Uncle William glanced at her with benignant eye. “She does set store by lobster,” he said, “much as anybody I ever see. I guess I’ll save ’em for her.” He moved toward the sink.
Andy’s eye followed him with disapproving glance. “I’d heave ’em out,” he said.
“Don’t you worry, Andy, I’m goin’ to put ’em under the sink—way back. The’ won’t no fish-warden get ’em in there. It’s much’s I can do to find things myself—when they get under here—” He emerged from the depths with serene face. “I see some things in there now, I’ve been looking for quite a spell. Tomorrow I’m going to have a real good clarin’-up time—You see!”
“I wanted you to go up to my place tomorrow,” said Bodet whimsically. “I thought perhaps you could work that contractor around to let me have my house the way I want it.”
“Well, I’ll go if you want me to,” said Uncle William placidly, “The dishes can wait a spell—some of ’em can wait,” he added, with a touch of conscience.
Benjamin smiled. “You might do them before we go.”
“And you could wipe,” said Uncle William cheerfully.
Benjamin’s face was perhaps a trifle less glowing than Uncle William’s, but his assent was cheerful. “All right, William, I’ll do my part—You help me with that contractor and I’ll wipe dishes for you—all day, if you say so.”
Uncle William regarded him thoughtfully. “You ought to have George Manning to help you about your house, Benjy. He could do it for you—nice.”
“Manning?” Bodet looked at him with lifted eyebrows—“You mean that boy—?”