The Laird smiled, and followed the smile with a brief chuckle.
"Well—yes and no. I haven't any title to this land you've elected to occupy, although I created it. You see, I'm sort of lord of creation around here. My people call me 'The Laird of Tyee,' and nobody but a stranger would have had the courage to squat on the Sawdust Pile without consulting me. What's your idea about it, Brent?"
"I'll go if you want me to, sir."
"I mean what's your idea if you stay? What do you expect to do for a living?"
"You will observe, sir, that I have fenced off only that portion of the dump beyond high-water mark. That takes in about half of it—about an acre and a half. Well, I thought I'd keep some chickens and raise some garden truck. This silt will grow anything. And I have my launch, and can do some towing, maybe, or take fishing parties out. I might supply the town with fish. I understand you import your fish from Seattle—and with the sea right here at your door."
"I see. And you have your three-quarters pay as a retired chief petty officer?"
"Yes, sir."
"Anything in bank? I do not ask these personal questions, Brent, out of mere idle curiosity. This is my town, you know, and there is no poverty in it. I'm rather proud of that, so I—"
"I understand, sir. That's why I came to Port Agnew. I saw your son yesterday, and he said I could stay."
"Oh! Well, that's all right, then. If Donald told you to stay, stay you shall. Did he give you the Sawdust Pile?"