2016년 8월 4일 목요일

Happy Island 5

Happy Island 5



“You ’d better wring her neck,” said Andy between his set teeth.
 
“Why, Andy!You don’t find anything there, Mr. Mason?” said Uncle
William.
 
The man emerged with red face. “I didn’t expect to,” he said“But it’s
my business to look
 
“Yes, it’s your business. That’s what I was sayin’ to myself when I was
out sailin’
 
“I’ll take the bedroom next,” said the man shortly.
 
They disappeared in the next room and the murmur of their voices, with
the moving of a heavy chest and the stir of papers, came out.
 
Andy cast a vicious eye at Juno. He half rose and took a step on tiptoe.
But the bedroom door opened again and he sat down.
 
“I haven’t hauled a trapnor set onesince the season closed,” said
Uncle William’s voice.
 
“That’s all right, Mr. Benslow. But I have reason to think.... I’d
better make a thorough searchsince I am here,” he finished quietly.
 
“You search all you want to,” said Uncle William cordially“Get away,
Juno.” He pushed her aside with his foot. “This is my sink cupboard,”
he opened the door hospitably. “Lucky I washed some of the dishes this
morning,” he said, “You would ’a’ had a time if I hadn’t!” The man
reached in and drew out a pile of plates. His nose lifted itself as he
set them down and reached in again. He emerged with a quiet look in his
face“I shall have to trouble you to take out all the things in that
cupboard,” he said with a motion of his hand.
 
Uncle William’s face had dropped a little. “I most knew you ’d want me
to do that,” he said, “I o’ ’t to ’a’ done it, this morning, before you
came.”
 
The man laughed out. “That’s all right, Mr. Benslow. I don’t mind your
bluffingas long as you play fair. But that cupboard is a give-away,
dead easy.”
 
Uncle William sighed a little. “I wish had my clam-rake,” he said.
 
The man stared at him
 
“I gen’ally use my clam-rake to haul ’em out,” explained Uncle William
kindly. “I can shove ’em in with the broom or a stick of wood or most
anything, but it’s kind o’ hard gettin’ ’em outspecially for a big man
like me” He reached in and drew out an ample armfuldippers and pans
and plates and spoons and bowlsthen another armfulmostly tinware and
kettlesand then a thirdspreading them on the floor about him with
lavish hand. Now and then he stopped to exclaim over some lost treasure
as it came to light. If doom must come, Uncle William did not propose to
meet it more than half way nor with gloomy countenance.
 
The fish-warden watched him with his little cynical smile, and Andy
hitched uneasily in his chair.
 
“There” Uncle William drew a breath and emerged from the cupboard.
“That’s the last one I can reachwithout my rake. You get in, Andy.
You’re smaller ’n I be.”
 
Andy took firm hold of the seat of his chair. “I don’t want to, Willum.”
 
“Oh yes, you get right in and fetch ’em out, Andy. I’ll hold the candle
for ye.”
 
Uncle William lighted a candle and Andy crawled miserably into the
depths. His voice came out, gloomy and protesting, as he handed out a
few last articles. Then there was a long pause and a sound of scraping
on the boards.
 
Uncle William withdrew the candle.
 
“He’s comin’ out,” he said.
 
The fish-warden bent forward, a look of quick interest in his face.
 
Slowly Andy backed into the room and lifted an awed face. In his hand
he held a small monse-trap. “There ain’t a durned thing left,” he said,
“except this.” He held it up and looked at itand blinked. Then he laid
it down on the table and looked at it again, fondlyand blinked. A large
grin stole into his face. “I put that monse-trap theretime Juno run
away,” he said“the time you was down to New York.” He had turned to
William.
 
Uncle William was looking at the fish-warden, a kindly smile on his
face.
 
The warden ignored it. “I’ll trouble you for that candle,” he said,
“I’ll take a look myself.”
 
Uncle William handed it to him and he held it far into the cupboard,
peering at the top and sides and floor. He withdrew it, blowing it out
with a quick puff“You’ve got off this time,” he said, “but that smell
ought to convict youif there was any justice in law.”
 
“Well, I do’ ’no ’s there is,” said Uncle William, “do you? It does
smell good.” He sniffed a little. “‘Seems’s if they ought to put that in
the schedule they send us, ’Any lobsters, claws or smells found in the
possession of any person whatsoever.’.rdquo; Uncle William marked off
the count on his fingers with kindly eye and beamed. “You could fine me
fifty dollars, or some such matter as thatfor that cupboard, I
should think.” The eyes behind the big spectacles twinkled with good
fellowship.
 
