But there
isn't any chance of getting away from here till the ship comes. This
is the last place God ever made and the loneliest. What did you say
your name is?"
"Bob Gray, sir."
"Well, Mr. MacPherson will call you something else, but don't mind
that. He has a new name for every one. He calls Sishetakushin, one of
the Indians you came in with, Abraham Lincoln because he's so tall,
and one of the stout Eskimos is Grover Cleveland. That's the name of
an American president. Mr. MacPherson gets the papers every year and
keeps posted. He received, on the ship, all last year's issues of a
New York paper called the _Sun_ besides a great packet of Scotch and
English papers. But this _Sun_ he thinks more of than any of them and
every morning he picks out the paper for that date the year before and
reads it as though it had just been delivered. One year behind, but
just as fresh here. He finds a lot of new names in 'em to give the
Eskimos and Indians and the rest of us that way. I'm Secretary Bayard,
whoever he may be. I don't read the American papers much. The chief
clerk is Lord Salisbury, the new premier. You know the Conservatives
downed the Liberals, and Gladstone is out. Good enough for him, too,
for meddling in the Irish question. I'm a conservative, or I would be
if I was home.
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