MAKING WINDOWS 



clean, old houses and new, big houses and little, all 

 have their share, and every Eskimo carries a hint 

 of it about with him. It is the smell of seal-oil, 

 of oil-sodden boots and harness, of lamps and cookery, 

 beds and clothes. I thought it would wash out 

 of the people themselves, but no ; unlimited baths 

 in hospital failed to dispel the suggestion in the air ; 

 it is a natural thing, the effect of a diet of raw meat 

 and fish and blubber. I asked one of our most 

 sensible men one day whether the people knew it. 

 " Atsuk" (I don't know), he said, "but we do know 

 that you Kablunaks (Europeans) have an odour of 

 your own. We can always tell if any of you have 

 been in our houses " ! No, the Eskimo odour will 

 always be there, even in those model houses of my 

 dreams, but the stuffy, foetid air can be removed. 

 How to do it? Ay, there's the rub. I did some 

 serious cogitating about it, but, as things turned out, 

 the solution came in quite an off-hand and unex- 

 pected way. Tomas was building a new house, 

 and he came to me with a very simple request. " I 

 want to build a good house," he said, " because I 

 catch many seals. I want glass windows, not 

 windows of seals' bowels : I want to be able to see 

 out of my windows when the days are fine. Can 

 you find me a piece of proper wood for a window 

 frame among the wood that you have ? " " By 

 all means," I told him ; " here is a piece of soft pine : 

 and you shall have it without payment if you will 

 make a window like this of mine that opens on 

 hinges." Tomas studied my window, and opened 

 it and shut it, and grinned, and looked at me and 

 coveted that piece of pine. " Yes," he said, " it shall 

 be;" and off he trotted with his prize surely the 



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