Explore "The Turtles of Tasman" by Jack London on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
On an afternoon in the late fall all were gathered about the big chair and Captain Tom. Though he did not know it, he had drowsed the whole day through and only just awakened to call for his _ukulele_ and light a cigarette at Polly's hand. But the _ukulele_ lay idle on his arm, and though the pine logs crackled in the huge fireplace he shivered and took note of the cold.
"It's a good sign," he said, unaware that the faintness of his voice drew the heads of his listeners closer. "The cold weather will be a tonic. It's a hard job to work the tropics out of one's blood. But I'm beginning to shape up now for the Kuskokeem. In the spring, Polly, we start with the dogs, and you'll see the midnight sun. How your mother would have liked the trip. She was a game one. Forty sleeps with the dogs, and we'll be shaking out yellow nuggets from the moss-roots. Larabee has some fine animals. I know the breed. They're timber wolves, that's what they are, big grey timber wolves, though they sport brown about one in a litter -- isn't that right, Bennington?"