“I mean we did pay it,” said Uncle William stoutly, “—last week. An’ then I told ’em not to drive another nail, or I’d sue ’em!” He was sitting erect now and there was a little glint in the blue eyes. “Set down, Mr. Carter.” He motioned to the nail keg. “I might jest as well tell ye—plain out—so ’s ’t you can understand. Andy didn’t own that place. He ain’t owned it for years. He don’t own stock nor stone on the Island—Don’t own his own boat out there—” Uncle William nodded to the dark boat, rocking beside the Jennie. Andy, on the deck, was busy hauling up the sail and making ready to cast off. Uncle William’s eye rested on him, with a little humorous gleam. “You see, Andy, he got scared, fo-five years ago, ’bout his property. He’s a kind o’ near man, Andy is, and he got the idee he ’d make everything over to Harr’et—to have it safe. So that’s what he done. He give her a paper saying he ’d made it all over to her—everything. Nobody knew it, I guess—except me. And I wouldn’t ’a’ known it if it hadn’t been for one day, when we was out sailin’—We got to talking about one thing and another—and fust thing he knew, he ’d told me. He made me promise not to tell, and I ain’t told—not a soul—not till now.” Uncle William beamed on him. “I reckon ’twon’t do any harm now.”
The man’s gaze was fixed on him. “I shall see what the law has to say about it,” he said quietly.
“Well, I would if I was you,” said Uncle William cordially, “I did, when I bought my piece. I see a lawyer—a good one—and he said my deed wa ’n’t wuth the paper ’twas writ on if Harr’et didn’t give a quit-claim deed—So she give it.”
The man’s gaze was looking out to sea.
Uncle William looked at him benevolently. “It ain’t a just law—anybody can see it ain’t just! How was you going to know ’t Harr’et owns Andy? I wouldn’t ’a’ known it if we hadn’t been sailing that way. And you couldn’t ’a’ known it—You didn’t know,” said Uncle William with conviction.
The narrow eyes turned on him for a minute. “There’s such a thing as law,” he repeated.
“Law’s ticklish,” said Uncle William. “Far as I make out, the man that’s got the most money, beats—after a spell.”
There was silence again. “I suppose you know I paid Halloran five hundred down,” said the man.
“Yes, Andy told me about the five hundred down—and five hundred the first of the month.” Uncle William’s hand sought his pocket. “Andy give that five hundred to me. I reckon he kind o’ hated to hand it to ye.” Uncle William’s eye sought the dark boat that had lifted sail and was creeping out of the harbor. “I told him I’d just as lives give it to you as not—I’d be real glad.” He held out the roll of bills.
The man took them, in thick fingers, and counted them.