Andy eased in to the wharf1 with cautious eye. He threw the rope to Uncle William and busied himself with the sail.
Uncle William peered down upon him. “Got quite a nice mess, didn’t ye?”
“Yep.”
“How’d they run?”
“Cod—mostly.”
“Ye got some halibut.”
“A few.” Andy admitted it grudgingly2. His tone implied that the Creator withheld3 halibut out of pure spite. The ways of the universe were a personal grievance4 to Andy.
“Quite a nice mess,” said Uncle William. “Goin’ to unload?”
“Nope—wait for the tide.”
“Ye’ll jest about make it,” said Uncle William. He glanced at the sky. “I’ll come down and help ye clean, like enough, after supper.”
Andy climbed up in silence. His somber5 face appeared above the edge of the wharf. Uncle William looked down on it, smiling. “I’ve got good news for ye, Andy.”
“Huh?” Andy paused half way.
“Ye be?” Andy’s mouth remained open. It took in the sky and the bay and Uncle William’s smile.
“Right off. I knew ye’d be glad.”
The mouth came together. “Where you goin’ to get it?”
“He’s got some money.” Uncle William nodded toward the cliff.
Andy looked. “He’s poor as poverty. He’s said so—times enough.”
Uncle William smiled. “He’s had luck—quite a run o’ luck. He’s been sellin’ picters—three-four on ’em.”
“What’s picters!” said Andrew, scornfully. He scrambled7 on to the wharf with a backward glance at the Andrew Halloran. “You won’t buy no boat off o’ picters, Willum. A boat costs three hunderd dollars—a good one.”
“I was cal’atin’ to pay five hunderd,” said Uncle William.
“You was?” Andy wheeled about. “You wont’ get it out o’ him!” He jerked a thumb at the cliff.
Uncle William chuckled8. “Now, ye’ve made a mistake, Andy. He’s got that much and he’s got more.” The gentle triumph in Uncle William’s tone diffused9 itself over the landscape.
Andy took it in slowly. “How much?” he asked at last.
“Six-seven thousand,” said Uncle William.
“No, ’t ain’t reasonable.” Uncle William spoke11 gently. “I was a good deal s’prised myself, Andy, when I found how high they come—picters. Ye can’t own a gre’t many of ’em—not at one time.”
“Don’t want to,” said Andy, caustically12.
“No, you wouldn’t take much comfort in ’em,” said William. “‘T is cur’us ’t anybody should want a picter o’ my old hut up there ’nough to pay—how much d’ye s’pose they did pay for it, Andy?”
Andy glanced at it contemptuously. It glowed in the light of the late sun, warm and radiant. “‘T ain’t wuth a hunderd,” he said.
Uncle William’s face fell a little. “Well, I wouldn’t say jest that, Andy.
“Roof leaks,” said Andrew.
“A leetle,” admitted Uncle William, “over ’n the southeast corner, She’s weather-tight all but that.” He gazed at the little structure affectionately. The sun flamed at the windows, turning them to gold. The artist’s face appeared at one of them, beckoning13 and smiling. Uncle William turned to Andy. “A man give him two thousand for it,” he said. There was sheer pride in the words.
“For that?” Andy looked at him for a minute. Then he looked at the house and the bay and the flaming sky. His left eyelid14 lowered itself slowly and he tapped his forehead significantly with one long finger.
Uncle William shook his head. “He’s as sensible as you be, Andy—or me.”
Andy pondered the statement. A look of craft crept into his eye. “What’ll ye bet he ain’t foolin’ ye?” he said.
Uncle William returned the look with slow dignity. “I don’t speak that way o’ my friends, Andy,” he said gently. “I’d a heap rather trust ’em and get fooled, than not to trust ’em and hev ’em all right.”
Andy looked guilty. “When’s it comin’?” he said gruffly.
“It’s come a’ready,” replied Uncle William; “this mornin’. We’ve been figgerin’ on a new boat all day, off and on. He’s goin’ to give me five hunderd to make up for the Jennie.”
“She wa’n’t wuth it!” Andy spoke with conviction. He dropped a jealous eye to the Andrew Halloran rising slowly on the tide.
“No, she wa’n’t wuth more’n three hunderd, if she was that,” admitted Uncle William. “I’m goin’ to take the three hunderd outright15 and borrow the rest. I’m goin’ to pay you, too, Andy.”
Andy’s face, in the light of the setting sun, grew almost mellow16. He turned it slowly. “When you goin’ to pay me, Willum?”
“To-morrow,” answered William, promptly17, “or mebbe next day. I reckoned we’d all go down and see about the boat together.”
Andy looked at him helplessly. “Everything seems kind o’ turnin’ upside down,” he said. He drew a deep breath. “What d’ye s’pose it is, Willum—about ’em—picters—that makes ’em cost so like the devil?”
Uncle William looked thoughtful. “I dunno,” he said slowly. “I’ve thought about that, myself. Can’t be the paint nor the canvas.”
“Cheap as dirt,” said Andy.
“Must be the way he does ’em.”
“I dunno’s I’d say that, Andy,” said Uncle William, reprovingly. “He sweat and fussed a lot.”
Andy’s eye roamed the landscape. “‘T ain’t reasonable,” he said, jealously. “A thing o’t to be wuth more’n a picter of it. There’s more to a thing.” He struck the solid ground of fact with relief.
Uncle William’s eye rested on him mildly. “Ye can’t figger it that way, Andy. I’ve tried it. A shark’s bigger’n a halibut, but he ain’t wuth much—‘cept for manure19.”
“Chowder!” The call rang down from the little house, clear and full.
Both men looked up. “He’s a-callin’ ye,” said Andrew. There was mingled20 scorn and respect in the tone.
“You come on up to supper, Andy. We can talk it over whilst we’re eatin’.”
Andy looked down at his clothes. “I’m all dirt.”
Uncle William surveyed him impartially21. “Ye ain’t any dirtier ’n ye al’ays be.”
“I dunno’s I be,” admitted Andy.
“Well, you come right along, and after supper we’ll all turn to and help you clean.”
The artist looked up as they entered. “How are you, Andy? The fish are running great to-day.”
Andy grinned feebly. “I’ve heard about it,” he said. He drew up to the table with a subdued22 air and took his chowder in gulps23, glancing now and then at the smiling face and supple24 hands on the opposite side of the table. It was a look of awe25 tinged26 with incredulity, and a little resentment27 grazing the edges of it.
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1
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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grudgingly
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3
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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somber
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| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
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6
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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7
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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8
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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scuffed
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| v.使磨损( scuff的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚走 | |
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11
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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12
caustically
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| adv.刻薄地；挖苦地；尖刻地；讥刺地 | |
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13
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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14
eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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18
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19
manure
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| n.粪，肥，肥粒；vt.施肥 | |
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20
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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impartially
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| adv.公平地，无私地 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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23
gulps
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| n.一大口（尤指液体）( gulp的名词复数 )v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的第三人称单数 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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24
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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25
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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26
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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