“Well—I do’ ’no’ ’bout that—He ’d make a good many hunderd out there—” Uncle William motioned to the harbor, “a good many hunderd—if he had luck—”
“He ’ll make a good many hundred on the house. It’s steady work—and sure pay,” said Bodet.
Uncle William smiled. “I reckon that’s what’s the matter with it—The ’s suthin’ dretful unsatisfyin’ about sure pay.” Bodet smiled skeptically.
“You don’t understand about mackerel, Benjy, I guess—the mackerel feelin’.” Uncle William’s eye rested affectionately on the water.... “The’s suthin’ about it—out there—” He waved his hand—“Suthin’ ’t keeps sayin’, ’Come and find me—Come and find me—’ kind o’ low like. Why, some days I go out and sail around—just sail around. Don’t ketch anything—don’t try to, you know—just sail right out.... You ain’t ever felt it, I guess?”
Benjy shook his head.
“I kind o’ knew you hadn’t.... You’ve al’ays had things—had ’em done for ye—on dry land—It’s all right... and you’ve got things—” Uncle William looked at him admiringly, “Things ’t George and me won’t ever get, like enough.” He smiled on him affectionately, “But we wouldn’t swap with ye, Benjy.”
“Wouldn’t swap what?” asked Bodet. His little laugh teased the words—“You haven’t got anything—as far as I see—to swap—just a sense that there’s something you won’t ever get.”
Uncle William nodded. “That’s it, Benjy! You see it—don’t you?—Suthin’ ’t I can’t get—can’t ever get,” he looked far out over the water... “and some day I’ll sail out there and ketch—twenty barrel, like enough—and bring ’em in, and it’s all hurrah-boys down ’t the dock—and sayin’ ’How many ’d you get?’ and ’How ’d you do it?’ and runnin’ and fussin’—and then, come along toward night, and it ’ll get kind o’ big and dark out there... and I’ll forget all about the twenty barrel and about gettin’ money for ’em sensible—I’ll just want to heave ’em out and go again.” Uncle William paused—drawing a big sigh from some deep place.... “That’s the way George feels, I reckon.... If he stays and works on your house, Benjy—’twon’t be because he wants money.”
The young man appeared in the door—“I can’t find any paper in here,” he said. There was a little note of defiance in the words and the color in his face was dear scarlet.
Uncle William looked at him quizzically. “Maybe you didn’t look in the right place, Georgie,” he said. “We’re coming right in, anyway.”