Andy fizzed a little and stepped higher and looked ahead up the road.
A figure, seated in the sunshine, was making strange pantomimic gestures with a paint brush. Andy stopped a minute to look at it—then he came steadily on.
Uncle William looked up and nodded. “Hello, Andy—goin’ to help?”
“Guess so,” said Andy. He glared at the harbor.
Uncle William spatted his brush along the rock and dipped it again in the tin can beside him.
“What you doin’.” asked Andy.
Uncle William squinted at the brush and rubbed it thoughtfully back and forth—a deep red smudge followed it. “Kind o’ getting my brush ready,” he said.
Andy sniffed. “Bodet inside?”
“Why, yes—he’s there—” Uncle William hesitated—“Yes—he’s there—”
He drew a long flourish of red on the rock and looked at it approvingly.