“I see.” Bodet studied it with lifting face.
Uncle William came over and stood by them, his dish towel on his arm and his glasses alert—“The house sort o’ climbs down the rocks, don’t it?” he suggested. “I’ve seen them that way—foreign parts—a lot.” The glow in his face swept the room. “I do’ ’no’ how we didn’t come to think of it, fust thing—easy as settin’.”
“Just about,” said Bodet. “How did you get it?” He looked at the young man. “You never saw a room like that, did you?”
“No, I never saw one,” he replied slowly—“but something ’d got to give way somewheres. You wouldn’t let the roof-line be touched, nor the ground, and there wasn’t anything left to give way—but the floor. I guess it kind of dropped down by itself—while I was figuring on it.” He looked at it fondly.
“It improves the thing fifty per cent,” said Bodet. He held off the paper, scanning it with happy vision, “We ’ll have a little railing here, with carving on it, and something leading up to it—It’s the feature of the place.” He handed it back. “Go ahead with it. There isn’t anything else to decide, is there?”
“No. Things are coming on.” He took the paper, tucking it in his pocket. “The ’Happy Thought’ got in last night with her lumber and the new masons came this morning. I was kind of bothered about their not getting here, and the Widow Deman’s well going dryer and dryer all the while, and no brickwork getting done. I’ll go set ’em to work.” He nodded and was gone.
Uncle William looked after him with smiling face. “He’s a nice boy,” he said, “You just can’t find a thing George can’t figger out.”
“He’s a genius,” said Bodet thoughtfully, “He ought to be somewhere besides on this island—somewhere he ’d have a chance.”
“Chance for what?” asked Uncle William, with simple interest.
“A chance to rise,” said Bodet with emphasis. “It’s all right for you and me, William—old men—with our work done—”