"You're my clerk, an' your name's Sven Larson--that's a good
Scandinavian name--an' you don't know nothin' about pulp-wood, nor
options. I guess it would be best if we could put him up right here.
We could be watchin' him all the while without seemin' to."
"I wonder when Wentworth will be here?" speculated Hedin.
"There's no tellin'. It's accordin' to the outfit he packs an' the
guide he's got. They'll have to camp for the storm, an' the snow will
slow them up one-half. The storm will last three days or four, an'
after that, a day, mebbe a week. Anyways, 'twill give ye time to learn
the duties of a factor's clerk, which is a thing the Company has never
furnished at Gods Lake, but if John McNabb foots the bill, they'll not
worry. 'Twould be better an' ye could play the dolt--not an eediot, or
an addlepate--but just a dull fellow, slow of wit, an' knowin' nought
except of fur."