"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.