You talk yust like me, but nobody yumps all over you! I bet you’d giff ’em a good vhack and a vallop if they did!” Viggo shot back, “Yah, vell you’re a weteran, Ole. All the fellas in this room know vhat a good log valker you are.” “You shouldn’t be so sensitive to a little bit of yibing. “Vhy the long face, Wiggo? Vhat’s the trouble?” Ole asked. That’s when Ole the blacksmith ambled over and sat down. “Maybe those coal miners vouldn’t be so mean yust because I’m from Norvay.” “Yeepers I vish I’d have gone to Vest Wirginia vith my brother Valter,” he muttered. One night after a long hard day, Viggo was sitting all by himself at the supper table, feeling pretty low. But he was the new guy, and the crew liked to tease him about it. Now, a lot of the loggers had accents, German and Irish and French- and most of the Scandihoovians talked just like Viggo did. “If I see a log start to vander, I yust yump right on top of it and weer it back vith my pike pole!” “I’m Wiggo Wikkerson and I’m the best log valker on the vater, by yiminy!” he’d holler as he thumped his chest. He couldn’t help it- didn’t even realize he was doing it. Funny thing was, his Norsky accent was so thick, he always mixed up his Ws and his Vs. So proud, in fact, that he boasted about it to everybody he met. It was a dangerous but important job, and Viggo was pretty darn proud of that. Paul thought he’d be a natural as a pike pole man, hopping from one floating log to another, steering them downriver. He was a tall, strapping young fellow, lanky and limber and spry. Viggo Vikkerson was the newest member of Paul Bunyan’s logging crew, just off the boat from Norway.
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