"It ain't more'n onct in a lifetime," said Jess Hutton to the crowd of friends in his store, "that luck comes thick 'n' fat to any on us 'n' so fer that reason I sent over to the mainland fer suthin' o' a liquid natur; 'n' now take hold, all hands, 'n' injie yerselves on Jess."

With that he began setting forth upon the counter, in battle array, dozens upon dozens of bottles filled with dark brown liquid and interspersed with boxes of cigars. For Jess Hutton, the oracle, principal storekeeper, first selectman, school committeeman, prize story teller, philosopher and friend to everybody on Rockhaven island, had sold a few acres of granite ledge he set no value upon, for two thousand dollars, half cash down; and being a man of generous impulses, had invited the circle of friends most congenial, to "drop round ternight 'n' I'll set 'em up."

It is true that the cigars he passed out so freely were not imported, still they were the best he kept, and not the cheap brand most in demand on Rockhaven, and the bottles contained the vintage of hops and malt instead of "extra dry," but both were urged upon all in a way that left refusal impossible.

And of that unique gathering of men, with sea-tanned faces, garbed mainly in shirt, trousers, and sailor caps, some wearing boots, some slippers, some barefoot, nearly all addressed one another as "Cap" or "Cap'n," for to own a fishing sloop or jigger on Rockhaven meant distinction.

"I dunno how it all come about," said Jess, when the popping of corks had ceased and the incense of cabbage leaves began to arise, "but I was sorter dozin' on the counter that day when this bloomin' freak, with white duck pants, 'n' cap, 'n' shirt, 'n' gray side whiskers, blew in, 'n' the fust I know'd, I heerd him say, 'Come, wake up, Rip Van Winkle! I want ter buy yer quarry!'

"Then I sot up 'n' rubbed my eyes 'n' looked at him, sure he must be one o' them make-believe sailors off a yacht I'd seen run in the night afore, 'n' had come ashore with skates on.

"'Want ter buy what?' I sez. 'Want ter buy yer quarry,' he sez again. 'I heerd ye owned the one t'other side o' the harbor, 'n' if ye want ter sell it cheap, I'll buy it.' Then I looked at him harder'n ever; sure he had a jag 'n' was makin' game o' me.

"'Yes,' I sez, 'I'll sell ye the quarry, or the hull island, if ye ain't sure ye own it already. Better go into the back o' the store 'n' lay down on a pile o' old sails ye'll find thar, 'n' sleep it off. Things'll look more nat'ral to ye by that time.' With that he laffed fit ter split. 'You're all right, old sport,' he sez, 'but I ain't drunk, 'n' if ye'll set the price low enough, I'll buy yer quarry and pay ye cash fer't.'

"'Wal,' I sez, thinkin' I'd set the price high 'nough ter knock him galley west, 'I'll take three thousand dollars fer't.'

"'I'll give ye two,' he said, ''n' pay yer half down.' 'Hev ye got it with ye?' I sed. 'I hev,' he said, 'aboord the boat, or I'll give ye a check.' 'Checks don't go here,' I said, 'but if ye've got real money, 'n' mean business, it's yourn at that figger.' Then he went off, 'n' I was so sure I'd never set eyes on him ag'in I went ter sleep. It didn't seem five minutes till he blew in ag'in. 'How many acres o' that ledge do ye own,' he said, 'an' how many goes with the quarry?' 'Wall,' I said, 'there's about a hundred, 'n' if that ain't nuff ter keep ye busy blastin' the rest o' yer nateral life, I'll throw in the hull o' Norse Hill jist ter bind the bargain,' fer I didn't no more s'pose he meant bizniss than I s'posed I'd got wings. 'Wal,' he says, pullin' out a roll o' bills bigger'n my arm. 'Here's the kale seed, an' when ye'll show me what I'm buyin' 'n' a deed on't, it's yourn.'

"Wal, I jist pinched myself, ter see if I was 'wake, an' jumpin' off the counter, fished a deed out o' my safe 'n' took it 'long, an' showed him round the ledge, believin' all the time when he'd seen it, he'd tell me ter go soak my head, er suthin' o' that sort. But he didn't, an' arter I got hold o' the money 'n' counted it, wonderin' if it wasn't all bogus, 'n' give him a receipt, 'n' he'd gone off, I went 'n' stuck a pin into my leg, jist ter be sure I was awake, after all. That was a week ago," continued Jess, lighting one of the cigars he had set forth, "but I didn't say nuthin' 'bout it till I'd gone ashore with the money an' the bank folks hed said it was all right, 'n' now I think I've lost jist a thousand dollars by not askin' four for't. Why, the loonytic acted as though he owned a printin' press that made money, an' was goin' all the time."

"Wish I'd been ashore," observed Captain Moore, who was one of the group, "I'd a tackled him ter buy the Nancy Jane. She's been lyin' inside o' the harbor, half full o' bilge water, fer more'n a year, an' ain't wuth scuttlin'. Ye'd orter 'a thought on't, Jess, an' persuaded him he could 'a used 'r to carry stun in."

