“Damn un!” Timothy cursed between his teeth. “The greedy squid, the devil-fish’s spawn, with his garden an’ his sheep an’ his cow! _You_ got a cow, Jehoshaphat? _You_ got turnips an’ carrots? _You_ got ol’ Bill Lutt t’ gather soil, an’ plant, an’ dig, an’ weed, while you smokes plug-cut in the sunshine? Where’s _your_ garden, Jehoshaphat? Where’s _your_ onions? The green lumpfish! An’ where do he get his onions, an’ where do he get his soup, an’ where do he get his cheese an’ raisins? ’Tis out o’ you an’ me an’ all the other poor folk o’ Satan’s Trap. ’Tis from the fish, an’ _he_ never cast a line. ’Tis from the fish that we takes from the grounds while he squats like a lobster in the red house an’ in the shop. An’ he gives less for the fish ’n he gets, an’ he gets more for the goods an’ grub ’n he gives. The thief, the robber, the whale’s pup! Is you able, Jehoshaphat, t’ have the doctor from Sniffle’s Arm for _your_ woman! Is _you_ able t’ feed _your_ kids with cow’s milk an’ baby-food?” Jehoshaphat mildly protested that he had not known the necessity. “An’ what,” Timothy proceeded, “is you ever got from the grounds but rheumatiz an’ salt-water sores?” “I got enough t’ eat,” said Jehoshaphat. Timothy was scornful. “Well,” Jehoshaphat argued, in defence of himself, “the world have been goin’ for’ard a wonderful long time at Satan’s Trap, an’ nobody else haven’t got no more’n just enough.” “Enough!” Timothy fumed. “’Tis kind o’ the Satan’s Trap trader t’ give you that! _I’ll_ tell un,” he exploded; “I’ll give un a piece o’ my mind afore I dies.” “Don’t!” Jehoshaphat pleaded. Timothy snorted his indignation. “I wouldn’t be rash,” said Jehoshaphat. “Maybe,” he warned, “he’d not take your fish no more. An’ maybe he’d close the shop an’ go away.” “Jus’ you wait,” said Timothy. “Don’t you do it, lad!” Jehoshaphat begged. “’Twould make such a wonderful fuss in the world!” “An’ would you think o’ that?” “I isn’t got _time_ t’ think,” Jehoshaphat complained. “I’m busy. I ’low I got my fish t’ cotch an’ cure. I isn’t got time. I—I—I’m too busy.” They were on the grounds. The day had broken, a blue, serene day, knowing no disquietude. They cast their grapnels overside, and they fished until the shadows had fled around the world and were hurrying out of the east. And they reeled their lines, and stowed the fish, and patiently pulled toward the harbor tickler, talking not at all of the Satan’s Trap trader, but only of certain agreeable expectations which the young Timothy had been informed he might entertain with reasonable certainty. “I ’low,” said Jehoshaphat, when they were within the harbor, “I understand. I got the hang of it,” he repeated, with a little smile, “now.” “Of what?” Timothy wondered. “Well,” Jehoshaphat explained, “’tis your first.”