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The man had a small account in the Farmers and Merchants Bank, for, like most of his nation, "Yon Yonson," as his wife had called him, was a frugal man. "He came into the bank and I inquired about the girl who visited his wife and who broke Mrs. Latham's cutglass dish," said Mr. Day. "Johnson says he knows little about the girl not even where she lives, or really who she is.
"She went away this morning, then?" "Yah. She bane go dis mornin'." "Is her name Olga Cedarstrom?". "No! No!" exclaimed Mrs. Johnson, shaking her head vigorously. "You not b'know dis Olga. She 'nudder girl." "Where is your husband?" asked Mr. Day hopelessly. "Perhaps he can tell me more about her." "Yon Yonson gone to Dover," declared his wife, suddenly shutting the door and leaving Mr.
He hesitated while he groped in his vocabulary and framed a complete answer. "The cap'n is Wolf Larsen, or so men call him. I never heard his other name. But you better speak soft with him. He is mad this morning. The mate " But he did not finish. The cook had glided in. "Better sling yer 'ook out of 'ere, Yonson," he said.
A BOY, A GREAT BIG MAN-BOY, was her thought; and, as they smiled at each other and their hands slipped apart, she was startled by a glimpse of his hair short and crisp and sandy, hinting almost of palest gold save that it was too flaxen to hint of gold at all. So blond was he that she was reminded of stage-types she had seen, such as Ole Olson and Yon Yonson; but there resemblance ceased.
It was broken by Wolf Larsen. "Yonson," he began. "My name is Johnson, sir," the sailor boldly corrected. "Well, Johnson, then, damn you! Can you guess why I have sent for you?" "Yes, and no, sir," was the slow reply. "My work is done well. The mate knows that, and you know it, sir. So there cannot be any complaint." "And is that all?" Wolf Larsen queried, his voice soft, and low, and purring.
Eggy looks over the line, picks out a square-jawed, bull-headed, pie-faced Yon Yonson, with stupid, stary, skim-milk eyes, and leads him to the front. "A direct descendant of the old Vikings," says he, "a fellow countryman of the heroic Stefansson, of Amundsen. Just now he works as a longshoreman.
What does the fool up an' say, when the old man calls him Yonson, but 'Me name is Johnson, sir, an' then spells it out, letter for letter. Ye should iv seen the old man's face! I thought he'd let drive at him on the spot. He didn't, but he will, an' he'll break that squarehead's heart, or it's little I know iv the ways iv men on the ships iv the sea." Thomas Mugridge is becoming unendurable.
She could be one of their mothers or aunts." Mrs. Bell smiled. "Do you really imagine, Diantha, that Mrs. O'Shaughnessy or Mrs. Yon Yonson can manage a house like this as you can?" Diantha flushed a little. "No, mother, of course not. But I am keeping very full reports of all the work. Just the schedule of labor the hours the exact things done.
"I came to inquire about a young woman that I believe is staying here." "No vooman here but me," declared the other, shaking her head vigorously. "What? Haven't you a friend here named Olga?" "Olga bane gone," declared the woman sullenly. "Gone away? exclaimed Mr. Day. "Since last evening?" "She bane gone." "Are you Mrs. Johnson?" asked the man, earnestly. "My name bane Yonson yes," she agreed.
It was this that made him protest, at the commencement of our acquaintance, against being called Yonson. And upon this, and him, Louis passed judgment and prophecy. "'Tis a fine chap, that squarehead Johnson we've for'ard with us," he said. "The best sailorman in the fo'c'sle. He's my boat- puller. But it's to trouble he'll come with Wolf Larsen, as the sparks fly upward. It's meself that knows.
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