“Mr. Bysshe has just about got the lobster in the pot,” he declared, “but I want to say one thing more. Things were bad enough up to a week ago, but since the fire they have been a great deal worse. Mr. Nailor and Mr. Thomas, who owned the fish stand that burned, have been cleaned out. They gave employment to about twenty of you men.
“Those men are now without any work at all because the owners of the other fish stands have all the trawlers and dorymen they need. Even if they didn’t have, there are hardly enough fish to feed all hands on the island.
“More than that––and now I hope you won’t mind what I am going to say, for we’ve all been in the same boat one time or another––Mr. Boughton can’t be our last hope much longer. You and I and all of us have got long-standing credit at his store for supplies we paid for later from our fishing. The fire of the other night cost Mr. Boughton a lot, and, as most of his money is represented in outstanding credit, he cannot advance any more goods.
“Mr. Boughton is not here himself, for he told me he would never say that word to people he has always trusted and lived with all his life. But I am saying it for him because I think I ought to, and you can see for yourselves how fair it is.
“Now, that’s about all I’ve got to add to what 54 Mr. Bysshe has said to you. Yes, there’s one thing more. Great Harbor and Seal Cove below us here are as bad if not worse off than we are. We cannot look for help in that direction, and I will be a lot thinner man than I am now before I ever appeal to the government.
“We’re not paupers, and we don’t want city newspapers starting subscription-lists for us. So, as Mr. Bysshe has said, the only thing for us to do is to get our eyes out of the heavens and see what we can do for ourselves.”
The squire sat down, pulling at his whiskers and looking apprehensively at the rector, of whose polished periods he stood in some awe.
The audience was silent now. The squire had brought home to these men and women some bald, hard facts that they had scarcely as yet admitted even to themselves. There was scarcely one among them whose account with Bill Boughton was fully satisfied, and now that this mainstay was gone the situation took on an entirely different aspect.
For some minutes no one spoke. Then an old man, bearded to the waist, got upon his feet.
“I’ve seen some pretty hard times on this island,” he said, “but none like this here. I’ve thought it over some, and I’d like to make a suggestion. My son Will is over on the back of the island pickin’ dulce. The market fer that is good––he’s even 55 got ten cents a pound this summer. This is the month of August and winter is consid’able ways off. How about all hands turnin’ to an’ pickin’ dulce?”