"We've got about sick, tradin' down to the wharf; we can't git no fair show. About one time in three, they tell us they don't want our fish, and won't take 'em unless we'll heave 'em in for next to nothin', and we know there ain't no sense in it. So we just thought we'd slip down and see ef you wouldn't take 'em, seein's you've got ice, and send 'em up with yourn."
Eph was taken all aback with this mark of confidence. He would decline the offer, sure that it sprang from some mere passing vexation.
"I can't buy fish," said he. "I have no scales to weigh 'em."
"Then send ourn in separate barrels," said one of them.
"But I haven't any money to pay you," he said. "I only get my pay once a month."
"We'll git tick at William's, and you can settle 'th us when you git your pay."
"Well," said he, unable to refuse, "I'll take 'em, if you say so."
Before the season was over, he had still another customer, and could have had three or four more, if he had had ice enough. He was strongly inclined that fall to build a larger ice-house, and although he was a little afraid of bringing ridicule upon himself in case no fish should be brought to him the next summer, he decided to do so, on the assurance of three or four men that they would deal with him. Nobody else had such a chance, he thought—a pond right by the shore.
One evening there was a knock at the door of Eliphalet Wood, the owner of the burned barn. Eliphalet went to the door, but turned pale at seeing Eph there.
"Oh, come in, come in!" he panted. "Glad to see you. Walk in. Have a chair. Take a seat. Sit down."