“Mister Wull!”
Wull eyed the man in amazement.
“Labor,” said Jehoshaphat, gently, “is gone up.”
Timothy Yule laughed, but on Haul-Away Head and Daddy Tool’s Point the folk kept silent; nor did old John Wull, on the departing pan, utter a sound.
“Sky high,” Jehoshaphat concluded.
The sun was broadly, warmly shining, the sky was blue; but the wind was rising smartly, and far off over the hills of Satan’s Trap, beyond the wilderness that was known, it was turning gray and tumultuous. Old John Wull scowled, wheeled, and looked away to sea; he did not see the ominous color and writhing in the west.
“We don’t want no law, Mister Wull,” Jehoshaphat continued, “at Satan’s Trap.”
Wull would not attend.
“Not law,” Jehoshaphat repeated; “for we knows well enough at Satan’s Trap,” said he, “what’s fair as atween men. You jus’ leave the law stay t’ St. John’s, sir, where he’s t’ home. He isn’t fair, by no means; an’ we don’t want un here t’ make trouble.”
The trader’s back was still turned.