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,—
“Give me a receipt on account.”
When it was written he walked out, leaving Eliphalet stupefied.
Joshua Carr was at work, one June afternoon, by the roadside, in front of his low cottage, by an enormous pile of poles, which he was shaving down for barrel-hoops, when Eph appeared.
“Hard at it, Joshua!” he said.
“Yes, yes!” said Joshua, looking up through his steel-bowed spectacles. “Hev to work hard to make a livin'—though I don't know's I ought to call it hard, neither; and yet it is ruther hard, too; but then, on t' other hand, 't ain't so hard as a good many other things—though there is a good many jobs that's easier. That's so! that 's so!