as you were in shape you would try to get this
place back. That was natural. And you would have to come and talk to me
about it. I was sure I could convince you that I was partly human. So
you see this is no surprise to me. Lord, no! Why, I've been playing
chess for two years--old Donald MacRae's knight against my queen."

He laughed and thumped MacRae on the flat of his sturdy back.

"It might have been a stalemate, at that," MacRae said.

"But it wasn't," Gower declared. "Well, I'll get something out of
living, after all. I've often thought I'd like to see a big, roomy house
somewhere along these cliffs, and kids playing around. You and Betty may
have your troubles, but you're starting right. You ought to get a lot
out of life. I didn't. I made money. That's all. Poured it into a rat
hole. Bessie is sitting over on Maple Point in a big drafty house with
two maids and a butler, a two-thousand-acre estate, and her pockets full
of Victory Bonds. She isn't happy, and she never can be. She never cared
for anybody but herself, not even her children, and nobody cares for
her, I'm all but broke, and I'm better off than she is. I hate to think
I ever fought for her. She wasn't worth it, MacRae. That's a hell of a
thing for a man to say about a woman he lived with for over thirty
years. But it's true. It took me a good many miserable years to admit
that to myself.

"I suppose she'll cling to her money and go on playing the _grande
dame_. And if she can get any satisfaction out of that I'm willing. I've
never known as much real peace and satisfaction as I've got now. All I
need is a place to sleep and a comfortable chair to sit in. I don't want
to chase dollars any more. All I want is to row around the Rock and
catch a few salmon now and then and sit here and look at the sea when
I'm tired. You're young, and you have all your life before you--you and
Betty. If you need money, you are pretty well able to get it for
yourself. But I'm old, and I don't want to bother."

He rambled on until Betty came down with plates and other things. The
fat clams were opening their shells on the hot rock. They put butter and
seasoning on the tender meat and ate, talking of this and that. And when
the last clam had vanished, Gower stuffed his pipe and lit it with a
coal. He gathered up the plates and forks and rose to his feet.

"Good night," he said benevolently. "I'm going to the house and to bed.
Don't sit out here dreaming all night, you t