“Uncle seems to think I only think of money,” Robert said to himself with some annoyance. “I begin to like the hermit. He is very kind to me.”
He did not give utterance to this thought, rightly deeming that it would not be expedient, but suffered his uncle to think as he might.
“Does the hermit always stay at home in the evening?” asked the fisherman after a pause.
“Sometimes he goes out in his boat late at night and rows about half the night. I suppose he gets tired of being alone or else can’t sleep.”
John Trafton nodded with an expression of satisfaction.
This would suit his plans exactly. If he could only enter the cave in one of these absences, he would find everything easy and might accomplish his purpose without running any risk.
It was clear to him now that the gold of which the trader spoke was given to his nephew by the hermit. He was justified in thinking so, as there was no other conceivable way in which Robert could have obtained it. He coveted the ten-dollar gold piece, but he was playing for a higher stake and could afford to let that go for the present at least.
The fisherman lit his pipe and smoked thoughtfully.
His wife was not partial to the odor of strong tobacco, but tobacco, she reflected, was much to be preferred to drink, and if her husband could be beguiled from the use of the latter by his pipe then she would gladly endure it.
John Trafton smoked about ten minutes in silence and then rose from his chair.