“Wake up!” barked Kotick, for the gulls were making a great noise.

“Hah!  Ho!  Hmph!  What’s that?” said Sea Vitch, and he struck the next walrus a blow with his tusks and waked him up, and the next struck the next, and so on till they were all awake and staring in every direction but the right one.

“Hi!  It’s me,” said Kotick, bobbing in the surf and looking like a little white slug.

“Well!  May I be—­skinned!” said Sea Vitch, and they all looked at Kotick as you can fancy a club full of drowsy old gentlemen would look at a little boy.  Kotick did not care to hear any more about skinning just then; he had seen enough of it.  So he called out:  “Isn’t there any place for seals to go where men don’t ever come?”

“Go and find out,” said Sea Vitch, shutting his eyes.  “Run away.  We’re busy here.”

Kotick made his dolphin-jump in the air and shouted as loud as he could:  “Clam-eater!  Clam-eater!” He knew that Sea Vitch never caught a fish in his life but always rooted for clams and seaweed; though he pretended to be a very terrible person.  Naturally the Chickies and the Gooverooskies and the Epatkas—­the Burgomaster Gulls and the Kittiwakes and the Puffins, who are always looking for a chance to be rude, took up the cry, and—­so Limmershin told me—­for nearly five minutes you could not have heard a gun fired on Walrus Islet.  All the population was yelling and screaming “Clam-eater!  Stareek [old man]!” while Sea Vitch rolled from side to side grunting and coughing.

“Now will you tell?” said Kotick, all out of breath.

“Go and ask Sea Cow,” said Sea Vitch.  “If he is living still, he’ll be able to tell you.”

“How shall I know Sea Cow when I meet him?” said Kotick, sheering off.

“He’s the only thing in the sea uglier than Sea Vitch,” screamed a Burgomaster gull, wheeling under Sea Vitch’s nose.  “Uglier, and with worse manners!  Stareek!”

Kotick swam back to Novastoshnah, leaving the gulls to scream.  There he found that no one sympathized with him in his little attempt to discover a quiet place for the seals.  They told him that men had always driven the holluschickie—­it was part of the day’s work—­and that if he did not like to see ugly things he should not have gone to the killing grounds.  But none of the other seals had seen the killing, and that made the difference between him and his friends.  Besides, Kotick was a white seal.

“What you must do,” said old Sea Catch, after he had heard his son’s adventures, “is to grow up and be a big seal like your father, and have a nursery on the beach, and then they will leave you alone.  In another five years you ought to be able to fight for yourself.”  Even gentle Matkah, his mother, said:  “You will never be able to stop the killing.  Go and play in the sea, Kotick.”  And Kotick went off and danced the Fire-dance with a very heavy little heart.