“I could have stood it—quite a while yet—if you could have,” said Bodet dryly.
Uncle William chuckled and looked toward the house—“There’s George in there now—You go tell him—why don’t you, Benjy.”
He moved away and Bodet stepped toward the house. He disappeared inside and Uncle William seated himself on a rock and studied the boats that dotted the harbor. Only two were at anchor—the new Jennie, riding in proud, fresh paint, near by, and George Manning’s great boat—dark green, with crimson lines and gleams of gold along the prow. She was a handsome boat, large and finely built, and Maiming had refused more than one offer for her for the mackerel season....
He would take her out himself—or she should ride the season at anchor.
Uncle William turned toward the house—The young man was coming from the door. “Hello, George—I hear you’re going out!”
The sombre face smiled a little. “‘Bout time!” His eye dropped to the big boat and lingered on it. “She’s all ready—and I’ve got my pick of men.” He gathered a stem of grass from the cliff and took it in his teeth. “I don’t believe I was going to hold out much longer,” he said.
“Oh, yes—you ’d ’a’ held out. I wa ’n’t a mite afraid of your not holdin’ out,” said Uncle William. “All I was afraid of was that Benjy ’d hold out—I kind o’ thought he ’d be ’shamed byme-by—when he come to see how ’twas on the Island.... It’s different, living on an island, George. We can’t expect everybody to see what we do—right off, I guess. There’s something about living on an island, perhaps. You just get little handy samples o’ things and see how ’tis—right off. Bein’ born on an island’s a dretful good thing—saves you hurryin’ and repentin’.” Uncle William gazed at the horizon. “Benjy don’t like repentin’ any more ’n you do. He ’ll be real glad ’bout your going—byme-by.”
“I’m going down to fix things up a little—I’ll be back along towards night.”
“Oh—George—?” Uncle William’s fingers fumbled in his pocket.
The young man held his step.