The fish-warden looked at him. Then he looked at the empty cupboard and
at Andy and the mouse-trapHe smiled a little. “You might speak to
them about the law yourself,” he said. “I can testify it ought to be
changed.”
 
“We ’d like to speak to ’em,” said Uncle William, “about a good many
things. About this lobster-law, now,” He motioned toward the mouse-trap,
“We don’t want any such law. I ain’t a canning factory. We ain’t
pirates, nor lawbreakers here
 
The young man smiled a little.
 
“Not without we have to be,” said Uncle William quickly. “They’re our
lobsters, and mostly we know what’s good for ’emand what’s good for us,
and if we want to ketch a few and eat, now and then, we don’t need no
inspector.... Not but what we’re always glad to see you,” he said.
He held out his hand kindly. “I knowby the looks of your wife and
babiesyou’re a good man.”
 
The young man took the big hand, smiling a little. “I’m glad to have
met you, Mr. Benslow,” he said slowly. He looked at him a minute, as if
something in the big face puzzled him. Then he turned away with a little
shake of his head. “I shouldn’t want to meet you regularlynot if I’m
going to keep on being fish-warden,” he said.
 
Uncle William chuckled a little. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Masonthere’s
lots of jobs for them that needs ’emsome of ’em right and some of ’em
wrongand I reckon the main thing is to do what we hev to do as well as
we can and not worry.”
 
He watched the young man down the rocky path, trundling his wheel beside
him. Then he turned back to the red room. He stooped and ran his big
hand along Juno’s back, as it arched to his touch, smoothing it slowly.
 
Andy looked at him with sheepish grin. “Where ’d you put ’em, Willum?”
he said.
 
Uncle William glanced out of the window at the dimpling harbor. A little
breeze blew across it and the waves darkened and ran. He smiled at them
and then at Andy. “I see his lights last night,” he said, “along about
midnight, off the Point, and I says to myself, ’Least said, soonest
mended,’ so I took ’em down and heaved ’em. It hurt Juno some” He
smoothed the gray back gently, “But she feels all right about it now, I
guess, same as we do.”
 
 
 
 
V
 
UNCLE WILLIAM was wondering whether he could leave the frying-pan
another day. He had promised Benjy he would come up... the sun was
shining and Benjy needed him. He went to the door, with the pan in his
hand, and looked out. He took in great sniffs of salt air, looking
over his spectacles at the moor and the sky light on the rocks and the
stretch of his face was mild and happy, and his look rested casually
on a figure that had left the beach and was coming up the rocky path.
Presently he leaned forward, waving the frying-pan back and forth.
“‘Morning, George,” he called.
 
The young man came on, with even, swift steps that did not hurry. He
held an envelope in his hand. “Letter for you, Uncle,” he said.
 
Uncle William laid down the frying-pan and held out his hand. A mild
and benevolent curiosity held the big face. His look welcomed the
whole world shut up in the bit of envelope. He took it and studied the
inscription and pushed up his spectacles, looking at the young man with
satisfaction. “Set down, Georgie,” he said“It’s from Celia.”
 
“Who’s Celia?” asked the young man. He seated himself on a rock and
plucked a stem of grass, taking it in his teeth.
 
Uncle William looked at him again and settled slowly into the
doorwayfilling it, with the big, checked apron about him“You ain’t
ever seen Celia, I reckon?” he said.
 
“Don’t believe I have,” responded
 
George. He was looking across the harbor, turning the bit of grass
between his teeth. His glance sought the envelope again, “Come from
around here?” he asked.
 
Uncle William opened it with slow, careful fingers. “Well, not exactly
round here.” He drew out the sheet and smoothed it on his knee and
rubbed his fingers on his apron, and took up the paper, holding it
arm’s length. “It’s somebody ’t ’s coming to live with us,” he explained
kindly.
 
“Oh?”
 
Uncle William read on. He laid down the paper and took off his glasses,
waving them at the landscape. “Some like a woman!” he said.
 
George turned and looked behind him.
 
“I don’t mean off there,” said Uncle William, “I mean herewhat she
says,” He took up the letter, “She says she can’t come yetnot just
yet.” He mumbled to the words kindly.... “It’s her clothes,” he
volunteered, “She’s got to get some new ones or fix her old ones, or
suthinI don’t just understand what ’tis she’s doin’.”
 
“Don’t need to, do you!” said the young man. His tone was even, and a
little contemptuous.
 
Uncle William eyed him a minute. “You wa ’n’t ever much acquainted with
women, was ye, George?”
 
“I don’t know as I was,” said the young man. “Too busy, I guess.”

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