Andrew kicked the bundle of nets apart and drew an end toward him, spreading it along the beach. “He’s left you poorer’n he found you,” he said. His tough fingers worked swiftly among the nets, untying knots and straightening meshes.
“I dunno ’bout that,” said Uncle William. His eyes followed the whiff of smoke kindly.
“You kep’ him a good deal, off and on. He must ’a’ e’t considerable,” said Andrew. “And now he’s up and lost your boat for you.” He glanced complacently at the Andrew Halloran swinging at anchor. “You’ll never see her again,” he said. He gave a final toss to the net.
“Mebbe not,” said Uncle William. “Mebbe not.” His eyes were on the horizon, where the gray-blue haze lingered lightly. The blue sky dipped to meet it. It melted in sunlight. Uncle William’s eyes returned to his nets.
“How you going to get along ’bout a bout?” asked Andrew, carelessly.
Uncle William paused. He looked up to the clear sky. “I shouldn’t need her much more this fall, anyways,” he said. “An’ come spring, I’ll get another. I’ve been needin’ a new boat a good while.”
Andrew grunted. He glanced a little jealously at the Andrew Halloran. “Got the money?” he asked.
“Well, not got it, so to speak,” said Uncle William, “but I reckon I shall have it when the time comes.”
Andrew’s face lightened a little. “What you countin’ on?” he said.
Uncle William considered. “There’s the fish. Gunnion hain’t settled with me yet for my fish.”