Happy Island 1
Happy Island
A New "Uncle William" Story
Author: Jennette Lee
I
THE sunlight got in Uncle William’s eyes. He looked up from the map
spread on the table before him. Then he got up slowly and crossed to the
window and drew down the turkey-red curtain—a deep glow filled the room.
Juno, on the lounge, stirred a little and stretched her daws, and drew
them in and tucked her head behind them and went on sleeping.
Uncle William returned to his map. His big finger found a dotted line
and followed it slowly up the table with little mumbles of words.... The
room was very still—only the faintest whisper of a breeze came across
the harbor—and Uncle William’s head bent over the map and traveled with
his finger.... “They ’d run in here, like enough, and...”
A shadow crossed the curtain and he looked up.
Andy was in the doorway, grinning—a bunch of lobsters dangling from
his hand, stretching frantic green legs into space. Andy looked down at
them.
Uncle William shook his head. “You ’ll get into trouble, Andy, carryin’
’em that way, right in broad daylight—you can put ’em out there under
the bucket—so ’s ’t the sun won’t hit ’em.”
Andy departed and the scraping of the bucket on the hard rock came
cautiously in the window.... Juno lifted her ear and flicked it and went
on dreaming. Uncle William returned to the map.
“What you huntin’ up?” asked Andy. He was looking in the window.
“‘D you put a stone on top the bucket?”
“Yep—What you lookin’ for?” asked Andy.
“I was just seein’ where they ’d got to..... They must be up along
Battle Harbor way, by this time—”
“You heard from ’em?” said Andy. He came in and sat down.
“We’ve had a letter to-day—me and Benjy—”
“Where’s he gone?” asked Andy.
“He’s up to his place—seein’ about some plans they’re makin’—they bother
him quite a consid’abul.”
Andy’s face showed no concern. “They goin’ to begin working next week?”
he said.
Uncle William pushed back the map a little and took off his
spectacles.... “They don’t just seem to know,” he said slowly, “Benjy
wants it one way, and the man that’s doin’ it—Ordway—he says it can’t be
done—so they’re kind o’ stuck. I wish he ’d have George Manning.” Uncle
William’s face expanded. “George ’d do it—and do it for him good. You
see, Benjy, he wants—”
“He ’ll want money,” said Andy shortly—“unless he looks out—keeping that
contractor and fussing about whether they ’ll have the roof two inches
up or two inches down—or some such matter as that—and Harr’et feedin’
the contractor and getting board money right along whether he works or
don’t work.”
“I guess I’ll do the lobsters for supper,” said Uncle William. “Benjy
likes ’em.” He stirred about, gathering a few bits of kindling and paper
and striking a careful match.
Andy watched him with gloomy eye while he dived under the sink and
brought out a large kettle.
Uncle William lifted the tea kettle a little and drew it forward. “Most
full,” he said contentedly. “That’s good—and it ain’t fairly cooled off
since dinner—I didn’t wash any dishes this noon, you see.”
Andy’s eye roamed about the room.
“They’re tucked under the sink,” said Uncle William, “I don’t like ’em
clutterin’ round. I can’t seem to set so easy if I see ’em.” He opened
the sink door and peered in. “I guess there’s about enough left for a
meal—You goin’ to stay—?” He looked back hopefully over his shoulder.
Andy wriggled a little and looked at the door. “I didn’t say nothin’ to
Harr’et,” he said feebly.
“Well, I guess you better stay—” said Uncle William, “You don’t get a
chance to eat lobsters every day.”
“I don’t get ’em any day,” said Andy gloomily, “She won’t cook ’em for
me—and she says she won’t have ’em scrawling round.”
Uncle William looked at him sympathetically. “Now, that’s too bad—it’s
just come on, ain’t it?”
Andy nodded. “She says it’s the law and she’s going to keep it, and we
hain’t had tip nor claw for much as a week now.”
“My... my!” Uncle William’s tongue clicked in sympathy. “Well, you stay
right where you be, Andy, and we ’ll have one good meal.” He brought in
the lobsters. “Seem’s if women keep the law a little harder ’n men—when
they do keep it,” he said thoughtfully, swashing the lobsters happily
down into the kettle.
Andy nodded. “She got scared ’bout the fish-warden last week. She says
we can’t pay no three hundred dollars for lobsters—and I do’ ’no’s we
can.” His eye was on the steam that rose genially about the lid of the
kettle.
“Well, there won’t be any three hundred this time,” said Uncle William,
“—not without the fish-warden’s legs are longer ’n my spy-glass. Seems
kind o’ mean business—being a warden,” he added kindly.
“I don’t mind his bein’ a warden,” said Andy, “if they ’d let us have
Jim Doshy. We ’d got used to him—knew his ways, and he gen ’lly sent
us, word anyhow—day or two beforehand—But this one—” He looked at Uncle
William with reproachful eye. “The’ wa ’n’t one of us ready for him when
he come.”
Uncle William nodded. “I know—lively work wa ’n’t it?”
Andy grinned. “Lively—they was flyin’ round like hens with their
heads off—dumpin’ ’em out and scratchin’ ’em under and getting things
shipshape.” He grinned again. “I wa ’n’t to home, you know—I’d gone off
the Point—to haul a mess for dinner, and Harr’et had to run a mile in
the hot sun to yell at me to dump ’em out.” He drew a long breath as he
heaved the lobsters overboard and righted himself.
“Now, that ain’t right,” said Uncle William, “making Harr’et run in
the hot sun like that—all for them little squirming things,—and ’tain’t
reasonable. We ought to know how many lobsters we o’t to eat—much as
any fish-warden. Ain’t they our lobsters?” He shoved up his glasses and
looked at Andy kindly.
Andy’s eye was on the kettle. “You think they’re most done?” he said.
Uncle William took off the lid and peered in. The steam rose about his
big head like a halo and rolled away in light whiffs. Down on the beach
they could hear the washing of the little waves as the tide came up.
Uncle William’s face looked out of the steam, like a happy moon. “Just
about—” he said, “You run and see if Benjy’s anywheres in sight.” He
lifted the kettle and Andy got up stiffly and went to the door.
“I don’t see him nowheres,” he said indifferently.
“You can’t see him there, Andy. You got to go round the corner.” Uncle
William carried the kettle to the sink and Andy departed, reluctant—When
he returned the lobsters were on the middle of the table, red and
steaming, with their little white clouds over them. The map had been
hung on the wall and the table was scantily set—“There’s one spoon
apiece,” said Uncle William cheerfully, “—though I do’ ’no’s we need
spoons. I’m going to have a real good washin’ up after dinner—’D you see
him, Andy?”
“He’s comin’,” replied Andy—“up the road a piece.”
“He ’ll be right along then,” said Uncle William, “—if he don’t meet
somebody—that wants to advise him ’bout his house. I’d come home round
by the lots, if I was him, I tell him. It’s further—but he ’d get here
quicker. You sure ’t was him?”
“The’ ain’t anybody else got that kind o’ high-stepping walk, has the’.”
said Andy scornfully.
“I do’ ’no ’s the’ has,” said Uncle William. “You draw right up, Andy.
He ’ll be here any minute now.”
II
BENJAMIN BODET stood in the doorway and looked in. He was tall and thin
and distinguished—in spite of his rough suit and slouch hat and the
week’s growth of beard on his thin cheeks and pointed chin. His eye
fell on the steaming red mound in the center of the table and his face
lighted. “Lobsters!” he said.
Uncle William, who had been watching him, chuckled a little. “Andy’s
lobsters,” he said politely.
Andy shuffled in his chair. “They’re your claws, William—they’re on your premises—”
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