Every Man for Himself Part 39

then think, an' couldn't help it, o' the bosom o' dust where my head must lie."

Tumm paused.

"Seemed t' me, somehow," he continued, "when the _Quick as Wink_ was lyin' of a Sunday t' Gingerbread Cove-seemed t' me somehow, when I'd hear the church bell ring an' echo across the water an' far into the hills-when I'd cotch sight o' ol' Bill Hulk, with his staff an' braw black coat, crawlin' down the hill t' meetin'-ay, an' when the sun was out, warm an' yellow, an' the maids an' lads was flirtin' over the roads t' hear the parson thunder agin their h.e.l.lish levity-seemed t' me then, somehow, that ol' Bill was all the time jus' dodgin' along among open graves; for, look you! the ol' feller had such trouble with his legs.

An' I'd wish by times that he'd stumble an' fall in, an' be covered up in a comfortable an' decent sort o' fashion, an' stowed away for good an' all in the bed where he belonged.

"'Uncle Bill,' says I, 'you at it yet?'

"'Hangin' on, Tumm,' says he. 'I isn't quite through.'

[Ill.u.s.tration: "OL' BILL HULK CRAWLIN' DOWN THE HILL T' MEETIN'"]

"'Accordin' t' the signs,' says I, 'you isn't got much of a grip left.'

"'Yes, I is!' says he. 'I got all my fishin' fingers exceptin' two, an'

I 'low they'll last me till I'm through.'

"Ecod! sir, but it made me think so mean o' the world that I 'lowed I'd look away.

"'No, Tumm,' says he, 'I isn't _quite_ through.'

"'Well,' says I, 'you must be tired.'

"'Tired,' says he. 'Oh no, b'y! Tired? Not me! I got a little spurt o'

labor t' do afore _I_ goes.'

"'An' what's that, Uncle Bill?' says I.

"'Nothin' much,' says he.

"'But what _is_ it?'

"'Nothin' much,' says he; 'jus' a little spurt o' labor.'

"The ol' feller lived all alone, under Seven Stars Head, in a bit of a white house with black trimmin's, jus' within the Tickle, where 'twas nice an' warm an' still; an' he kep' his house as neat an' white as a ol' maid with a gray tomcat an' a window-garden o' geraniums, an', like all the ol' maids, made the best fish on fifty mile o' coast. 'Twas said by the ol' folks o' Gingerbread Cove that their fathers knowed the time when Bill Hulk had a partner; but the partner got lost on the Labrador, an' then Bill Hulk jus' held on cotchin' fish an' keepin' house all alone, till he got the habit an' couldn't leave off. Was a time, I'm told, a time when he had his strength-was a time, I'm told, afore he wore out-was a time when Bill Hulk had a bit o' money stowed away in a bank t' St. John's. Always 'lowed, I'm told, that 'twas plenty t' see un through when he got past his labor. 'I got enough put by,' says he. 'I got more'n enough. I'm jus' fishin' along,' says he, 't' give t' the poor. Store in your youth,' says he, 'an' you'll not want in your age.'

But somehow some o' them St. John's gentlemen managed t' discover expensive ways o' delightin' theirselves; an' what with bank failures an' lean seasons an' lumbago, ol' Bill was fallen poor when first I traded Gingerbread Cove. About nine year after that, bein' then used t'

the trade o' that sh.o.r.e, I 'lowed that Bill had better knock off an' lie in the sun till 'twas time for un t' go t' his last berth. ''Twon't be long,' thinks I, 'an' I 'low my owners can stand it. Anyhow,' thinks I, ''tis high time the world done something for Bill.'

"But-

"'Tumm,' says he, 'how many books is kep' by traders in Newf'un'land?'

"I 'lowed I didn't know.

"'Call it a round million,' says he.

"'What of it?' says I.

"'Nothin' much,' says he.

"'But what of it?' says I.

"'Well,' says he, 'if you was t' look them million books over, goin' as easy as you please an' markin' off every line o' every page with your forefinger, what d'ye think would come t' pa.s.s?'

"I 'lowed I couldn't tell.

"'Eh?' says he. 'Come, now! give a guess.'

"'I don't know, Bill,' says I.

"'Why, Tumm,' says he, 'you wouldn't find a copper agin the name o' ol'

Bill Hulk!'

"'That's good livin',' says I.

"'Not a copper!' says he. 'No, sir; _not if you looked with spectacles_.

An' so,' says he, 'I 'low I'll jus' keep on payin' my pa.s.sage for the little time that's left. If my back on'y holds out,' says he, 'I'll manage it till I'm through. 'Twon't be any more than twenty year. Jus' a little spurt o' labor t' do, Tumm,' says he, 'afore I goes.'

"'More labor, Uncle Bill?' says I. 'G.o.d's sake!'

"'Nothin' much,' says he; 'jus' a little spurt afore I goes in peace.'

"Ah, well! he'd labored long enough, lived long enough, t' leave other hands clean up the litter an' sweep the room o' his life. I didn't know what that little spurt o' labor was meant t' win for his peace o'

mind-didn't know what he'd left undone-didn't know what his wish or his conscience urged un t' labor for. I jus' wanted un t' quit an' lie down in the sun. 'For,' thinks I, 'the world looks wonderful greedy an' harsh t' me when I hears ol' Bill Hulk's bones rattle over the roads or come squeakin' through the Tickle in his punt. 'Leave un go in peace!' thinks I. 'I isn't got no love for a world that sends them bones t' sea in an easterly wind. Ecod!' thinks I; 'but he've earned quiet pa.s.sage by jus'

livin' t' that ghastly age-jus' by hangin' on off a lee sh.o.r.e in the mean gales o' life.' Seemed t' me, too, no matter how Bill felt about it, that he might be obligin' an' quit afore he _was_ through. Seemed t'

me he might jus' stop where he was an' leave the friends an' neighbors finish up. 'Tisn't fair t' ask a man t' have his labor done in a ship-shape way-t' be through with the splittin' an' all cleaned up-when the Skipper sings out, 'Knock off, ye dunderhead!' Seems t' me a man might leave the crew t' wash the table an' swab the deck an' throw the livers in the cask.

"'You be obligin', Bill,' says I, 'an' quit.'

"'Isn't able,' says he, 'till I'm through.'

"So the bones o' ol' Bill Hulk rattled an' squeaked right on till it made me fair ache when I _thunk_ o' Gingerbread Cove.

"About four year after that I made the Cove in the spring o' the year with supplies. 'Well,' thinks I, 'they won't be no Bill Hulk this season. With that pain in his back an' starboard leg, this winter have finished he; an' I'll lay a deal on that.' 'Twas afore dawn when we dropped anchor, an' a dirty dawn, too, with fog an' rain, the wind sharp, an' the harbor in a tumble for small craft; but the first man over the side was ol' Bill Hulk.

"'It _can't_ be you, Uncle Bill!' says I.

"'Tumm,' says he, 'I isn't quite through-yet.'

"'You isn't goin' at it _this_ season, is you?'

"'Ay,' says he; 'goin' at it again, Tumm.'

"'What for?' says I.

"'Nothin' much,' says he.