“Yes—he’s working.” Bodet’s tone was a little stiff.
“Um-m—” Uncle William moved off a little distance. He drew his dory up the beach, and pottered about a little. “I was just going out to see to the Jennie,” he said. “But she’s all right—and mebbe it ’ll blow over.” He looked up at the sky. “I o’t to get some things down ’t the store—” He felt in his pockets. “You got any money, Benjy?”
Benjy shook his head. “I can give you a cheque if you want it.” There was a little, quizzical smile with the words.
Uncle William paused, his hand half drawn from his pocket—a light filled his face, and a little laugh. “That ’ll do, Benjy—that ’ll do fust-rate,” he said.
Bodet drew out his cheque book and opened it. “How much do you want!” he asked.
Uncle William paused. He looked at the cliffs, and at the sky—“I might want a considabul,” he said slowly—“Couldn’t you just sign your name down there, Benjy, the way you do, and let me get what I need?”
Bodet looked at him a minute. Then he signed the cheque and handed it to him—a little smile in his eyes. “Tell me what you make it,” he said.
“Oh, I’ll tell you,” said Uncle William cordially. “I’d tell you now—only I don’t know how much it ’ll cost—what I’m going to buy.” He moved off up the beach.
At the foot of the cliff he paused and looked back. “Mebbe I’ll see Harriet,” he said. “Her temper ain’t good. But she’s firm, and she’s got sense.”
Bodet shook his head. “The thing is tied tight, William. I looked into it before I came down.”