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"Most people do, except those who have need of one. I thank you for your concern, though; I will be careful." "Good." Johansen sipped at his drink, frowned. "A warrior of your clan saved my life during the war. I feel a certain obligation to repay that debt, even if I don't particularly approve of your occupation myself." "There's no proof I'm what you guess."
Thereafter, fore and aft, I was known by no other name, until the term became a part of my thought-processes and I identified it with myself, thought of myself as Hump, as though Hump were I and had always been I. It was no easy task, waiting on the cabin table, where sat Wolf Larsen, Johansen, and the six hunters.
"Name yerselves, bunkies I can't see yer." "Simmes." "Schmitt." "Ravel DeLasser." "Carter." "Jacob Johansen." "Sam." "That's enough; you lads remain here with me. Have Harwood watch LeVere, while the rest of you get out the boats." "How many, sir?" "The two quarter-boats will hold us all. Knock out the plugs in the others and Watkins!" "Ay, ay, sir."
And there comes Stubberud, the man the Aftenpost said was so clever at double-entry book-keeping. As I see him now, he does not give me the impression of being a book-keeper but one can't tell. And here come Hassel, Johansen, and Prestrud; now they are all up, and will soon begin the day's work. "Stubberud!" It is Lindström putting his head in at the door.
The cook borrowed a stone from Johansen and proceeded to sharpen the knife. He did it with great ostentation, glancing significantly at me the while. He whetted it up and down all day long. Every odd moment he could find he had the knife and stone out and was whetting away. The steel acquired a razor edge. He tried it with the ball of his thumb or across the nail.
They scrubbed and scraped and changed their clothes from top to toe, and at last looked like human beings. Later in the summer a vessel came with supplies for Jackson. With this vessel Nansen and Johansen sailed home. At Vardö they received telegrams from their families, and their delight was unbounded. Only one thing troubled them. Where was the Fram?
What was to happen I knew no more than did I know what had happened. But blood had been shed, and it was through no whim of Wolf Larsen that he had gone over the side with his scalp laid open. Besides, Johansen was missing. It was my first descent into the forecastle, and I shall not soon forget my impression of it, caught as I stood on my feet at the bottom of the ladder.
He concludes that the black man on skis is some one from the Fram, but when he hears that it is Nansen himself he is still more astonished and agreeably surprised. They went to Jackson's house, whither Johansen also was fetched. Both our explorers washed with soap and brush several times to get off the worst of the dirt, all that was not firmly set and imbedded in their skins.
"Well, never mind; you're mate just the same. Get your traps aft into the mate's berth." "Ay, ay, sir," was the cheery response, as Johansen started forward. In the meantime the erstwhile cabin-boy had not moved. "What are you waiting for?" Wolf Larsen demanded. "I didn't sign for boat-puller, sir," was the reply. "I signed for cabin-boy. An' I don't want no boat-pullin' in mine."
One party was to carry out the march to the south; the other was to try to reach King Edward VII. Land, and see what was to be done there, besides exploring the region around the Bay of Whales. This party was composed of Prestrud, Stubberud, and Johansen, under the leadership of the first-named. The advantages of this new arrangement were many.
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