Johnny Cassidy rowed badly, in a one-sided way that made the boat slew round and graze the wall of the boathouse. They came out of that shadow into a steely dazzle, the water glinted everywhere, spread out over the marshes so that it seemed a primeval world without a foothold for a human creature.
He did not go up the creek as Maggie had gone with Neely; he went in the other direction where there were no banks, only the water running among the reeds. This was the route that Mr. Angel must have traveled.
“And that was Dolly’s rich bad uncle,” said Johnny.
“I wouldn’t call him bad,” said Maggie.
“All rich people are bad,” said Johnny. “But I enjoyed hearing him talk.”
“But did you hear him?”
“Every word,” said Johnny. “Very interesting it was.”
He ran the boat into a jutting clod of e
