“That’s Gruchy’s,” said Andy quickly, “He wants to move off the Island.”
“He said he wanted to move—that’s the name—Gruchy—I’d forgotten.” The small eyes looked off at the distant glint of water. “In some ways I like that place better than this,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s on the shore—”
“I’ve got a right of way,” said Andy.
“To the shore!” The man’s eyes looked at him an instant, and a little light flicked in them, and was gone.
“It’s down here,” said Andy. He moved over to the right. “Here’s my entrance—and it runs from here straight across to the shore. We never measured it off—I al’ays cut across anywheres I want to. But it’s in the deed—and anybody ’t buys the land ’ll have it.” He looked at the other shrewdly.
“I see—” The real estate man’s gaze followed the right of way across Uncle William’s moor. “I see—Well, of course, that makes a difference—a little difference. It would be foolish to buy on an island and not have access to the shore—I presume you could buy the Gruchy place,” he suggested.
“That’s what I was thinking of,” said Andy, “—unless William wanted to give me a little piece.” His gloomy eyes rested, almost fondly, on the big moor that stretched away under its piled-up clouds.
“Better for business down in the village, I should think,” said the man briskly.
“Yes, it’s better for business,” admitted Andy. “Only I’ve got kind of used to it up here.” His eye sought the house. “I was born in there, you know—and my father lived there and my grandfather.”
The real-estate man’s hand reached to his pocket and found something and drew it out, slowly.