“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.’
“‘Savin’ up?’ says I. ‘Shame _to_ you! What you savin’ up for?’
“‘But what _for_?’ says I. ‘What’s the sense of it?’
“‘Bit o’ prope’ty,’ says he. ‘I’m thinkin’ o’ makin’ a small investment.’
“‘At your age, Uncle Bill!’ says I. ‘An’ a childless man!’
“‘Jus’ a small piece,’ says he. ‘Nothin’ much, Tumm.’
“‘But it won’t do you no _good_,’ says I.
“‘Well, Tumm,’ says he, ‘I’m sort o’ wantin’ it, an’ I ’low she won’t go t’ waste. I been fishin’ from Gingerbread Cove for three hundred year,’ says he, ‘an’ when I knocks off I wants t’ have things ship-shape. Isn’t no comfort, Tumm,’ says he, ‘in knockin’ off no other way.’
“Three hundred year he ’lowed he’d fished from that there harbor, a hook-an’-line man through it all; an’ as they wasn’t none o’ us abroad on the coast when he come in, he’d stick to it, spite o’ parsons. They was a mean little red-headed parson came near churchin’ un for the whopper; but Bill Hulk wouldn’t repent. ‘You isn’t been here long enough t’ _know_, parson,’ says he. ‘’Tis goin’ on three hundred year, I tells you! I’ll haul into my fourth hundred,’ says he, ‘come forty-three year from Friday fortnight.’ Anyhow, he’d been castin’ lines on the Gingerbread grounds quite long enough. ’Twas like t’ make a man’s back ache—t’ make his head spin an’ his stomach shudder—jus’ t’ think o’ the years o’ labor an’ hardship Bill Hulk had weathered. Seemed t’ me the very stars must o’ got fair disgusted t’ watch un put out through the Tickle afore dawn an’ pull in after dark.