II
BENJAMIN BODET stood in the doorway and looked in. He was tall and thin and distinguished—in spite of his rough suit and slouch hat and the week’s growth of beard on his thin cheeks and pointed chin. His eye fell on the steaming red mound in the center of the table and his face lighted. “Lobsters!” he said.
Uncle William, who had been watching him, chuckled a little. “Andy’s lobsters,” he said politely.
Andy shuffled in his chair. “They’re your claws, William—they’re on your premises—”
“Yes, yes,” said Uncle William soothingly, “I know ’bout that. You just eat all you want and I’ll pay the bill—when it comes in. You all ready, Benjy?”
“All ready—and hungry for anything you’ve got—especially lobster.”
They drew up to the table and reached out to the red pile—breaking it down slowly.... Juno, from her lounge, came across and rubbed against Uncle William’s big leg. Then she sat up. When Uncle William’s hand reached down with casual motion, and a hard, red morsel, she snuffed at it daintily before her teeth opened on it. Then she bent her head and growled a little, and crouched over it, crushing it under her paw and moving her tail in swift, restrained joy... to eat was good—but to hold it—there under her paw—caught fast—and growl a little.... Up above Uncle William rumbled on—about the weather and fishing and house building and lobsters.... Presently he reached up and took down a spy-glass and went to the window. The red curtain was up and the sun came in with soft, side slants. Down below, the water of the harbor slowly filled with dusk and reached away. Uncle William looked out across it toward the west.
“I’ve been kind o’ watching her,” he said, “for some time—I guess she’s goin’ by.”