Every Man for Himself Part 40

"'But what _for_?'

"'Well,' says he, 'I'm savin' up.'

"'Savin' up?' says I. 'Shame _to_ you! What you savin' up for?'

"'Oh,' says he, 'jus' savin' up.'

"'But what _for_?' says I. 'What's the sense of it?'

"'Bit o' prope'ty,' says he. 'I'm thinkin' o' makin' a small investment.'

"'At your age, Uncle Bill!' says I. 'An' a childless man!'

"'Jus' a small piece,' says he. 'Nothin' much, Tumm.'

"'But it won't do you no _good_,' says I.

"'Well, Tumm,' says he, 'I'm sort o' wantin' it, an' I 'low she won't go t' waste. I been fis.h.i.+n' from Gingerbread Cove for three hundred year,'

says he, 'an' when I knocks off I wants t' have things s.h.i.+p-shape. Isn't no comfort, Tumm,' says he, 'in knockin' off no other way.'

"Three hundred year he 'lowed he'd fished from that there harbor, a hook-an'-line man through it all; an' as they wasn't none o' us abroad on the coast when he come in, he'd stick to it, spite o' parsons. They was a mean little red-headed parson came near churchin' un for the whopper; but Bill Hulk wouldn't repent. 'You isn't been here long enough t' _know_, parson,' says he. ''Tis goin' on three hundred year, I tells you! I'll haul into my fourth hundred,' says he, 'come forty-three year from Friday fortnight.' Anyhow, he'd been castin' lines on the Gingerbread grounds quite long enough. 'Twas like t' make a man's back ache-t' make his head spin an' his stomach shudder-jus' t' think o' the years o' labor an' hards.h.i.+p Bill Hulk had weathered. Seemed t' me the very stars must o' got fair disgusted t' watch un put out through the Tickle afore dawn an' pull in after dark.

"'Lord!' says they. 'If there ain't Bill Hulk puttin' out again! Won't nothin' _ever_ happen t' he?'"

I thought it an unkind imputation.

"Well," Tumm explained, "the little beggars is used t' change; an' I wouldn't wonder if they was bored a bit by ol' Bill Hulk."

It might have been.

"Four or five year after that," Tumm proceeded, "the tail of a sou'east gale slapped me into Gingerbread Cove, an' I 'lowed t' hang the ol' girl up till the weather turned civil. Thinks I, ''Tis wonderful dark an'

wet, but 'tis also wonderful early, an' I'll jus' take a run ash.o.r.e t'

yarn an' darn along o' ol' Bill Hulk.' So I put a bottle in my pocket t'

warm the ol' ghost's marrow, an' put out for Seven Stars Head in the rodney. 'Twas mean pullin' agin the wind, but I fetched the stage-head 't last, an' went crawlin' up the hill. Thinks I, 'They's no sense in knockin' in a gale o' wind like this, for Bill Hulk's so wonderful hard o' hearin' in a sou'east blow.'

"So I drove on in.

"'Lord's sake, Bill!' says I, 'what you up to?'

"'Nothin' much, Tumm,' says he.

"'It don't look right,' says I. 'What _is_ it?'

"'Nothin' much,' says he; 'jus' countin' up my money.'

"'Twas true enough: there he sot-playin' with his fortune. They was pounds of it: coppers an' big round pennies an' silver an' one lone gold piece.

"'You been gettin' rich?' says I.

"'Tumm,' says he, 'you got any clear idea o' how much hard cash they is lyin' right there on that plain deal table in this here very kitchen you is in?'

"'I isn't,' says I.

"'Well,' says he, 'they's as much as fourteen dollar! An' what d'ye think o' that?'

"I 'lowed I'd hold my tongue; so I jus' lifted my eyebrow, an' then sort o' whistled, 'Whew!'

"'Fourteen,' says he, 'an' more!'

"'_Whew!_' says I.

"'An', Tumm,' says he, 'I had twenty-four sixty once-about eighteen year ago.'

"'You got a heap now,' says I. 'Fourteen dollar! Whew!'

"'No, Tumm!' cries he, all of a sudden. 'No, no! I been lyin' t' you. I been lyin'!' says he. 'Lyin'!'

"'I don't care,' says I; 'you go right ahead an' lie.'

"'They _isn't_ fourteen dollar there,' says he. 'I jus' been makin'

_believe_ they was. See that there little pile o' pennies t' the nor'east? I been sittin' here countin' in them pennies twice. They isn't fourteen dollar,' says he; 'they's on'y thirteen eighty-four! But I _wisht_ they was fourteen.'

"'Never you mind,' says I; 'you'll get that bit o' prope'ty yet.'

"'I _got_ to,' says he, 'afore I goes.'

"'Where does it lie?' says I.

"'Oh, 'tisn't nothin' much, Tumm,' says he.

"'But what _is_ it?'

"'Nothin' much,' says he; 'jus' a small piece.'

"'Is it meadow?' says I.

"'No,' says he; 'tisn't what you might call meadow an' be right, though the gra.s.s grows there, in spots, knee high.'

"'Is it a potato-patch?'

"'No,' says he; 'nor yet a patch.'

"''Tisn't a _flower_ garden, is it?' says I.

"'N-no,' says he; 'you couldn't rightly say so-though they _grows_ there, in spots, quite free an' nice.'

"'Uncle Bill,' says I, 'you isn't never told me nothin' about that there bit o' prope'ty. What's it held at?'

"'The prope'ty isn't much, Tumm,' says he. 'Jus' a small piece.'