t the foot
of the cliff. Whenever the artist broached the subject of a new boat,
Uncle William turned it aside with a jest and trotted off to his
clam-basket. The artist brooded in silence over his indebtedness and the
scant chance of making it good. He got out canvas and brushes and began
to paint, urged by a vague sense that it might bring in something, some
time. When he saw that Uncle William was pleased, he kept on. The work
took his mind off himself, and he grew strong and vigorous. Andy,
coming upon him one day on the beach, looked at his brown face almost
in disapproval. "You're a-feelin' putty well, ain't you?" he said
grudgingly.

"I am," responded the artist. He mixed the color slowly on his palette.
A new idea had come into his head. He turned it over once and then
looked at Andy. The look was not altogether encouraging. But he brought
it out quickly. "You're a rich man, aren't you, Andy?"

Andy, pleased and resentful, hitched the leg of his trousers. "I dunno's
I be," he said slowly. "I've got money--some. But it takes a pile to
live on."

"Yes?" The artist stood away from his canvas, looking at it. "You and
Uncle William are pretty good friends, aren't you?"

"Good enough," replied Andy. His mouth shut itself securely.

The artist did not look at it. He hastened on. "He misses his boat a
good deal."

"I know that," snapped Andy. His green eye glowered at the bay. "Ef it
hadn't been for foolishness he'd hev it now."

The artist worked on quietly. "I lost his boat for him, Andy. I know
that as well as you do. You needn't rub it in."

"What you goin' to do about it?" demanded Andy.

"I'm goin' to ask you to lend me the money for a new one."

"No, sir!" Andy put his hands in his pockets.

"I'll give you my note for it," said the artist.

"I do' want your note," retorted Andy. "I'd rather have William's and
his ain't wuth the paper it's writ on."

The artist flushed under his new color. "I don't know just why you say
that. I shall pay all I owe--in time."

"Well, you may, and then again you mayn't," said Andy. His tone was less
crusty. "All I know is, you've cost William a heap o' money, fust and
last. You've et a good deal, and you lost the _Jennie_, and he had to
borrow a hunderd of me to go to New York with." Andy spoke with unction.
He was relieving his mind.

The artist looked up. "I didn't know that." He began to gather up his
materials.

"What you goin' to do?" asked Andy.

"I'm go