“No!” Thor exclaimed, stunned.

“We’ve toned it down a little the last few years, I don’t whirl Irma by the heels any more like I used to, you could do that those days when you had a real stage you could work on. Nowdays, those night-club little stages they’re like a postage stamp. The old days I remember the audiences some of them, down front, used to try to duck under their seats they thought I would lose my grip and let her fly right over the footlights into their laps.”

Bridie minced precariously up the aisle now, a laden paper plate in either hand. Thor stood up. “Bridie, give one of those to Mrs. Polar there, will you? And you keep the other and sit down beside her, she’s never taken this trip before. Though,” thoughtfully, “after the kind of work she’s—well, anyway, you visit there with her, will you? Mr. Polar and I are going to have a chat in one of those vacant seats.”

For the first time in her life, perhaps, Christine felt deserted. Well, she thought, we’ll be in Oogruk by four and it certainly looks as if Bridie is getting her wish about not wanting to be entertained by the pilot. She stared out of the window at the blue and crystal universe. Bridie’s voice chattering through the beat of the engines was like piccolo notes through drumbeats. Christine closed her eyes. Beat beat beat beat went the engines.… From the seat behind her, Bridie’s voice … You don’t say! Well, it sounds like a hard life but you certainly have seen the world.… Settle down … Chicken farm in Jersey, oh, you’ll never like that.

Last night Ross had said, I want to show you Oogruk, I specially want to show you Oogruk. The voices behind her ceased. She must have slept a little. Someone sat in the seat beside her, she opened her eyes instantly. It was only Bridie, who leaned close, her voice vibrant with the eagerness of one who imparts news.

“Those two,” she confided. “They’ve lived the most interesting life. They’re theatrical people, that’s what she said, would you think to look at them. They used to be in vaudeville, she says vaudeville is dead, she can’t understand how it happened, they’ve been known for years from coast to coast, the Roller Polars they’re called, and now they play the night clubs, they’re taking this trip because Barrow’s the farthest northern town in America and they want to brag to their theater friends they’ve been farthest north and farthest south and farthest east and west. People are wonderful.” Her voice rose. “Just wonderful!”

“What’s wonderful?” Thor had finished his chat with the male half of the Roller Polars, he stood now beaming down on Bridie and Christine. “This trip is wonderful, I say, inside and outside. How did you make out with the Army, Christine?”

“He wants to shoot a polar bear,” Christine reported. “He and the others are on their way to Imiak. For a year. He thinks it’s a town.”