“Where’s he gone?” asked Andy.
“He’s up to his place—seein’ about some plans they’re makin’—they bother him quite a consid’abul.”
Andy’s face showed no concern. “They goin’ to begin working next week?” he said.
Uncle William pushed back the map a little and took off his spectacles.... “They don’t just seem to know,” he said slowly, “Benjy wants it one way, and the man that’s doin’ it—Ordway—he says it can’t be done—so they’re kind o’ stuck. I wish he ’d have George Manning.” Uncle William’s face expanded. “George ’d do it—and do it for him good. You see, Benjy, he wants—”
“He ’ll want money,” said Andy shortly—“unless he looks out—keeping that contractor and fussing about whether they ’ll have the roof two inches up or two inches down—or some such matter as that—and Harr’et feedin’ the contractor and getting board money right along whether he works or don’t work.”
“I guess I’ll do the lobsters for supper,” said Uncle William. “Benjy likes ’em.” He stirred about, gathering a few bits of kindling and paper and striking a careful match.
Andy watched him with gloomy eye while he dived under the sink and brought out a large kettle.
Uncle William lifted the tea kettle a little and drew it forward. “Most full,” he said contentedly. “That’s good—and it ain’t fairly cooled off since dinner—I didn’t wash any dishes this noon, you see.”
Andy’s eye roamed about the room.
“They’re tucked under the sink,” said Uncle William, “I don’t like ’em clutterin’ round. I can’t seem to set so easy if I see ’em.” He opened the sink door and peered in. “I guess there’s about enough left for a meal—You goin’ to stay—?” He looked back hopefully over his shoulder.