The young man snapped the catch two or three times in the lock—“That ’ll work,” he said. He got to his feet, slipping the file into his pocket.
“Benjy needs somebody like you up to his place,” said Uncle William.
“I thought he ’d got a man from Boston.” The tone was non-committal and dry. The young man was looking at the window.
“Well, I guess he’s got somebody—He’s from Boston—yes. Benjy’s a good deal bothered,” added Uncle William hopefully.
George shook his head. “I don’t want to be building—as long as the fishing suits me.”
“Cod—so far,” said Uncle William.
“You can ’t tell what ’ll be along any day now,” said the young man. He moved toward the door.
“You think it over, George,” said Uncle William—he held up a benignant hand and cut off the answer—“You just think it over. Mebbe he won’t need you. But if he does—you ’ll hev to help him out, I guess. He’s livin’ on the Island now, you know, same as the rest of us.”