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was the kind which built up brawn and sinew； but did not tickle the
palate。 True； there was sugar in plenty for two ordinary men； but
these two were little else than children。 They early discovered the
virtues of hot water judiciously saturated with sugar； and they
prodigally swam their flapjacks and soaked their crusts in the rich；
white syrup。 Then coffee and tea； and especially the dried fruits；
made disastrous inroads upon it。 The first words they had were over
the sugar question。 And it is a really serious thing when two men；
wholly dependent upon each other for company； begin to quarrel。
Weatherbee loved to discourse blatantly on politics； while Cuthfert；
who had been prone to clip his coupons and let the commonwealth jog on
as best it might； either ignored the subject or delivered himself of
startling epigrams。 But the clerk was too obtuse to appreciate the
clever shaping of thought； and this waste of ammunition irritated
Cuthfert。 He had been used to blinding people by his brilliancy； and
it worked him quite a hardship； this loss of an audience。 He felt
personally aggrieved and unconsciously held his muttonhead companion
responsible for it。
Save existence； they had nothing in common… came in touch on no
single point。 Weatherbee was a clerk who had known naught but clerking
all his life； Cuthfert was a master of arts； a dabbler in oils； and
had written not a little。 The one was a lower…class man who considered
himself a gentleman； and the other was a gentleman who knew himself to
be such。 From this it may be remarked that a man can be a gentleman
without possessing the first instinct of true comradeship。 The clerk
was as sensuous as the other was aesthetic； and his love adventures；
told at great length and chiefly coined from his imagination； affected
the supersensitive master of arts in the same way as so many whiffs of
sewer gas。 He deemed the clerk a filthy； uncultured brute； whose place
was in the muck with the swine； and told him so； and he was
reciprocally informed that he was a milk…and…water sissy and a cad。
Weatherbee could not have defined 'cad' for his life； but it satisfied
its purpose； which after all seems the main point in life。
Weatherbee flatted every third note and sang such songs as 'The
Boston Burglar' and 'the Handsome Cabin Boy；' for hours at a time；
while Cuthfert wept with rage； till he could stand it no longer and
fled into the outer cold。 But there was no escape。 The intense frost
could not be endured for long at a time； and the little cabin
crowded them… beds； stove； table； and all… into a space of ten by
twelve。 The very presence of either became a personal affront to the
other； and they lapsed into sullen silences which increased in
length and strength as the days went by。 Occasionally； the flash of an
eye or the curl of a lip got the better of them； though they strove to
wholly ignore each other during these mute periods。 And a great wonder
sprang up in the breast of each； as to how God had ever come to create
the other。
With little to do； time became an intolerable burden to them。 This
naturally made them still lazier。 They sank into a physical lethargy
which there was no escaping； and which made them rebel at the
performance of the smallest chore。 One morning when it was his turn to
cook the common breakfast； Weatherbee rolled out of his blankets；
and to the snoring of his companion； lighted first the slush…lamp
and then the fire。 The kettles were frozen hard； and there was no
water in the cabin with which to wash。 But he did not mind that。
Waiting for it to thaw； he sliced the bacon and plunged into the
hateful task of bread…making。 Cuthfert had been slyly watching through
his half…closed lids。 Consequently there was a scene； in which they
fervently blessed each other； and agreed； henceforth； that each do his
own cooking。 A week later； Cuthfert neglected his morning ablutions；
but none the less complacently ate the meal which he had cooked。
Weatherbee grinned。 After that the foolish custom of washing passed
out of their lives。
As the sugar…pile and other little luxuries dwindled； they began
to be afraid they were not getting their proper shares； and in order
that they might not be robbed； they fell to gorging themselves。 The
luxuries suffered in this gluttonous contest； as did also the men。
In the absence of fresh vegetables and exercise； their blood became
impoverished； and a loathsome； purplish rash crept over their
bodies。 Yet they refused to heed the warning。 Next； their muscles
and joints began to swell； the flesh turning black； while their
mouths； gums； and lips took on the color of rich cream。 Instead of
being drawn together by their misery； each gloated over the other's
symptoms as the scurvy took its course。
They lost all regard for personal appearance； and for that matter；
common decency。 The cabin became a pigpen； and never once were the
beds made or fresh pine boughs laid underneath。 Yet they could not
keep to their blankets； as they would have wished； for the frost was
inexorable； and the fire box consumed much fuel。 The hair of their
heads and faces grew long and shaggy； while their garments would
have disgusted a ragpicker。 But they did not care。 They were sick； and
there was no one to see； besides； it was very painful to move about。
To all this was added a new trouble… the Fear of the North。 This
Fear was the joint child of the Great Cold and the Great Silence；
and was born in the darkness of December； when the sun dipped below
the horizon for good。 It affected them according to their natures。
Weatherbee fell prey to the grosser superstitions； and did his best to
resurrect the spirits which slept in the forgotten graves。 It was a
fascinating thing； and in his dreams they came to him from out of
the cold； and snuggled into his blankets； and told him of their
toils and troubles ere they died。 He shrank away from the clammy
contact as they drew closer and twined their frozen limbs about him；
and when they whispered in his ear of things to come； the cabin rang
with his frightened shrieks。 Cuthfert did not understand… for they
no longer spoke… and when thus awakened he invariably grabbed for
his revolver。 Then he would sit up in bed； shivering nervously； with
the weapon trained on the unconscious dreamer。 Cuthfert deemed the man
going mad； and so came to fear for his life。
His own malady assumed a less concrete form。 The mysterious
artisan who had laid the cabin； log by log； had pegged a wind…vane
to the ridgepole。 Cuthfert noticed it always pointed south； and one
day； irritated by its steadfastness of purpose； he turned it toward
the east。 He watched eagerly； but never a breath came by to disturb
it。 Then he turned the vane to the north； swearing never again to
touch it till the wind did blow。 But the air frightened him with its
unearthly calm； and he often rose in the middle of the night to see if
the vane had veered… ten degrees would have satisfied h