"An' if I'd a-knowed it," put in Cap'n Jet Doty, another of the group, "I'd a tried him on 'bout a hundred kit o' mackerel we've got that's a trifful rusty. He cud a-used 'em somehow. Ye'd orter think o' yer neighbors, Jess, in such a case, an' let 'em in on't."

"I dunno but ye're right," responded Jess; "but I wus caught nappin', 'n' I cac'late that if any o' ye hed been woke up by sech a lubber with gray whiskers, like stun'sls, an' dude cloes like these jackdaw yachters wear, an offerin' ye two thousand dollars fer what ye'd sell fer fifty, an' no takers, ye'd a-bin sot back, so ter speak. If I'd a hed time ter think an' knowed what an easy mark the cuss was, I'd a-laid ter sell him the hull island 'n' divided it up all round."

And be it said that if all the landowners of Rockhaven had obtained even what they valued their holdings at, they would have sold cheerfully, for out of the eighty odd square miles of the island, not one quarter was of soil, and much of that so sandy that only bayberry bushes and wild roses grew on it, or else thickets of stunted spruce. The only means of livelihood to most was the sea, and if nature had not endowed the island with a capacious land-locked harbor and a few acres of productive soil beyond it, and shut in by wall-like shores, Rockhaven would have been left to the sea-gulls that infested its cliffs, or the fish-hawks that found its harbor good fishing ground.

"What'd ye s'pose he's goin' ter do with it, now he's got it?" put in Cap'n Doty, when Jess had finished his recital, and having in mind his stock of rusty mackerel. "Will he come down here 'n' go ter quarryin'?"

"Mebbe he wants it fer ballast fer a new boat," interposed young Dave Moore. "Or fer buildin' a house," put in Dave's brother, Sam. "Cheer up, uncle, we may sell him the Nancy Jane yit. He'll hev ter hire or buy suthin' ter carry stun 'way from the island. He can't make a raft on't."

"An' if he does," asserted Cap'n Moore, addressing Cap'n Doty, who sat opposite him on a cracker barrel, "ye'd git a chance to work off them mackerel."

"I dunno what he's goin' ter do with it," asserted Jess, when a pause came, "nor care, so long's I git t'other thousand as is comin' when deeds is passed. I ain't sure I'll git that, either," he added candidly, "but if I don't the quarry's still mine 'n' a cool thousand o' that freak's good money's gone out o' circulation anyhow, which is some comfort."

Then came a lull in conversation, and in place the popping of more corks and "Here's to yer good luck, Jess," as bottles were elevated and pointed downward.

"Come, Jess," said Dave Moore, when this second libation had been indulged in, and who was in a mood for hearing yarns, "tell 'em 'bout old Bill Atlas."

Now this tale, antedating the day and generation of most of Jess Hutton's auditors, was nevertheless a favorite with him and one he always enjoyed telling.

"Wal," he said, "if ye want ter hear 'bout old Bill, I'll tell ye, though some o' ye here hez heerd 'bout him afore, I reckon. It's been a good many years since Bill took to his wings, humsoever, 'n' so his hist'ry may be divartin'. Bill used ter live all 'lone in a little shack he'd built out o' drift, half way 'tween here and Northaven. That is, he slept thar nights when he was ashore, fer he was away fishin' most o' the time. He were the worst soaker on the island, an' from the time he sot foot ashore 'n' got his pay until every cent was spent, he didn't draw a sober breath. Thar wan't no use arguin' with Bill, or doin' anything to reform him. Jist the moment he got a dollar, jist that moment he started in ter git drunk 'n' allus succeeded. Even Parson Bush, who hed jist come here then 'n' anxious ter do good, failed on Bill. No 'mount o' argufyin' 'bout the worm that never dies or the fate o' sinners hed a mite o' influence on Bill.

"'Parson,' he'd say, 'thar ain't no use a-talkin' ter me. Licker was made ter be drunk, else why was it made at all, 'n' if the Lord Almighty didn't cac'late fer me ter drink it, why did he make me hanker for't? Ye jist preach ter them as is like ter mind it an'll foller it. I ain't, an' it'll do no good.' An' then Bill'd roll away an' fill up. He wa'n't a quarrelsome cuss, jist a good-natured soaker who meant ter git drunk, 'n' done it, an' never meant ter bother nobody when he was.

