Uncle William met it mildly. He set his man in place with slow care.

Andy paused. He snorted a little. He bent above the board, knitting his
forehead. His hand reached out and drew back. The fingers reached out
and drew back. The fingers drummed a little on the edge of the board.

Uncle William, leaning forward, a hand on either knee, beamed on him
benignantly.

Andy shifted a little in his chair. "You're going to get into trouble,"
he said warningly, "if you move that way."

"Like enough, like enough. I gen'ally do. Is it my move?"

"No," growled Andy. He returned to the board. The game was on in
earnest. Now and then Andy grunted or moved a leg, and once or twice
Uncle William arose to put more wood into the glowing stove. But he
did it with the gaze of a sleep-walker. Outside the wind had risen and
dashed fiercely against the little house. Neither man lifted his head to
listen. Their hands reached mechanically to the pieces. They jumped men
and placed them one side with impassive faces. The board was clearing
fast. Only seven men remained. Andy moved forward a piece with a swift
flourish. He gave a little growl of triumph.

Uncle William studied the board. At last, with a heavy sigh, he lifted a
piece and moved it cautiously.

Andy made the counter move in triumphant haste. "King," he announced.