“Ludington,” says Ole.
“Yass,” says Jerry, “Ludington.”
“When is he coming back?” I wanted to know.
“Oh, two-t’ree day,” says Ole.
“Maybe t’ree-four,” says Jerry.
“He go wid day boss,” says Ole.
“Yass,” says Jerry, “wid day boss.”
There wasn’t any use trying to get anything out of those Swedes, so we let go and paddled down to the scow to see if the engineer wasn’t more likely to be useful. He was a short man with spectacles and not much hair. It was a habit of his to keep his head on one side and look at you over the rims of his spectacles in the mournfulest way you can imagine. He was mournful all over; every line there was in his face sort of drooped, especially the corners of his mouth, which looked like there was danger of their slipping some day and going slam! off his jaw. He looked like an owl that had its feelings hurt.
He was leaning against the door of the engine-room when we came alongside, looking down at us as if he thought maybe he’d have to cry pretty soon.
“G-g-good afternoon,” says Mark.