Andrew's eyes rested impassively on their gambols. "Wuthless critters,"
he said.

Uncle William's face softened as he watched them. "I kind o' like to
see 'em, Andy--up and down and bobbin' and sloppin' and scramblin'; you
never know _where_ they'll come up next."

"Don't need to," grumbled Andy. "Can't eat the blamed things--nor wear
'em. I tell you, Willum,"--he turned a gloomy eye on his companion,--"I
tell you, you set too much store by wuthless things."

"Mebbe I do," said William, humbly.

"This one, now--this painter fellow." Andrew gave a wave of his hand
that condensed scorn. "What'd you get out o' him, a-gabblin' and sailin'
all summer?"

"I dunno, Andy, as I could jest put into words," said William,
thoughtfully, "what I _did_ get out o' him."

"Ump! I guess you couldn't--nor anybody else. When he sends you anything
for that boat o' yourn, you jest let me know it, will you?"

"Why, yes, Andy, I'll let you know if you want me to. I'll be reel
pleased to let you know," said Uncle William.