“I can't buy fish,” said he. “I have no scales to weigh 'em.”
“Then send ourn in separate berrels,” said one of the men.
“But I haven't any money to pay you,” he said. “I only get my pay once a month.”
“We'll git tick at William's, and you can settle 'th us when you git your pay.”
“Well,” said he, unable to refuse, “I 'll take 'em, if you say so.”
Before the season was over, he had still another customer, and could have had three or four more, if he had had ice enough. He felt strongly inclined that fall to build a larger icehouse; and although he was a little afraid of bringing ridicule upon himself in case no fish should be brought to him the next summer, he decided to do so, on the assurance of three or four men that they meant to come to him. Nobody else had such a chance,—a pond right by the shore.
One evening there was a knock at the door of Eliphalet Wood, the owner of the burned barn. Eliphalet went to the door, but turned pale at seeing Eph there.
“Oh, come in, come in!” he panted. “Glad to see you. Walk in. Have a chair. Take a seat. Sit down.”
But he thought his hour had come: he was alone in the house, and there was no neighbor within call.
Eph took out a roll of bills, counted out eighty dollars, laid the money on the table, and said quietly,—