ading?"

"The _Bangor Daily Commercial_, printed at Bangor, Maine. An' that's the
only decent town in the whole gol darn world. Wisht I was there now!" He
glanced at the alcove that led to another room, as if conscious that Morgan
Pell might have heard him. He wanted to say something more to Gilbert, but
something told him he had better keep silent. Instead, he read an item from
the paper aloud to him. "Listen to this, Gilbert," he said: "'The Elite
Fish Market has just received five barrels of soft clams from Eastport. Get
there early, feller citizens! They won't last long.' Think o' that,
Gilbert? Clams!" He smacked his lips, and even forgot how warm it was.
"Clams! An' I ain't even seen one in five long years! Not even a clam!" He
turned his chair suddenly, and looked out of the open door, where the
country meandered away. "This is a hell of a hole! Why did we ever come
down here?" he whined. He swung about again, and faced his nephew. "Say,
Gil, do they have clams in France?"

"No; only mussels. Good ones, too."

Uncle Henry looked amazed. "They eat mussels?" he cried.

Gilbert looked up, smiled, and nodded.

"An' I hear they eat frogs, an' hosses, an' cheese with worms in it, too.
Say," the old man wanted to know, "what don't they eat over there?... An'
speakin' of eatin', ain't we never goin' to have no dinner?"

"I think it'll be ready soon, Uncle. Do be patient. I want to write."

Uncle Henry settled back in his chair, and for a brief interval became
absorbed in his newspaper. But not for long could he remain silent.
"Where's that Mr. Pell?" he asked.

"Inside, I think, lying down," Gilbert replied, nodding toward the alcove,
his pen rushing across the page.

Uncle Henry made a grimace. "He makes me sick, that feller."

"Oh, cut that out, Uncle," Gilbert implored; but there was a little note of
irritation in his voice. "That's no way to talk of a guest under our roof."

"I won't neither cut nothin' out! An' you make me sick too, you gol darn
fool!"

"For the love of Mike, quit your babbling! Sssh!"

"Don't you shush me, gol darn it!" cried Uncle Henry, crumpling the
newspaper in his hand and throwing it on the floor. The heat was affecting
him. "I've kep' still long enough, an'--"

"Oh, have you?" Gilbert smiled.

"--an' I'm goin' to find out what's what!" Uncle Henry went on, as though
he had not been interrupted.

"You act as though I were to blame for what's happened," his nephew said.
He s