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"It looks like a real comf'tabul chair to set in." He seated himself in it and beamed upon the room. The place she had selected for him was near the platform and facing a little toward the audience. It had occurred to her, in a last moment of indecision, that Uncle William might enjoy the audience if the music proved too classic for him. She left him with a little murmur of apology.
I don't like to work none too well, anyhow. Might as well be comf'tabul if you can." The platform was comfortable. It was a clear, warm day, with little clouds floating lightly, as in summer. Andy had climbed the ladder grumbling. "Nice place to see," suggested Uncle William. Andy peered down the chimney hole. "You will have to take off the top row all around," he said resentfully.
I got to thinkin' 'bout it, days when I was sailin', and wondering if mebbe the Lord wa'n't gettin' folks ready jest the way he did the rocks rollin' 'em over and havin' 'em pound each other and claw and fight and cool off, slow-like, till byme-by they'd be good sweet earth and grass and little flowers comf'tabul to live with." The artist sat up.
But Uncle William had constructed an elaborate platform with plenty of room for bricks and the pail of mortar, and space in which to stretch his great legs. It was a comfortable place to sit and look out over Arichat harbor. Andy, who had watched the preparations with scornful eye, had suggested an arm-chair and cushion. "I like to be comf'tabul," assented Uncle William. "I know I do.
He sank back with a sigh. "Somebody you knew, like enough?" The question was indifferent. "I thought it was her." "She, now! She wouldn't be likely to be down here this time o' day." "No, I suppose not. It was just a fancy." "That's all. You comf'tabul?" "Yes " a little impatiently. "That's good. Now we're off." Uncle William beamed on the water that billowed before and behind.
"Wimmen folks is a good deal alike," he remarked dryly. "They like to be comf'tabul." "Some of them," assented the artist. The old man looked up with a swift twinkle. "So-o?" he said. The artist sat up quickly. The locket swayed on its chain and his hand touched it. "What do you mean?" he said. "Why, nuthin', nuthin'," said Uncle William, soothingly.
"Oh, the house a mere hut!" He dismissed it with a wave. Uncle William's face wore a subdued look. "It might be comf'tabul inside," he hazarded after a silence. The Frenchman stared again. "Comfortable? Oh, without doubt." He granted the point in passing. "But the color in the rocks do you see? and the clear light and the sky you see how it lifts itself!"
"Comf'tabul place," he said. The artist flushed. "She pays the rent, I suppose. They would have turned me out long since. I haven't asked, but I know she pays it. There is no one else." "She is rich, probably," said Uncle William. "Rich?" The young man smiled bitterly. "She has what she earns. She works day and night. If she should stop, there would be nothing for either of us."
He dropped an eye to the Andrew Halloran. "He been talkin' to ye?" he asked cheerfully. "He told me you borrowed of him " "Now, don't you mind that a mite. Andy don't. He's proud as Punch to hev me owe him suthin'. He reminds me of it every day or two. All I mind about is your frettin' and takin' on so. If you'd jest be easy in your mind, we'd have a reel comf'tabul time with the kittens and all."
I can see it jest the same now if I shut my eyes, only it's fishes I see swimmin' into my net now shoals of 'em. The' ain't a shark in sight." He was looking down at her, smiling. She nodded. "You're an optimist now." He stared a little. "No, I don't reckon I'm anything that sounds like that, but I do take life comf'tabul.
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