"But some on us young folks in them days sot out to hev fun with Bill once upon a time, an' we did, an' more'n that, we joggled him so he quit drinkin' fer most a year. He'd had one er two fits o' tremens afore that time, 'n' had sorter got skeery 'bout seein' things, so our trick worked fust rate. One o' the smacks hed jist brought in a hogfish that day, an' it was the worst lookin' critter that ever growed in the sea. It weighed 'bout fifty poun' 'n' was 'most all mouth 'n' teeth. Bill was up in the corner o' a fish house sleepin' off a jag when the critter was h'isted onto the dock, 'n' the moment we spied it we said we'd try it on Bill. We told everybody ter keep quiet 'n' then we went at it. Fust we lugged the hogfish over ter Bill's shack, which was out on the end o' a little pint 'n' sorter shut in 'tween the rocks, 'n' then we got an old bit o' sail and went ter work. We sot the critter up on stuns, right in front o' the shack, 'n' made a tail 'bout forty feet long out o' the sail, an' stuffed it nat'ral like, 'n' then rigged lines running over the shanty to work the critter's mouth 'n' tail up 'n' down when the time come. It was 'long in the arternoon when we sot about 'n' we cac'lated Bill 'd wake up sometime arter dark 'n' come to his shack in jist the mood ter 'preciate the good thing that we hed waitin' fer him. Then to sorter liven up matters, we took a handful o' matches, an' dampenin' 'em, rubbed the ends round the eyes an' mouth o' the critter, 'n' in spots 'long the tail, where we was to hist it a little. It was clear dark afore we got the trap all sot 'n' baited, 'n' then five on us took the lines and tried the joke. It worked pretty slick, 'n' ter see that critter's mouth, more'n a foot long 'n' full o' teeth, 'n' eyes with rings of phosphorus round 'em, a-workin' up an' down, to say nothin' 'bout the tail, would a-skeered a sober man into fits arter dark, let alone one who 'spected snakes. When Bill's welcome home was all ready, we sot a watch on Bill, who was still asleep, 'n' the rest on us went home ter supper. Then we got together, 'bout two dozen on us that knew Bill best, 'n' gittin' sheets ter wrap up in, to sorter stiffen the hogfish effect, all hands hid round his shanty an' inside on't. It was purty late 'fore Bill showed up, but he came 'long finally, kind o' wobblin' some and hummin':—

"Bill was allus feelin' that way when half full 'n' now jist happy 'n' comfortable like. There was a new moon that sorter lit up the path, 'n' jist as he got to where it made a turn, 'bout ten feet from the shanty, I made a signal by squeakin' like a gull, an' the boys begun workin' the lines, 'n' 'bout two dozen white figgers rose up from behind the rocks or stepped out o' the cabin. I never knew which skeered Bill the worst, the awful critter snappin' at him thar in the path, or the ghosts, for Bill gave one screech that could a' been heard five mile, 'n' ye never seen a man run the way he did. He didn't stop ter keep in the path either, but jist went right over the rocks anywhere. He tumbled two or three times 'fore he got out o' sight, 'n' you'd a-thought he was made o' rubber, the way he got up 'n' yelled, 'Help, help, O Lord,' all the time. I'll 'low it was the fust time he'd ever called on the Lord fer help, but it wa'n't the last, fer he made straight fer the parson's house 'n' begun pummellin' on the door.

"'O Lord, take me in,' he said when the parson opened it, 'I'm come fer at last 'n' the divil's arter me. Pray fer me, parson, an' for God's sake, do it quick!' An' then he went down on his knees, 'n' sayin', 'Lordy, Lordy, I'll never drink 'nother drop's long's I live!' Parson Bush was a good deal took back, fer he didn't know the joke, 'n' 'lowed Bill had the tremens. 'Better go back to yer shanty, ye sot,' he said, 'an' when you git sober come here 'n' I'll talk with ye,' an' with that he shet the door 'n' Bill jist laid down 'n' bellowed like a calf. 'N' he didn't go back to his shanty, either, that night, not by a jugful; he'd seen 'nough o' that spot ter last him quite a spell. 'N' when he did thar warn't nuthin' out o' ordinary, fer we'd chucked the hogfish off the rocks, 'n' 'twas more 'n a year 'fore Bill found out the trick we played, 'n' in all that time he kept sober. He did find out arter a spell, fer a joke like that can't be kept allus, 'n' when Bill did, he took ter drink agin, 'n' finally jumped off the dock one night in a fit o' the jims 'n' that was the last o' him. It's hard to larn an old dog new tricks."

For an hour the little crowd of Jess Hutton's friends lingered, wondering and speculating on what the outcome of this investment in a granite ledge would be. To most it seemed a piece of folly or the act of a madman. These worthless rocks had stared them in the face so many years, had so interfered with house building, or the convenient placing of fish racks, or road making, that they had one and all come to hate their very sight. In their estimation they were a nuisance and a curse, and for any sane man to buy twenty acres of ledge to quarry and transport five hundred miles, seemed worse than folly.

Then, having given due expression to this common sentiment, and congratulating Jess upon his good luck, they shook hands with him and went their way. And when the sound of their footsteps upon the one narrow plank walk of Rockhaven had ceased, and only the murmur of the near-by ocean was heard, Jess, as was his wont when lonesome, drew his old brown fiddle from its hiding place and sought consolation from its strings. And also, as usual, the melodies were the songs of Bonnie Scotland.