“You dunderhead!” Timothy Yule assured Jehoshaphat. “He’ve been robbin’ you.”
“Maybe,” said Jehoshaphat, listlessly. “I been givin’ the back kitchen a coat o’ lime, an’ I isn’t had no time t’ give t’ thinkin’.”
“An’ he’ve been robbin’ this harbor for forty year.”
“Dear man!” Jehoshaphat exclaimed, in dull surprise. “Have he told you that?”
“Told me!” cried Timothy. “No,” he added, with bitter restraint; “he’ve not.”
Jehoshaphat was puzzled. “Then,” said he, “how come you t’ know?”
“Why, they says so.”
Jehoshaphat’s reply was gently spoken, a compassionate rebuke. “An I was you, Timothy,” said he, “I wouldn’t be harsh in judgment. ’Tisn’t quite Christian.”
“My God!” ejaculated the disgusted Timothy.
After that they pulled in silence for a time. Jehoshaphat’s face was averted, and Timothy was aware of having, in a moment of impatience, not only committed a strategic indiscretion, but of having betrayed his innermost habit of profanity. The light grew and widened and yellowed; the cottages of Satan’s Trap took definite outline, the hills their ancient form, the sea its familiar aspect. Sea and sky and distant rock were wide awake and companionably smiling. The earth was blue and green and yellow, a glittering place.