his matted sandy hair was sur- 

 mounted by an ancient, battered black felt hat. 



With an energy most characteristic he shook hands with the whole group 

 around him. 



"I'll get your name later," he said. Then some one asked : "Commander, 

 we want to know all about that pole of yours." 



With a quick sweep of the eyes Peary pointed to the greasy deck. The 

 blubber of seventy walruses, which had been slaughtered and brought aboard 

 the Roosevelt, there to be sliced into halves and quarters for distribution among 

 his faithful Eskimo followers, had left the ship slimy and noisome. 



Although the vessel had been lying in Battle Harbor for more than a 

 week for the purpose of being cleaned and overhauled, little work seemed 

 to have been done. On every side, and even hanging over him from the 

 shrouds, were trophies of Arctic hunts, skins of bears, seals, foxes, wolves, 

 antlers and horns of musk oxen, deer, walruses and other creatures most 

 strange to a Southern eye, all drying in the sun. 



"This is no place for an interview, gentlemen," said the commander. "I 

 think it would be much more convenient if we were to adjourn to the attic of 

 that fish house yonder. It is a rough place and you will have to associate with 

 nets, fish barrels and salt boxes; but I think we will be comfortable. And in 

 order that you shall not be disappointed when we get to the inquisition chamber 

 over there, I will state now that I shall answer only those questions which at 

 this time I regard appropriate." 



This precautionary remark was generally interpreted as meaning that Peary 

 was not going to discuss Dr. Cook's prior claim of the discovery of the North 

 Pole any more than he could help. 



With an abrupt bow, Peary suddenly retired to his little cabin, which 

 opens upon the rear deck. It looked to be a very cozy place, where, despite 

 the assault of Arctic climes, one might think he was in some genial Southern 

 latitude. The walls were covered with books, scientific and historical, with 

 here and there such a book of fiction as the "Last Days of Pompeii." Here 

 also were to be seen the choicest prizes of Arctic exploration — queer birds, 

 fantastic teeth and bones and bits of strange-looking rock. 



When Peary had retired the chief object of attention was Henson, who 

 helped him "nail the Stars and Stripes" to the pole. When first asked about 

 his trip to the top of the earth Henson shrugged his soulders with the reply : 

 "I just got there, that's all." 



