"Ye'll jest about make it," said Uncle William. He glanced at the sky.
"I'll come down and help ye clean, like enough, after supper."

Andy climbed up in silence. His somber face appeared above the edge of
the wharf. Uncle William looked down on it, smiling. "I've got good news
for ye, Andy."

"Huh?" Andy paused half way.

Uncle William nodded. "You'll be reel tickled about it. I'm goin' to
have a new boat--right off."

"Ye be?" Andy's mouth remained open. It took in the sky and the bay and
Uncle William's smile.

"Right off. I knew ye'd be glad."

The mouth came together. "Where you goin' to get it?"

"He's got some money." Uncle William nodded toward the cliff.

Andy looked. "He's poor as poverty. He's said so--times enough."

Uncle William smiled. "He's had luck--quite a run o' luck. He's been
sellin' picters--three-four on 'em."

"What's picters!" said Andrew, scornfully. He scrambled on to the wharf
with a backward glance at the _Andrew Halloran_. "You won't buy no boat
off o' picters, Willum. A boat costs three hunderd dollars--a good one."